Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire Chapter 157: Meeting Tamara at a cafe

Seeing Camilla acknowledge it so openly, Tamara lowered her head and took a sip of her coffee, her mind racing.

After a brief pause, she finally spoke, her tone laced with practiced politeness.

"Madam Luther and I have never t before.

May I ask what brings you here today?"

"There’s no need to be so tense, Ms. Tamara," Camilla said, detecting the wariness and defensiveness in Tamara’s voice.

Her eyes curved into crescents, her stunningly beautiful face radiating an almost innocent warmth.

"I’m here to help you."

Help her?!

eting Camilla’s inscrutable gaze, Tamara felt an inexplicable unease creep into her heart, her smile gradually fading.

"I’m not sure what you’re implying, Madam Luther, and I certainly don’t need your help," she said, glancing perfunctory at her watch before forcing a polite smile.

She picked up her bag and rose to leave.

"It’s office hours—I should head back to the company.

Excuse ."

"Not sure?

Then let refresh your mory," Camilla continued stirring her coffee without looking up, her voice calm and deliberate.

"Your Asia-Arican ex-husband in M country had a habit of hitting you.

So when his company ran into trouble, you seized the chance to present pre-prepared evidence, sending him straight to prison before filing for divorce."

A faint, mocking smile curled at the corner of her lips.

"Pity, though—all the assets were seized.

You walked away with nothing and had no choice but to return to Arica."

Her voice was sweet and gentle, but every word struck Tamara like a needle.

Her steps faltered, freezing mid-retreat.

"I imagine life hasn’t been easy since you ca back," Camilla paused her stirring and finally lifted her eyes, her smile deepening as she studied Tamara.

"Which is why you’ve been digging for information on Jonathan, pulling every string you can to get into one of his companies."

Her dark, srizing eyes glead with unspoken aning.

"You know he still carries a torch for you. You’re counting on him to restore the life you once had.

Am I making myself clear now, Ms. Tamara?"

Her plans, whether already in motion or still in the making, Had all been anticipated and controlled in advance?

But why would Camilla investigate her? Tamara stood frozen in place, her complexion shifting through a spectrum of emotions.

Finally, with stiff movents, she forced herself back into the seat opposite Camilla.

"Madam. Luther, I’ve never offended you, and I swear I never will in the future," she said, clutching her bag tightly, her eyes brimming with unease.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

"I told you," Camilla replied, her beautiful eyes narrowing slightly as she fixed her gaze on Tamara.

"I’m here to help you."

Her tone was slow and languid, giving away nothing of her true feelings.

"If you’ve done your research, you should know that Jonathan’s current wife is no pushover.

She won’t just stand by and watch you take everything she has."

"Margaret?"

Tamara paused at the na, her furrowed brow smoothing out.

Of course she knew that woman—just as she knew she was rely a placeholder. Moreover.

A glint of triumph flashed in Tamara’s eyes as a thought occurred to her.

She still held a fatal trump card against this woman—one that could utterly destroy her if revealed.

Compared to Margaret, the composed woman before her, Camilla, struck Tamara as far more formidable.

Accepting her help might co with unpredictable consequences.

"Thank you for the reminder, Mrs. Luther," Tamara said, masking her emotions with a gentle smile.

"But I don’t require your kindness just yet."

"Don’t be too hasty," Camilla replied, her smile unwavering as she had anticipated this response.

She slid a sleek black business card across the table.

"Margaret is more formidable than you think. Here’s my contact—call if you change your mind."

With that, she rose to leave. Before she could reach the door, a deep, surprised male voice called from behind, "Camilla... is that you?"

At the sa ti. In a secluded villa on the outskirts of the capital.

A refined and strikingly handso man strode unhurriedly into the dim, damp basent.

His chiseled features were half-shrouded in the flickering light, casting an aura so imposing that one dared not et his gaze.

"Open it."

"Camilla, is that you?"

The voice sounded familiar. Camilla turned around to see a man standing behind her, dressed in a sharply pressed dark suit and a crisp white shirt with minimalist tailoring.

Tall and poised, he carried himself with effortless grace.

His neatly cropped hair frad deep-set eyes that held a warm, composed smile, giving him an air of refined elegance.

For a mont, Camilla froze.

It took her a few seconds to place the face in her mory.

"Senior ga?"

Antonio had been her direct senior in the dical departnt—one of those untouchable campus legends who seed to exist on another plane.

Assigned to the sa research group under their shared advisor, they had grown close through countless experints and projects.

During her ti at university, Antonio had helped her more tis than she could count.

But then, for reasons unknown, he had abruptly stopped showing up just before graduation.

Rumors swirled that he had transferred abroad.

After that, they never crossed paths again, and she heard nothing more about him.

At the ti, she felt a pang of regret.

He was one of the few people she considered a friend, and they hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye.

But soon, the mory faded. Who would have thought they’d run into each other at a café today?

"It’s ," Antonio took a couple of steps forward, extending a hand with faint calluses, his smile deepening.

"Long ti no see."

After all these years, she was just as he rembered.

Simply standing there, she was the most striking presence.

As Antonio looked at Camilla, his mind flashed back to the first ti he saw her.

A young girl sitting by the window, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting a shimring glow over her—radiant beyond words.

One glance, and she was unforgettable.

"It really has been a long ti," Camilla replied warmly, reaching out to give his hand a light shake with a smile.

"When did you return to the country, Senior ga?"

What they didn’t know was— Upstairs, several pairs of eyes were watching the scene unfold, each face wearing a different expression.

"A month ago," Antonio withdrew his hand, his expression still gentle as he continued.

"You’re still—" His words cut off abruptly as his gaze snapped toward a waiter who stumbled, jostled by a passing custor.

The tray of coffee in the waiter’s hands tilted precariously toward Camilla.

Antonio’s brows furrowed, and he instinctively reached out, intending to pull her away by the waist.

But Camilla seed to sense his movent.

She sidestepped, putting distance between them—only to collide sharply with the edge of a table behind her.

A jolt of pain shot through her, and her brows twitched faintly.

Still, she showed no other reaction.

Aside from Sinclair, she couldn’t stand being touched intimately by any other man.

A little pain was worth it.

Antonio’s outstretched hand froze midair, just a second too late.

**Crash!**

The waiter tumbled to the floor, coffee splattering everywhere.

Dark brown stains blood across Camilla’s white knit dress, stark and impossible to ignore.

"I’m so sorry!

So sorry!"

the waiter stamred, scrambling to his feet.

The young waitress didn’t even check her own injuries, struggling to stand up as she repeatedly bowed to Camilla in apology.

"I’ll make sure to clean your clothes for you.

I’m so terribly sorry."

This was an extrely high-end mbers-only café. While not every custor was fabulously wealthy, they were all certainly well-off—people she couldn’t afford to offend.

A single mistake like this might not just cost her compensation; she could lose her job entirely.

Watching the waitress bow so low she seed ready to press herself into the ground, Camilla was inexplicably reminded of her own past struggles when she used to work part-ti jobs.

"Don’t worry about the clothes," she said softly, pulling out individually wrapped alcohol wipes and band-aids from her bag and handing them to the waitress.

"Take care of the cuts on your hands first.

Just be more careful next ti."