The silence that followed the patriarch's words was not merely uncomfortable; it was suffocating. Camila remained still for a couple of seconds, as if her body had yet to process what her mind had just heard. The word mistake echoed in her head again and again, striking with almost surgical cruelty.
Romeo was the first to notice the change in her. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her breathing turning uneven. He leaned slightly toward his wife, murmuring with restrained urgency.
"Camila… not now. Let it go. It's not worth it."
But Camila was no longer listening.
Her eyes—usually cold and calculating—now burned with a dangerous blend of rage and pain. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor with a sharp sound that sliced through the room.
"A mistake?" she repeated, her voice barely trembling but loaded with restrained fury. "That's how you refer to my son?"
Romeo tried to take her arm, firmer this time.
"Camila, please," he whispered. "This won't help us."
She pulled away with a sharp motion, turning to him with a look that allowed no objections.
"No, Romeo. Not anymore." Her voice rose. "It's no longer time to stay quiet while they humiliate our son in front of everyone."
The patriarch lifted his gaze slowly, surprised by her reaction, while Helena watched the scene with an almost unsettling calm, as if she had predicted this exact outcome.
"John isn't here to defend himself," Camila continued, locking eyes with her father. "And yet you judge him, condemn him, reduce him to a genetic flaw as if he were a failed experiment. Do you know what he's achieved at his age? Do you know what he sacrifices every day?"
Helena straightened slightly, never losing her composure.
"No one is denying his achievements," she replied with calculated calm. "But this isn't an emotional discussion, Camila. It's a discussion of viability."
Camila let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Viability? My son speaks three languages, masters concepts many here still struggle to understand, and has a discipline you only admire in speeches. And he's still not viable?"
Helena folded her hands on the table.
"Then let's answer with facts," she said. "Can John lead people? Can he read a room, anticipate betrayal, inspire genuine loyalty? Can he inspire fear when necessary and respect when convenient? No. Because he doesn't feel. And a leader who doesn't feel is a threat, not a pillar."
Her words landed with surgical precision.
Camila clenched her fists.
"John doesn't need primitive emotions to be great," she shot back. "He needs opportunities. He needs a family that stops seeing him as a defect and starts recognizing him for what he is: superior."
Dmitri tilted his head slightly, a faint smile forming.
"Superior in numbers and theory, perhaps," he interjected. "But empty in essence."
Romeo stepped closer to Camila again, this time positioning himself slightly in front of her like a shield.
"That's enough," he said firmly. "We're not turning this into a public trial."
The patriarch raised a hand, commanding silence.
"Let her speak," he ordered. "Since she's chosen to."
Camila drew a deep breath, her voice lowering but losing none of its intensity.
"You speak of legacy, of surname, of reputation," she said. "But you forget something fundamental: the Xentras have always thrived because they adapted. Because they didn't fear what was different. John is not a weakness; he is the next evolution."
Helena shook her head slowly.
"No," she replied. "He's an unstable variable. And the Xentras cannot afford a future head who doesn't understand the value of emotional loyalty. What will John do when he must sacrifice someone for the sake of the family name? Will he do it without hesitation? Without guilt? That isn't strength, Camila. That's danger."
The patriarch closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if the words weighed more on him than he cared to admit.
"Helena is right," he finally said. "John may be useful—even brilliant—but he cannot be the face or the future of this family."
Something inside Camila broke.
She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply stood still, staring at her father as if seeing him for the first time.
"So it's decided," she murmured.
The patriarch nodded gravely.
"For the good of the Xentras name, yes."
Helena's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, aware she had won. Dmitri placed a satisfied hand on her back.
Camila let out a low, hollow laugh devoid of humor.
"Family…" she repeated. "Reputation…" She paused, breathing with difficulty. "To hell with all of it."
She turned to Romeo, who watched her in silence, then looked back at everyone present.
"John is my son," she said, her voice firm—fractured, but resolute. "And I am absolutely certain he will surpass every one of you. Not because you allow it… but in spite of you."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and began walking toward the exit.