Never Forgive, Never Forget (Chapters 1 to 10)

Chapter 1

Celeste Duncan stood at the towering floor-to-ceiling window, draped in a silk robe, gazing out at the scattered city lights. After a long moment, she pulled out her phone and made a call.

I agree to the engagement.”

A brief silence. Then, her father Herbert’s voice came through, barely able to hide his delight.

Cece, when are you coming home? I’ll come pick you up.”

No one had called her by that childhood nickname in years. The sound of it made her eyes sting.

“Next Monday”

She ended the call before he could say more.

After her mother died, her father wasted no time bringing his mistress and her daughter into their home. Celeste loathed them, but she would never allow her mother’s company to fall into their hands. She’d fought desperately for Philip Robertson before, maneuvering through every obstacle, but now she didn’t see the point-she’d take back what was hers in the most direct way possible.

Thinking of Philip sent a familiar ache through her chest.

Eight-thirty that evening, Celeste set the dinner she’d carefully prepared onto the table.

At that moment, a message came in from Philip.

[Something came up at work. Don’t wait for me.

She stared at her phone, feeling empty inside.

Today was her twenty-third birthday-and the fifth anniversary of her relationship with Philip.

Since six o’clock, she’d been calling, texting, hoping for a response. Each call went unanswered; every ten texts got a single, curt reply: [I’m busy]

Her chat with him looked like a one-person show.

[I ordered tomahawk steaks…]

[I bought roses and lilies…]

[The wine is your favorite. I picked it up from the vineyard this afternoon.]

Il made scented candles, gardenia, just for tonight.]

For thirteen years, Philip had never missed her birthday.

She dialed his number again, unwilling to give up, but this time his phone was off.

She glanced at the time his last message had come in, but before she could process it, a notification popped up-a social media update from one of her starred contacts.

“Mr. VIN’s concert-been looking forward to this.”

The attached photo showed two arms pressed close together, a man and a woman.

Under the dim lights, the man’s diamond cufflinks

gleamed-gardenia-shaped, custom-made, the only pair like them in all of Silvercrest.

They were Philip’s favorite design. She’d had them made for him.

Celeste’s hand trembled as she zoomed in on the photo, then out, then in again, her eyes burning until she could barely see. With a sudden gasp, she hurled her phone onto the table, fighting for breath like a fish out of water.

She’d bought tickets the moment Mr. VIN’s national tour was announced. She’d told Philip it was all she wanted for her birthday. He’d promised to go with her-then bailed at the last minute.

Now, on her birthday, he’d gone with Viola Allen instead.

Pain radiated through her chest, spreading until she could barely breathe. She pressed her palm to her face, no longer able to pretend or make excuses.

When she was a sickly child, she’d moved from Asterwynn to Silvercrest at the age of ten for her health-that’s when she met Philip.

Because of him, she’d refused to return to Asterwynn, even after she’d grown strong.

He was two years older, her protector and companion through middle school and college. On her eighteenth birthday, he’d confessed his feelings, brought her the most beautiful bouquet, and sworn she’d be the only one he’d ever love.

But when had everything started to change?

Maybe it was the day she introduced Viola to Philip, her arm linked with the timid girl’s.

Viola had stood there in her too-clean white dress, fingers twisting together. “I’m one of Miss Duncan’s scholarship students,” she’d murmured to Philip, offering that fragile smile of hers – the kind that made you want to give her your coat even when it wasn’t cold, Stubborn, like a lily blooming on the edge of a cliff, she’d so easily awakened Philip’s instinct to protect.

Chapter 2

From then on, whenever Philip had to pick-Celeste or Viola-his choice was almost always the same.

Nine times out of ten, it was Viola.

Celeste hadn’t taken it lying down, either. There had been arguments.

Philip would always look at her with disappointment clouding his face, brow furrowed. “Viola’s not in good health. She can’t compare to you in anything, so stop picking on her.”

So being a little fragile meant Viola could shamelessly steal her boyfriend?

Her phone buzzed repeatedly on the table.

Celeste snatched it up right away.

Three new messages flashed onto the screen.

[Viola’s violin skills really are world-class. Philip has already helped me get in touch with a teacher-after the concert, he’ll take me to meet them.]

[Isn’t it your birthday today? I pushed Philip to go home to you, but he was worried I wouldn’t eat properly, so he insisted on staying with me. You called so many times, he got annoyed and turned off his phone.]

[This is the gift Philip gave me. Miss Celeste, do you think it matches my dress?]

A gorgeous, multicolored diamond bracelet sparkled in the photo. The latest piece from a luxury brand-one that required pre-ordering weeks in advance just to get your hands on.

Celeste remembered mentioning it to Philip when the ad campaign first launched.

So he’d bought it all right-just not for her.

Celeste calmly set her phone down, lit a candle, and celebrated her birthday alone. Every last bit of food went into the trash, including the cake she’d spent half a month learning how to bake from scratch.

The only reason she was waiting until next week to leave was because, after thirteen years, her life and Philip’s were hopelessly entangled. Emotionally. Practically. Cutting ties wouldn’t be easy.

She needed time.

Half-asleep, she felt the mattress dip as someone sat beside her.

A cool hand brushed her cheek, gently squeezing. Philip’s familiar, deep voice was warm with the affection she’d heard a thousand times.

“Celly, I’m sorry I’m late. Here-your birthday present. See if you like it.”

The interruption dragged her from sleep. She frowned, blinking herself awake.

He was wearing only a black shirt; his jacket was nowhere in sight. Soft lamplight carved his features into sharp relief, the hint of a tender smile making him look even more impossibly attractive. His eyes were deep enough to drown in.

Celeste pushed herself upright and watched as he opened the box he’d brought.

Inside, nestled against black velvet, was a multicolored diamond bracelet.

“You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you? Let me put it on for you.”

Just as Philip reached for the bracelet, his phone rang.

He tossed the box onto the bed and stood to answer it.

“What happened? You fell? Are you hurt? Don’t cry, I’ll be right there.”

He was so frantic, he didn’t even spare a word for Celeste as he hurried out.

“Philip…”

She called out, but the bedroom door shut firmly behind him.

He didn’t look back.

A few minutes later, Viola’s message arrived, right on schedule.

[Did you put on the bracelet? Miss Celeste, you must accept it, okay? It took me ages to convince Philip to give it to you. He adores how thoughtful I am. After the concert, he insisted on buying me one as well.]

[I love what this bracelet represents: that the one who’s loved will always be happy.]

The same brand, their most iconic couple’s bracelet.

The year Philip started his company, he’d taken Celeste to see this bracelet in the boutique. Back then, money was so tight she’d sold two ceramic pieces her mother had left her just to help Philip bridge the gap for some critical projects.

She couldn’t bear to see him burdened.

Once the business took off, though, he never brought up the bracelet again.

When the project money finally came in, she’d gone back for those ceramics, but they’d already been bought by a mysterious collector for an exorbitant sum-gone for good.

That night, Philip didn’t come home.

The next morning, as Celeste sat down to breakfast, another message from Viola appeared on her phone.

Chapter 3

This time, there were no words-just a photograph.

It was a picture of Philip, fast asleep.-

He was curled around Viola from behind, holding her tightly in his arms, both of them lost in deep slumber.

Viola wore a bashful, dreamy smile. Her lips were swollen, and the open collar of her nightgown revealed a trail of bruised kisses that disappeared down her neck and chest.

There was no need to guess what had happened last night.

In the five years they’d been together, Philip and Celeste had never crossed that final line.

When he couldn’t restrain himself in the early days, Philip would hold her close, his voice rough and pleading. “Celly, can’t you just grow up a little faster?”

But later, he never touched her that way again. He’d only comfort her, promising, “After we’re married, I’ll make you mine.”

She’d always thought it was tenderness. That it was love.

But isn’t desire just another side of love?

Celeste stared at the photo, tears streaming down her face as if someone had gouged a piece of her heart away, leaving nothing but raw, bleeding pain.

After lunch, she made her way to the neighboring villa.

She crossed the specially built skybridge, gazing down at the riot of blooms in the garden below-flowers everywhere, yet all she could feel was emptiness.

She and Philip had bought these two houses outright after closing a major deal together.

The deeds were in her name.

Philip used to say that everything he owned belonged to her. “What’s wrong with putting your name on it?” he’d ask with a smile.

He even had a private garden and skybridge built to connect the two homes.

“That way, if you ever get upset and want to run home to your family, you only have to go next door,” he’d tease. “As long as I can look up and see you, I’ll feel at ease.”

Now, even though she was right in front of him, day after day, he hadn’t truly looked at her in ages.

She keyed in the entry code and pushed open the door. The sprawling villa was unfurnished, designed instead as a gallery. In every display case was a piece of her mother’s life’s work-rare and beautiful ceramics.

Years ago, she had carefully placed each one inside, entrusting her past and her future to Philip.

Now, one by one, she would pack them up with her own hands, and take her future back.

Her fingers traced the custom glass doors of the display cabinets, pausing at the largest one.

Inside, the pieces weren’t beautiful-misshapen, uneven, each one unique.

Every year, on the anniversary of her mother’s death, Philip would take her to a pottery studio.

“Don’t be sad, Celly. I’ll help you make your mom’s favorite things. She’ll know how much you miss her. She’ll know you’ll be okay.”

Celeste hadn’t inherited her mother’s talent.

When she first started, she couldn’t even shape a lump of clay.

Back then, Philip wasn’t “Mr. Robertson” with his fancy suits and open wallet.

He’d stoop and plead with the studio owner, just so she could lose herself in the rhythm of working clay, letting her grief pour out of her fingertips.

Over time, she improved. But the time-and patience-Philip gave her grew less and less.

She opened the cabinet and took out the prettiest painted jar.

Their names were scrawled on it in childish, colorful letters, with a big red heart in the center.

She remembered Philip holding her hand as she wrote the words, kissing the tip of her ear, his voice low and teasing.

“Now your mom has given her approval. You can’t go back on it, okay?”

A bitter smile tugged at Celeste’s lips.

All the things she’d treasured-every perfect memory-had become a punchline.

Her grip loosened. The painted jar slipped from her hand, smashing against the floor with a sharp crack, shards flying across the polished wood.

Like rainbow-hued bubbles of memory, her happiness burst and vanished, carried away on the wind.

By the time she finished packing and loading everything into the car, it was nearly four in the afternoon.

She called the real estate agent, walked him through the place, signed every document, agreed on the price, and told him to put it on the market next Monday.

Chapter 4

Once everything was settled, she caught a cab out to the farmhouse on the outskirts of town.

“Are you really going back?”-

Her aunt, Pearl Duncan, looked at her with regret etched across her face.

“You and Philip used to be inseparable. I honestly thought the two of you would make it.”

Celeste didn’t answer. She lay back in the rocking chair and closed her eyes.

She could almost hear the faint jingle of Philip’s bike bell in her ears, followed by his bright, youthful call.

“Celly, we’re going to be late! I brought you a breakfast sandwich and some milk-hurry up!”

She forcibly pulled herself out of that memory and opened her eyes, glancing over at the middle-aged woman slicing fruit for her.

“Aunt Pearl, do you ever regret leaving our family for that man?”

Pearl’s hands froze for a moment, then she quietly went back to her task.

“I had your little brother.”

But did that mean she regretted it or not?

Celeste stared at her, searching for an answer that never came.

Back then, her father had forced Pearl into an arranged marriage. Pearl had run away with someone she loved, and the family had disowned her, erasing her from the family register.

When she was due to give birth, that man disappeared without a trace.

Now her younger brother was in college, and Pearl was still waiting for the man she’d given up everything for-a man who never came back.

So what did love really mean?

Pearl washed her hands clean and gently grasped Celeste’s wrist.

“If you’re only doing this because your father is pressuring you, you don’t have to-“

“It’s not that.” Celeste shook her head. “Philip’s cheating.”

Her voice was soft, but the words seemed to hang in the air of the quiet courtyard.

Pearl had nothing more to say.

Celeste reclined in the chair again.

“I won’t let my mother’s memorial be removed from the Duncan Chapel!”

She’d always known her father was selfish, but she hadn’t expected him to sink this low.

He’d actually agreed to that woman’s suggestion: since Celeste had been away for years, she should be disowned just like Pearl, and her mother’s memorial plaque should be removed from the Duncan Chapel as well.

Shameless.

As Celeste was leaving, Pearl handed her a small yellow charm bag.

“The one you asked me to get for you.”

Celeste only opened it once she was back in the car.

Inside was a slip of red paper, with a date written on it.

In the second year of her relationship with Philip, they’d promised to get married after she turned twenty-three.

Pearl was her only relative left in Silvercrest, so she’d asked Pearl to visit a chapel and pick a wedding date for her. To her surprise, the date written on the paper was next Monday.

The day she’d decided to leave Silvercrest for good.

The irony stung.

When she got back to the villa, the sound of a violin drifted from the living room.

Viola’s graceful silhouette was illuminated by the warm amber light, standing before the tall windows. Philip sat on the couch, legs crossed, listening intently.

Picture perfect-a devoted couple in their cozy haven.

Celeste walked straight in.

As soon as she appeared, Viola stopped playing and greeted her with a sweet, gentle smile.

“Celeste, this is a piece VIN composed just for me. Philip signed me up for an international competition, but I’m nervous. Could you listen and tell me what you think?”

Celeste looked at her porcelain-pale face.

At first, she, too, had been fooled by Viola’s delicate innocence, the way she clung to others like ivy.

She’d lent Viola her dresses, taught her to play violin.

She’d hidden her own talent and encouraged Viola to enter school competitions, cheering for her every success.

She hadn’t realized, back then, that what Viola wanted wasn’t just the accolades-but Philip as well.

Viola’s eyes dropped, and her voice turned timid. “Celeste, are you upset that I moved in?”

Celeste’s expression changed instantly. She shot a sharp look at Philip.

“She’s moving in?”

Chapter 5

There was a flicker of something unnatural in Philip’s eyes.

“Celly, Viola’s apartment is being renovated. The fumes are too strong for her-it’s bad for her health, so…”

Celeste felt her heart clench painfully, sharper than she expected. She thought she was past caring. But the ache still spread through her chest, suffocating and relentless.

“Can’t she afford a hotel?”

Viola, eyes rimmed red, silently packed away her violin.

“Please, don’t fight over me. I’ll leave right now,” she whispered, voice trembling.

She scrambled for her luggage, bumping hard into the corner of the table. Her gasp turned into a soft, breathy moan as she clutched her chest, her breathing coming in short, delicate pants.

“Are you alright? Why are you so careless? Where does it hurt? Did you bring your medication?” Philip’s worry was palpable as he swept her up effortlessly and started carrying her upstairs.

There were only two bedrooms upstairs: one was Celeste’s, the other Philip’s.

“This is my house. I don’t agree to this!” Celeste stepped in front of them, blocking his way.

The air grew thick with tension. Philip’s face darkened.

“Celeste, Viola isn’t well right now. If you want to argue, pick a better time. And for the record, I bought this place. Don’t forget that.”

A glint of triumph flashed in Viola’s eyes as she weakly wrapped her arms around Philip’s neck, her lips nearly brushing his jaw as she spoke.

“Philip, put me down. Someone like me doesn’t deserve to stay in a place like this.”

With his pride stoked, Philip brushed past Celeste without a second thought. “If I say you belong, you belong.”

Celeste’s leg hit the stair rail, pain shooting up and draining all the color from her face. Philip softly comforted Viola, never so much as glancing back.

When he finally came downstairs, Celeste had vanished. She didn’t answer his calls, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered.

In Silvercrest, if she wasn’t here, she’d be at Pearl’s place on the outskirts of town. She’d sulk, but she’d always come back.

He was about to head upstairs when he noticed a small yellow charm bag dropped in the corner. Suddenly, he remembered Celeste mentioning her birthday-she’d talked about picking a wedding date. He picked up the charm, checked the date, and called his assistant to clear his schedule for the morning.

As he hung up, a stream of messages popped up: credit card charges-jewelry, clothes, handbags…

He sent a quick text.

[A million-dollar limit. Spend it all and come home. No staying out overnight.]

There was indulgence in the words, but also exhaustion.

Celeste had just signed for another purchase when she saw the message. Her heart felt hollow.

Since she was ten, Philip had always managed her life. With one simple “no,” she’d always obey. But the man who once promised to stay by her side forever was now carrying another woman into what was supposed to be their honeymoon suite.

No staying out overnight? This time, she didn’t want to listen.

She had no desire to keep shopping. Lugging her bags, Celeste checked into the most luxurious seven-star hotel in Silvercrest, booking the top-floor presidential suite.

She ordered the finest red wine and steak money could buy.

After a long, soothing bath, she stood at the floor-to-ceiling window with her wine, gazing out at the city’s glittering skyline.

She’d always thought she’d never leave Silvercrest. But life rarely goes as planned.

After her second glass, she pulled out her phone and typed a message.

[Tomorrow at ten, Hazelbrew Café. Bring the money. I’ll sign.]

The reply came almost instantly.

[It’s a deal!]

Nova International had been her and Philip’s joint creation. When the corporation was founded, Philip had given her ten percent of the initial shares. Like the townhouse they lived in, it was meant to be her security-something tying them together, so they’d never have to part.

She’d been overjoyed, but also felt guilty about his sacrifices. She’d set up the dividend account to go straight to the company’s finances. All these years, she’d never taken a cent-every penny went back into the business.

Chapter 6

If we’re really going our separate ways, then let’s make it a clean break-no more halfway measures.

Just before bed, Philip messaged again.

[I spoke to the hotel. They’ll keep your room until Monday. Don’t be angry, Celeste. I’ll come get you Monday… for the wedding registration.]

Celeste was rummaging through her suitcase for clothes when she realized her lucky charm was gone.

She stared at his message for a long time.

Philip had moved Viola into their house himself, yet here he was, calmly extending her hotel reservation and talking as if picking up a marriage license was just another errand.

What a joke.

What made him think she’d still be waiting to marry him after all this?

It was half past eleven when the pain woke her.

A searing, burning ache gnawed a hole right through her stomach.

Back when Philip was starting his business, she’d hustled through four business dinners in one day just to land a project, just to chase down an investor-anything that would help him prove himself in front of his disapproving family.

All she’d wanted was for Philip to have his moment, to finally make the Robertsons look at him with pride.

She ended up in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. It took half a year to recover. After that, Philip banned her from anything to do with the company and told her to settle into her role as the future Mrs. Robertson.

Now, dazed and dizzy from the pain, she fumbled open the

nightstand drawer, searching for her medication. Nothing.

Only then did she remember-this was a hotel room, not the home she’d shared with Philip.

No medicine here.

The pain came in relentless waves, curling her into a fetal position as cold sweat prickled across her pale forehead.

She told herself to tough it out, that the pain would ebb away soon. But after fifteen minutes, there wasn’t the slightest relief.

She couldn’t risk waiting any longer.

With trembling hands, she reached for her phone, about to dial 911.

That’s when Philip’s name flashed on the screen.

It’s easiest to cave when you’re weak and alone.

Staring at his number, her resolve crumbled. All the brave front she’d put up these past few days fell away in an instant, leaving her feeling small and helpless.

She answered the call, barely pressing the phone to her ear before his voice lashed out, tight with restrained anger.

“Celeste, do you really hate Viola that much? She’s your best friend.”

Each word pounded in her skull, emptying her mind.

Clutching her stomach, she answered through chattering teeth, her voice so faint it was almost a whisper.

“What happened to her?”

Anyone paying attention would have heard how wrong she sounded.

But Philip didn’t notice. Her question only fueled his anger.

“How can you even ask that? Celeste, when did you become like this?”

“You know Viola has asthma, and you still used all that disinfectant around the house. You even left scented candles in the bathroom. Do you realize she almost couldn’t breathe?”

Celéste bit her lip until she tasted blood.

She let out a bitter, silent laugh.

She’d used disinfectant to erase her own traces from the house.

She’d left those candles because Philip never slept well; the scent was supposed to help-something she’d gone to great lengths to find just for him.

“Philip, I’m not a mind reader. I didn’t know you’d move Viola in,” she managed.

The line went silent. She could hear his breathing, ragged and frustrated.

Another surge of pain hit, stealing what little strength she had left. She couldn’t hold back a stifled groan, and the phone slipped from her hand onto the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Philip’s voice snapped back to focus.

“Philip, my stomach hurts. Can you…” Her plea trailed off as he cut her off, his voice weary and impatient.

Chapter 7

“Just go grab some painkillers yourself, alright? Viola still hasn’t woken up, and I can’t leave her side. Celly, please behave. I’m exhausted. Don’t make this harder than it already is, okay?”

The call ended with a sharp click.

The relentless dial tone stabbed at Celeste’s eyes, hot and stinging.

She remembered the time she’d had a stomach ulcer, how after her surgery, Philip had held her in his arms and cried for what felt like hours.

He’d knelt by her bedside-this tall, broad-shouldered man suddenly looking as lost as a great big dog with nowhere to go. He’d buried his face in her neck, his voice rough with anguish.

“Celly, it hurts. Every minute you were in that operating room, it felt like my heart was being ripped to pieces. You have no idea-you’re everything to me!”

That same man, who once claimed she was his whole world, now told her not to make a fuss over her pain.

When hope finally died, disappointment just faded into numbness.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed through the pain long enough to dial emergency services.

By the time she was helped out of the ambulance, the agony had nearly knocked her out.

Somewhere through the blur, she heard a familiar voice.

“Viola, are you cold? Hold onto my neck, sweetheart.”

She managed to turn her head.

Through the rush of medics and the chaos of the ER, she caught a glimpse of Philip in a black shirt, tall and upright, striding quickly ahead.

Viola, wrapped in a gray blanket, had her arms thrown around his neck, nuzzling against his chin. She murmured something, and he bent to smile at her, gentle and adoring.

He looked at her as if nothing else in the world existed. Even with all the commotion, his eyes held only Viola.

Celeste watched him usher Viola into the car, watched the familiar black SUV speed away, leaving her in the dust..

On the cold exam table, her sweat-soaked shirt clung to her skin, the chill seeping straight to the bone.

She endured the treatment numbly, a gag-inducing tube forced down her throat, retching helplessly as tears streamed down her face.

It was nearly 1:30 in the morning before they wheeled her into a makeshift ward and hooked her up to an IV.

The nurse setting up the bed beside hers chatted idly with a colleague.

“Did you see that couple who came in through emergency just now?”

“No, but the guy was handsome.”

“Handsome is an understatement. That’s the CEO of The Robertson Group.”

“You’re kidding! The billionaire? I just saw him wiping her face and hands himself, spoiling her like a little kid. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“They say rich men are all heartless, but I guess he just hadn’t found the right one yet. The director even got dragged into it-they moved her straight to the VIP suite. She had an asthma attack and needed a ventilator, and poor Mr. Robertson’s eyes were all red from crying.”

“She was wearing pajamas-must be his fiancée.”

Celeste pulled her blanket tighter around herself, but she still couldn’t stop shivering.

The young nurse finished tidying up and came over to check her IV, offering a kind suggestion.

“Ma’am, you really should let your family know. With your condition, you’ll need someone at home to look after you.”

Celeste forced a weak smile.

“He’s busy. He doesn’t have time.”

The nurse said nothing more, quietly left, and in the hallway, Celeste heard someone sigh.

“Some people just get all the luck. One woman’s in for a second stomach surgery and no one’s here for her, while another has an asthma attack and suddenly every specialist in the hospital’s on call…”

Celeste slowly closed her eyes.

That night, her sleep was deep and dreamless.

When she woke up, daylight was already streaming through the window.

She remembered she had an appointment and hurried to check her phone.

There were over a dozen unread messages-all from Viola.

[Thank goodness for Miss Celeste’s sanitizer. Philip’s bed is so big and so soft.]

[Miss Celeste’s pajamas are a bit tight. You should eat more fruit-Philip loves it when he holds me and touches my chest.]

[It’s three in the morning, Miss Celeste. Bet you never thought I’d be the first one to sleep in Philip’s room, did you?]

Chapter 8

[Philip had made me a bowl of medicinal soup himself. He’d spent ages searching for the right recipe-a gesture so touching it almost hurt.]

The last message was a photo.

Philip’s boxers, tossed carelessly on the floor, tangled together with a wrinkled pair of pink women’s underwear.

She hated pink. She’d never buy anything in that color.

Just last night, after coming home from the hospital, the two of them had ended up in bed again.

Some things, it seemed, were simply impossible to resist.

A sharp ache stabbed at her heart once more.

Fighting back a wave of nausea, she took a screenshot and saved it.

Her stomach felt hollow and sour, but the pain had faded to numbness.

When she climbed out of bed, her legs couldn’t stop trembling.

She braced herself against the wall and made her way to the nurses’ station, insisting on signing the discharge papers.

She didn’t have the luxury of resting here.

No sooner had she settled into the back seat of a cab than Philip’s name flashed on her phone screen.

“Come out from the hotel now. I’m sending Chase to pick you up.”

The command in his voice was so matter-of-fact, as if no matter what happened, Celeste would always be waiting where he left her, ready to answer his summons.

Celeste slumped back against the seat, her face as pale as a ghost. “I’m not at the hotel.”

“You went out? Shopping again?” His tone turned slightly impatient. “Don’t bother with that today. Go home. You know Viola better than anyone-take care of her for a day. I don’t trust the housekeeper with her.”

Celeste almost laughed out loud.

Moments ago, she’d actually thought Philip was calling to send Chase to take her for a checkup at the hospital.

She’d actually thought he was worried about her health.

When she didn’t answer, Philip’s tone softened.

“Celly, I know you’re angry about how I acted last night, and about Viola moving in. I’ve explained it to you already. You two have always been close-don’t let my mistakes ruin that. Use this chance to talk things through, okay?”

Celeste stayed silent.

For the first time, she realized just how shameless Philip truly was.

“If Viola ended up in the hospital, you’re responsible too. Be good, listen to me.”

There it was again-“be good.”

She hung up on him.

His text came through almost immediately.

“The doctor said you should eat light meals. I tossed the scented candles, but check if there’s anything else around that needs to go.”

She wanted to ask him-did he even remember those careful doctor’s instructions he’d written down word for word after her surgery? Did any of it matter to him now?

But she knew the answer. It didn’t matter anymore.

She stopped by the mall near the café and bought a fresh outfit, then ducked into the restroom to put on some makeup, covering up the exhaustion on her face. Right on time, she arrived at the café for her meeting.

Steven Matthews was already waiting in a private booth.

His sharp, handsome features were as cold as the look in his eyes. “You’re really going to sell?”.

Celeste sank into the sofa across from him, her gaze icy and clear.

“Mr. Matthews, your ambition is none of my business. But I have one condition: you can’t attend the shareholders’ meeting next Monday. Wait one more week. If you agree, I’ll sign right now.”

Some bombs, she thought, were more fun if they exploded one after another-never all at once.

Steven drummed his fingers on the table.

“So, you and Philip finished?”

In Silvercrest’s business circles, everyone who’d ever dealt with Noval International knew that Celeste had loved Philip, loved him with everything she had.

Celeste slowly straightened, her eyes cold and fixed on the man in front of her.

“Mr. Matthews, the shares I’m selling are rightfully mine. I’m just taking back what belongs to me-nothing more, nothing less. But if you think you’ll get any Nova International secrets out of me, think again. I’ll walk away from this deal right now.”

Owning original shares didn’t mean she was gutting Nova International.

In the end, only the most capable would come out on top.

Steven didn’t press further. He took out the contract, signed his name, and wired the money.

Once she confirmed the payment had cleared, Celeste rose and walked out.

Chapter 9

Steven suddenly spoke up. “Miss Duncan, would you be interested in joining The Matthews Group? I could offer you-“

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before her rejection cut him off.

“No.”

Steven watched her slender figure as she turned away, something flickering in his eyes-a mix of admiration and an unexpected surge of emotion.

Another item checked off the to-do list.

Celeste spent half the day resting at the hotel before heading back to the townhouse.

The garden was in chaos.

Viola was parading around in Celeste’s clothes, draped in an expensive wool shawl. She looked every bit the lady of the house as she ordered the staff to rip out every last one of the flourishing flowers by the roots.

When Celeste stepped out of the car, Viola’s eyes flashed with smug satisfaction.

She hadn’t even gotten around to filming a taunting video, and yet Celeste was already back, unable to stay away.

Perfect.

Viola’s smile was wide and sweet as she greeted her.

“Celeste, what brings you back? Philip said you’d be staying at the hotel for a few days and told me to make myself at home.”

She covered her mouth and faked a few delicate coughs.

“It’s this weak body of mine-I simply can’t handle the scent of all that pollen. Poor Philip has been up late taking care of me. You don’t mind, do you, Celeste?”

Celeste’s gaze was icy as she took in the wilting flowers.

After she left Nova International, Philip, afraid she’d be bored, had remembered her love of gardening and had people search out rare and precious plants for her. A few of them were exceptionally delicate-she’d spent ages coaxing them to life.

When they finally bloomed, she’d snapped photos and sent them to

Philip, telling him she wanted to use them in her wedding bouquet.

Now, all that remained was a patch of ruined earth.

“Good job. Keep going,” she said coolly, then turned and climbed the stairs without another glance.

Viola’s smile faltered for a moment.

She’d been bracing herself for a furious outburst, but Celeste was unshakably calm.

Upstairs, Celeste stood in the bedroom she’d lived in for years, struggling with a hollow ache inside.

She and Philip had always slept in separate rooms, but everything in her space had come in pairs-two toothbrushes, two towels,

matching pajamas, paired pillows…

She found a large black trash bag and began tossing everything inside.

Five trips back and forth, and no one noticed her-every servant was busy in the garden.

On her last trip, Philip’s car pulled into the driveway. He strode through the front door, heading straight upstairs, never noticing her.

As she passed the bedroom, she heard Viola’s sobs through the door.

“Philip, maybe I should just move out… I’m so sorry about the flowers… *cough, cough*…”

“Silly girl, they’re only flowers. If she likes them, we’ll plant new ones next time. Your health matters more than anything. Don’t cry, look at you-teary-eyed like a little kitten.”

His voice was gentle and soothing, each word a knife twisting in Celeste’s chest.

Back in her own room, Celeste packed the last of her belongings into a suitcase.

Just as she closed it, the door opened.

“Celly, you-“

Philip’s eyes landed on the empty shelves. A wave of panic flickered across his face.

“Where’s all your stuff?”

Celeste turned to look at him, her lips curled in a faint, ambiguous smile.

“Out with the old, in with the new. Isn’t that how it works?”

Philip froze, sensing something was off, but unable to put his finger on it.

Still, he’d already promised they’d get their marriage license next week. Things would be different after that, wouldn’t they? Buying new things seemed normal enough.

And she had come home to take care of Viola like he’d asked, so she couldn’t be too upset about last night.

He pushed aside his unease and walked over, ruffling Celeste’s hair as he always did.

“I know you’re upset. Why don’t you do some shopping these next few days? Chase is already looking for a new place for Viola. She’ll be moving out by Monday. Once she’s gone, everything in my room will be brand new-everything you pick out. Sound good?”

Chapter 10

Celeste let out a long, silent sigh.

Her voice was unusually calm.

“Philip, after we’re married, are you still going to take care of Viola like this?”

Hearing her mention marriage for the first time, Philip’s heart settled. He bent down to meet her gaze, his dark eyes-capable of drowning you-softened by a subtle smile.

“No jealousy, and no tantrums. Be good.”

“All right.”

Celeste nodded.

She wouldn’t be jealous, nor would she make a scene-never again.

She hadn’t even made it back to her hotel when the phone rang unexpectedly. The call was from the old family estate: the patriarch wanted Philip to bring Celeste home for a family dinner.

Ever since Nova International had been founded, Philip’s status in the Robertson family had soared. His father, who once refused to acknowledge him, now played the part of the doting parent, always boasting to friends that Philip was his most accomplished son.

But every family gathering was a trap for Celeste, a banquet where she knew she wasn’t welcome. The Robertsons didn’t know who she really was-just assumed she was some unwanted orphan.

“Philip, I’m a little nervous. Do you think your grandfather and uncle and aunt won’t like me?” Viola sat in the passenger seat, cheeks flushed, glancing at Philip as he drove.

Philip never brought his assistant to these dinners. He didn’t answer, just glanced in the rearview mirror at Celeste, who insisted on sitting in the back. His lips pressed into a thin line.

Stubborn girl, still sulking. She’d flat-out refused to sit beside him up front. All because he was bringing Viola along to the family estate. Did she really expect them to leave Viola home alone? Besides, Viola was ill.

The atmosphere in the car was awkward. Viola, by contrast, acted as if nothing were wrong-occasionally turning to chat with Celeste, who didn’t respond. Whenever that happened, Viola would pout and complain to Philip instead.

Celeste couldn’t be bothered to watch their little drama. She simply closed her eyes to rest. The forty-minute drive passed in a blur-she even drifted off, and when they arrived, she was still groggy.

“If you didn’t want to come, you could’ve told me,” Philip scolded in a low voice as she stepped out, his gaze tinged with annoyance. “This is the Robertson family-don’t throw a fit here.”

Ever since she’d withdrawn from the public eye, Philip had rarely brought her to family functions. She’d always thought he did it to protect her, to spare her the ordeal of socializing. It had never occurred to her that maybe he was just embarrassed about her background.

“Mr. Philip, you’re back. And this is…?” The butler greeted them with practiced politeness, his eyes darting between Celeste and Viola, his expression unreadable.

“Hello, I’m Philip’s friend. Sorry to intrude,” Viola said sweetly, sliding her arm through Philip’s for good measure.

The butler nodded, understanding all too well. He shot Celeste a look of pity and motioned for them to follow.

“Mr. Robertson and your father are waiting for you in the study. Mrs. Robertson is in the parlor.”

Viola’s eyes shimmered with excitement as she gazed up at the grand old manor. Someday, she thought, all of this would be hers.

“Celeste, let’s go in-let’s not keep your grandfather and uncle and aunt waiting.” She tugged Philip along; all traces of her supposed nervousness vanished.

Celeste watched them walk ahead, arm in arm, and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to turn and leave. But there was still unfinished business, and this wasn’t the time to confront Philip. Besides, Abelard had always treated her kindly. He hadn’t been well lately, and she didn’t want to add to the strain with family drama.

Steeling herself, she entered the manor a few minutes late.

She’d barely reached the front hall when Mrs. Robertson’s icy laugh rang out.

“Philip, you really are something. It’s one thing to pick up a stray

orphan, but do you have to bring home every waif and stray you find? What do you think this is– a charity?”

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