Chapter 183: Chapter Hundred And Eighty Two

Murry stood up straight. He turned toward the kitchen doors and raised his hands. He clapped his hands together twice.

Clap. Clap.

Immediately, a line of four young maids walked quickly into the dining room. They were carrying large silver trays covered with silver lids. They moved efficiently, setting the hot food down on the table.

There was a basket of fresh, warm bread. There was a plate of sliced, sweet fruits. And finally, a maid placed a small, deep ceramic bowl directly in front of Camilla, and another matching bowl in front of Damon. The bowls were filled with a very rich, warm, creamy potato and vegetable soup.

The maids lifted the silver covers. A thick, delicious-smelling steam rose into the air, filling the large dining room with the scent of good food. The maids quickly bowed and retreated to the corners of the room, standing quietly against the walls to wait for further orders.

Camilla looked down at the hot, steaming soup in front of her.

Seeing the warm food, her mind instantly drifted back to her previous thoughts. She thought about her cat.

"I wonder if anyone is feeding him," Camilla thought to herself, her eyes looking sadly at her bowl.

Her mind was completely filled with her orange cat, Winston.

"I hope he is alright," Camilla worried internally, letting out a very small, silent sigh. "I hope he is out of harm’s way. He is so lazy and clumsy. If he walks out onto the busy street, he might get scared. I hope he is safe inside the house."

Sitting right next to her at the head of the table, Damon sat, listening.

He listened to her worried caring thoughts. He heard her express genuine fear for another man’s safety.

Damon watched her worried face. He saw the sadness in her eyes.

A sharp, bitter pain twisted violently inside his stomach. He felt physically sick.

"She’s worried about him," Damon thought to himself. His internal voice was a mixture of sadness and burning anger. "She is sitting right next to me and she is completely worried about another man."

He looked down at his own bandaged hand.

"But not me," Damon’s thoughts continued, the bitterness growing stronger. "She doesn’t care about me at all. She didn’t even ask about my injury this morning. She didn’t ask if my hand was hurting. All she cares about is if this ’Winston’ is alright."

Camilla slowly picked up her spoon.

She turned her head slightly to the right. She noticed Damon’s expression.

He was staring directly at his bowl of soup, but he was not eating. His face looked gloomy. His thick eyebrows were pulled tightly together, forming a deep line on his forehead. His jaw was clenched so hard that the muscles were ticking visibly. He looked miserable.

Camilla let out a soft, internal groan.

"Why is he having a sour expression first thing in the morning?" Camilla thought to herself, staring at his grumpy face. Her internal voice was l annoyed.

She shook her head slightly.

"He always looks like someone just forced him to drink a cup of sour lemon juice. He is so difficult to be around."

She turned her eyes away from his face. She looked back down at her warm soup. She dipped her spoon into the creamy liquid, stirring it slowly to cool it down.

As she stirred, she compared her current situation with her other life.

"That is exactly why my Winston is so much better," Camilla thought proudly, her mind filling with warm affection for her cat.

Damon’s hand tightened fiercely on his own spoon. He braced himself for the terrible words he knew were coming. He knew she was comparing him to her secret lover, and he knew he was losing.

"He is still the best," Camilla’s thoughts continued, smiling slightly as she remembered her cat’s soft purrs.

"He is gentle," she listed his qualities in her mind. "He is so warm-hearted. He always knows how to comfort me when I am tired."

She paused, remembering how Winston would sometimes scratch the furniture or bite her toes when he wanted extra food.

"Although," Camilla added in her mind with a small, fond chuckle, "he could be very feisty sometimes. He throws little tantrums when he doesn’t get his way."

She lifted the spoon full of soup.

"But I love him exactly the way he is," Camilla concluded warmly in her thoughts.

She brought the spoon to her lips and took a slow, quiet sip of the hot soup.

Damon sat at the head of the table, entirely consumed by a silent, agonizing mental torture.

He had just listened to his own wife list the wonderful qualities of her lover.

Gentle. Warm-hearted. Feisty. Loved.

Damon was trying desperately to control his overwhelming jealousy. He felt like his chest was going to crack open. He felt he was already defeated by a man he had never even met.

Damon forced his hand to move. He slowly picked up his own spoon. His hand was shaking slightly with suppressed rage, but he controlled it. He dipped the spoon into his bowl and lifted it to his mouth.

He took a sip of his soup too.

The rich, savory liquid tasted exactly like bile in his mouth. He could not taste the food. He could only taste his own bitter anger.

Camilla swallowed her soup. It was very good.

But the good food could not fix the terrible reality of her situation. She was still trapped in this novel. She was still stuck playing the role of a fake wife.

Camilla continued her thoughts, looking sideways at Damon’s stiff posture before focusing back on her soup bowl.

Her internal voice turned very cold and accusing.

"Damon didn’t want to divorce me," Camilla thought angrily, her mind returning to the terrible moment in the bedroom when he ripped the divorce papers into tiny pieces.

She gripped her spoon tightly.

"I had the papers right in my hand," she thought, her frustration boiling over. "I was ready to leave and disappear. But he refused. He tore them up and forced me to stay here."

She felt a fresh wave of deep, genuine anger hit her chest.

"And now," Camilla’s thoughts raged, her internal voice filled with blame. "Now I am completely stuck here. Because of him, I can’t even go back home. I can’t even be with my Winston."

"I simply have no way of ever reuniting with him," Camilla thought, a sharp pang of true sadness hitting her heart.

She turned her head. She did not hide her feelings anymore.

Camilla glared at Damon. Her eyes were cold. She stared at the side of his handsome face, blaming him entirely for her miserable situation.

"It is all his fault," Camilla declared firmly in her own mind, locking her furious gaze onto him.

The silence in the dining room lasted for exactly two seconds.

Damon had heard everything. He had heard her say she loved Winston. He had heard her say she wanted to be with Winston. And finally, he had heard her blame him, hate him, and glare at him for keeping her trapped away from the man she truly loved.

The last thread of Damon’s control snapped.

The jealousy, the pain, and the overwhelming anger finally exploded.

Damon moved his right hand with sudden speed.

He slammed his spoon down onto the table.

BANG!

The loud metallic crack echoed violently off the high stone ceiling of the dining room.

The sudden, explosive noise was terrifying.

Camilla jerked violently in her chair, her eyes widening in shock. She dropped her own spoon into her bowl with a loud clatter.

The four maids standing against the walls jumped, gasping in terror. They pressed their backs hard against the stone, completely terrified by the General’s sudden, explosive outburst.

Mr. Murry, standing near the window, froze. His old eyes went wide. He stopped breathing, staring at his master in total confusion and fear.

Damon did not look at any of them.

He grabbed the armrests of his dining chair. He pushed himself backward with brutal force.

The wooden legs of the chair scraped loudly and harshly against the stone floor.

Screeeech.

The sound was jarring and angry.

Damon stood up immediately. His tall, broad body towered over the table. He threw his white linen napkin onto his half-full plate of food.

He did not look down at Camilla. He refused to look into her eyes. His chest heaved up and down with rapid, furious breaths. His hands were clenched so tightly by his sides that his muscles trembled.

"I am full," Damon stated loudly.

He did not say another word. He turned his back to the table and left, leaving everyone in silence.