CHAPTER 41
Celeste’s POV
I stayed by Auntie’s side for hours, barely moving.
Only the machines beeped in a rhythm.
My phone kept vibrating on the tray beside me. I didn’t look. I didn’t need to. I already knew it was Theo.
I hit “decline without a second thought.
The room dimmed, I glanced at the screen. Theo’s messages shifted from concern to desperation, each one: last.
[Hey, are you okay? I haven’t heard from you. You suddenly disappeared from the banquet.]
[Still no word from you. I’m starting to worry.]
[I’ve asked around. You weren’t at your place. Please tell me you’re alright.)
The messages grew in urgency, but I stared at them like they belonged to someone else.
more urgent than the
All I could hear was that voice–the clipped, official tone of that man’s assistant, the man he’d been talking to with such intensity and importance. What had it been all about?
Sighing, I turned toward Auntie and squeezed her hand gently, willing for her to wake up and be well,
Two days passed before I went home. I was worn down to the bone
When I turned the corner to my apartment, I paused. Someone was sitting on the steps.
At first, I thought it was a dream. Or a ghost.
But it was Theo.
He looked like hell–the same clothes from two nights ach
his jaw tense. He stood the moment he saw me.
I wanted to cry. Or scream. Or throw my
my arms
is around him.
Instead, I slipped the key into the lock and said nothing.
“You weren’t answering.” he said as he stepped inside with me.
I dropped my bag by the door. “There was nothing to say.”
wrinkled, collar open, hair disheveled. His eyes were bloodshot,
“I know what happened,” he said. “The hospital. Your aunt from the orphanage.”
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I kept my tone level. “It has nothing to do with you.‘
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that Why are you suddenly avoiding me and pushing me away? Because of what some assistant had said to you?”
I flinched before I could stop myself. He caught it.
“you haven’t let it go, Celeste,” he said, voice quiet but sharp. “You’re still carrying all of it. The fear. The shame. The insecurity. And you’re just covering it all up.”
“Don’t,” I said softly, warningly.
“You think you can handle everything alone,” he went on, refusing to back down. “But it’s a performance. You’re human. You’re allowed to break”
“I don’t have the luxury of breaking, Theo,” I snapped. “My life didn’t give me that choice. You have no idea how much I’ve been through.”
He stepped closer, gentler now. Then tell me more and trust me, Just once. Let someone carry it with you ”
1 looked at him, throat tight.
“My past taught me one thing,” I said. “Don’t rely on anyone. People are disappointed. People leave.”
His voice softened. “Then let me prove I’m not like the rest.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because a part of me wanted to believe him–and that terrified me more than anything else.
s the most?
Then exhaled slowly, eyes clouded with something I couldn’t name. “You know what hurts “You still don’t trust me. And it hurts to see that you think so little of yourself and of me.”
t?” he said, his voice low.
I stiffened.
*You always act like letting someone in is a weakness,” he continued. “But shutting everyone out–thinking no one is worth trusting–that’s not strength, Celeste. That’s fear. And maybe I can’t fix everything, but I thought I at least meant enough to you to try‘
He took a step back.
“I’ll go,” he said quietly. “But I hope you’ll really think about what that s
And then he left.
says about us.”
The door clicked shut, leaving behind a silence that pressed in on me from all sides. I didn’t move. I just sat there, arms wrapped around my knees, trying not to crumble.
Was he right?
I didn’t know how long I sat like that, staring at the floor and retracing, every word I’d said. Regret settled like dust in my chest.
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Then suddenly, a soft knock startled me. Slowly, I rose and opened the door.
Theo stood there again, breathing a little heavier now, as if he’d been pacing the hallway.
In his hand was my old college sketchbook Worn, bent at the edges.
The same one I used to draw in back when the world hadn’t fallen apart yet. I didn’t even remember lending it to him years ago,
but I knew every crease of that cover.
“I kept this,” he said, eyes meeting mine. “You gave it to me before your final project critique. Said it was ‘dumb and messy… but
it’s not. I told you then that it wasn’t. It was you.”
The lump in my throat cracked. I remembered that conversation between us. He’d been so kind and sweet, encouraging me despite my lack of confidence.
“Oh, my god… I remember…” I whispered as tears began freely falling down my cheeks. “And you kept it all this time…”
Quiet, aching sobs followed. And once I started, I couldn’t stop crying anymore.
Theo sat beside me, not too close, not too far–just enough to let me know I wasn’t alone.
He didn’t answer with words. Just reached out and gently laid his hand over mine.
And somehow, in that quiet, broken moment, the storm inside me eased.
A week later, my name was everywhere.
The gala had turned into a turning point. Almost overnight, the whispers that once clung to me like thorns had transformed into praise. Bold. Brilliant. Back from the brink.
Politician wives, Socialites. Even foreign clients had begun requesting custom gowns and consultations. I could barely keep up with the inquiries flooding my inbox.
I was perched on a stool in my boutique, fabric swatches scattered around me, when Harper’s face lit up on my phone screen during our video call.
“I swear,” I said breathlessly, “even the senator’s wife wants one of my gowns. She said she loved my ‘dramatic flare and unapologetic lines.“”
Harper beamed through the screen. “Told you. You didn’t just survive that scandal–you scorched it.“”
Before I could respond, the bell above the boutique door jingled. Loud voices followed–curious, admiring, but still polished with the practiced edge of women used to evaluating everything around them.
My spine straightened instinctively. “I gotta go.” I whispered to Harper.
“So this is the boutique everyone’s been raving about?”
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“It’s absolutely charming–elegant without trying too hard.”
“I heard she handled everything herself. No major label, no stylist. Just pure talent.”
I still went. I knew that voice.
The boutique door swung fully open, and a cluster of elegantly dressed women stepped inside, dripping pearls and passive- aggressive smiles. And at the center of them–poised like a queen surveying her court–was her.
Damien’s mother Isadora.
My former mother–in–law.
The woman who never saw me as anything more than a stain on her family’s legacy.
Our eyes locked. But this time, I didn’t flinch.
I stood tall, chin lifted, spine straight as steel.
Let her judge.
I was no longer the girl desperate for her approval. This was my world now–and she had just stepped into it..
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