The Billionaire's Sixty-Day Wife

Chapter 9

Camila's POV

When Isabella's invitation arrives the next morning, I spend three full minutes staring at it because nothing about the woman screams friendship.

Still, the message sounds polite enough.

*Charity planning luncheon. Small gathering. Hope you can join us.*

Against my better judgment, I agree.

Maybe she's trying to make peace. Maybe yesterday was awkward for both of us, maybe I'm being paranoid.

By noon, I realize how stupid that thought was.

The restaurant is located on the top floor of one of the most expensive hotels in Los Angeles, and the second I step inside, every woman at the table turns to look at me carefully.

Like they're inspecting a product before deciding whether to return it.

Isabella rises smoothly from her chair and kisses the air beside my cheek.

"Camila, you made it."

The smile on her face is perfect, too perfect.

Already, I don't trust it.

"Thanks for inviting me."

"Of course." Isabella lightly touches my arm before guiding me toward an empty seat. "Since you're part of the family now, I thought it would be nice for everyone to get to know you."

Something about the way she says *part of the family* makes me uncomfortable.

I can't explain why.

I sit down anyway and within five minutes, I realize I'm the poorest person at the table.

Possibly by several million dollars.

The women discuss private islands, luxury ski trips, designer collections, and schools that apparently cost more than houses.

I contribute absolutely nothing. Mostly because I don't know what half of them are talking about.

"Where did you attend university?" one woman asks.

I tell her. "Oh."

The response is polite but the expression isn't.

Another woman smiles. "I heard you're a nurse."

"Emergency room nurse."

"That must be......" She hesitates. "Interesting."

Interesting.

Right.

That's billionaire language for *beneath us.*

I force a smile. "It pays the bills."

Not enough bills but but still.

The conversation continues.

Unfortunately, so does Isabella. "Alejandro told me you work long shifts."

I glance toward her. "Sometimes."

"That must have been quite an adjustment."

"What?"

She takes a sip of water. "Moving from a hospital to a Malibu estate."

There it is, the first real jab of the afternoon, and the table grows noticeably quieter as several women pause their conversations and watch me expectantly, clearly curious to see whether I'll take the bait.

I smile anyway. "The estate has fewer emergencies."

A few women laugh, and although the small victory feels satisfying, it doesn't last long because Isabella's smile tightens almost imperceptibly before the food arrives a few minutes later.

For a brief moment, I think the worst might be over, but that hope disappears the second one of the women brings up family legacies and the entire table suddenly comes alive with interest.

"My grandfather started our shipping company."

"My family owns vineyards in Napa."

"My father built our investment firm."

The stories continue around the table until everyone's attention eventually shifts toward me, and the silence that follows isn't uncomfortable so much as expectant because I know exactly what they're waiting for.

They're expecting an impressive family legacy to match everyone else's, but the truth is far less glamorous since my mother was a schoolteacher, my father left before I was old enough to remember him, and that's the entire story.

"I don't really have one," I admit.

The silence stretches.

Then Isabella smiles sympathetically.

The fake kind.

"The important thing is that you've married into one."

The words hit harder than they should because I know exactly what she's implying.

You didn't belong before. You belong because of Alejandro, not because of yourself.

I suddenly lose interest in my lunch.

The conversation moves on, I wish I could.

Half an hour later, another woman mentions old relationships.

Immediately, Isabella becomes interested.

"I still remember Sophia."

The name grabs my attention instantly because I've heard it before, though only once, and while Alejandro never offered details and I never pushed for them, the curiosity I've ignored until now suddenly becomes impossible to ignore as several women smile knowingly.

"Oh, Sophia was lovely."

"Absolutely beautiful."

"Everyone thought they'd get married."

Something cold settles in my stomach.

Across the table, Isabella nods slowly. "They were together for years."

I stare down at my water glass.

Years, not months.

The women continue talking. "He adored her."

"They were inseparable."

"They understood each other."

Every new detail feels worse than the one before it, and I hate how much it affects me because Alejandro isn't mine, this marriage isn't real, and none of this should matter. So why does it?

"She knew him better than anyone," Isabella adds softly, and when I glance up, I catch her watching me.

The way Isabella watches me tells me she's waiting for a reaction, and the realization hits because none of this is an accident.

Every topic, every conversation, and every carefully placed comment has been designed to lead us here.

This lunch was never about charity or friendship; it was about humiliating me, making me feel small, making me feel out of place, and the worst part is realizing that despite my best efforts, it's working.

For the first time since moving into Alejandro's world, doubt begins creeping into my head.

Maybe I don't belong here, maybe Isabella is right. Maybe I'm just a nurse pretending to fit into a life that was never meant for me.

The thought makes my chest ache.

I hate it.

I hate her.

Most of all, I hate that she's winning.

A woman beside me laughs. "Honestly, I still can't imagine Alejandro settling down."

Several heads nod. "Neither can I."

"Especially so suddenly."

The comments aren't directed at me.

I push my chair back slightly.

Maybe I should leave, maybe.....

"Oh, come on." One of the women waves dismissively. "We're only joking."

More laughter follows, and although I force a smile in response, it feels just as fake as the one Isabella has been wearing all afternoon, which is probably why another woman suddenly leans forward as if she senses weakness.

"So tell us, Camila."

My stomach immediately tightens. "Yes?"

"What's it like going from saving lives in an emergency room to attending charity galas with billionaires?"

The table bursts into laughter that sounds harmless on the surface but carries just enough mockery to sting, and as I sit there searching for a response, I realize I don't have one.

For the first time all afternoon, I'm completely speechless, and the laughter continues long enough to make me wish the floor would open beneath me before a deep male voice suddenly slices through the noise.

"What exactly is so funny?"

Every woman at the table freezes.

Including Isabella.

Slowly, I turn toward the entrance.

And the moment I see Alejandro standing there, dressed in a dark suit with a dangerous look in his eyes, I realize someone is about to have a very bad afternoon.