I had always believed Damien and I were destined for forever. From the moment we were born, we were promised to each other, inseparable, our lives entwined like threads in the same tapestry.

Then the fire happened.

He had gone into the stables when the flames erupted, the smoke thick and choking. He would have died there, trapped in the blaze, if not for her—Ariana, a servant girl. She dragged him out, coughing and half-conscious, her arms blackened with soot. From that moment, nothing remained the same.

His father had said, “If you want to marry Celeste, you must keep Ariana close until the favor is repaid.”

And Damien had agreed. He said it was for me, for us, for the future we were meant to share.

But there was more. A promise he made to her, strange and ridiculous at the time: if she ever felt unhappy, he would drop everything and rush to her side. I had laughed it off. How often could she be unhappy? I couldn’t have been more wrong. With Ariana, misery seemed endless.

The first sign came on my birthday. She looked at me with soft, almost sorrowful eyes. “I’ve never had a party like this,” she whispered.

And Damien? He turned to me.

“Celeste… please. Let her have this one,” he begged.

I froze. It was my birthday. Mine. And yet, I gave it up. Because he asked. Because I feared disappointing him.

Later, I cried, telling him, “Maybe we shouldn’t get married at all.”

Panic lit up his face. That night, the city blazed with fireworks, tens of millions spent just to stop me from walking away. On his knees, he whispered, “Everything I do, Celeste, it’s for us. So we can be together sooner. Don’t doubt me.”

I believed him. Always.

The second test came when Ariana visited our wedding home. She ran her fingers along the walls, eyes wide. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

And Damien gave it to her. Just like that. Later that night, he pulled me close. “I’ll find you another one, Celeste. Bigger, better. Just give me a little more time.”

So I waited. And waited. I watched as our home, our car, even the cats we had planned to raise together, were given away—piece by piece—to her. Every time, he promised something more, something better, would come to me.

By the ninety-ninth time, my heart had frayed. But I clung to hope. That day was meant to be the end. The favor was finally repaid. I sat outside the City Clerk’s Office, ready to finally marry him.

He didn’t show.

Instead, the news hit me: he had spent a fortune on a red diamond—a flawless gem meant to symbolize a once-in-a-lifetime gift. And he had given it to her. Ariana.

My chest went cold. My fingers trembled as I dialed his number.

“W-Damien… we’re not getting married,” I said.

He laughed. “Throwing a fit again, Celeste? Threatening me?” Then his voice dropped, low and teasing, the one he reserved for her. “Don’t worry, Celeste. I’ll come back to you once she’s repaid.”

Those words. Again. Always those same words. Five years of them, swallowed every single time.

This time, I didn’t cry. Didn’t plead. I simply hung up. Calmly.

He thought I was sulking. Sent someone with a bigger diamond, thinking it would fix everything. Thought I was jealous. Thought I would wait.

But he didn’t know. That was my final chance.

I called my aunt in France. “I’ve made my choice. I’ll accept the marriage we talked about last time.”

She cried on the other end, over and over thanking me. Relief and happiness in her voice.

I smiled faintly, phone pressed to my ear, though my heart felt like ashes.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t waiting.

Later, I sat on my bedroom floor, staring at everything Damien had ever given me. I reached for the music box he had ordered when we were children, the one I had once thought magical. Then the sweater he had clumsily knitted in middle school, his pride clear as he tugged it over my shoulders. The ring he had first proposed with, the symbol of our supposed future together.

Mixed among these were the things he had given me only because of Ariana—the diamonds, the shoes, the purses meant to soothe me after he had already given something precious of ours to her. I packed them all. Every single one.

By midnight, the boxes were ready. I told my assistant to deliver them straight to him. Then I grabbed the signet ring, the token of our two families’ bond, and drove to our wedding home.

The door code was the same: his birthday, then mine. My chest ached as I pressed the numbers, but I went inside.

The lock clicked, and he appeared, startled. “Celeste?” Relief and a small smile on his face. “You don’t like the diamond? I can get you another. And yesterday wasn’t the right date anyway—someone’s picking a new one for the certificate.”

I didn’t answer. I pointed at the boxes. “I came to return something.”

His smile faltered. His brows knitted in irritation.

Then I heard the light, careless footsteps. Ariana ran down from upstairs, barefoot, clinging to his waist as if she belonged there.

And my entire body froze.

My gaze fell on the shirt she wore, and my stomach twisted sharply. That shirt… the one I had bought for him on our first anniversary. Back then, I had nothing—only meager scraps of savings from skipping meals and pawning my mother’s necklace. When I handed it to him, he had broken down completely. He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead and swore I would never have to bleed for him again. He promised to shield me from every hardship life could throw my way. For years, he folded that shirt carefully, keeping it like a relic, too precious to ever be worn.

And now she wore it. Smiling. Leaning into him.

Her eyes found mine as if she had just noticed me standing there, then she pressed her cheek to his back, feigning shyness. “Why didn’t anyone tell me someone was here? Look at me—I must look ridiculous.”

Damien frowned, trying to free himself, but she only clung tighter. The pride in her gaze… it wasn’t even hidden.

I forced my eyes elsewhere. “I’m just here to return some things. When it’s convenient, please hand me back the token.”

I held out the signet ring. The symbol of everything I had thought would last.

He hesitated for a heartbeat, and I dared to think he might finally see me. But instead, he tightened his grip on her hand and sneered. “Do you really think I’m free right now?”

Breathing felt impossible. My fingers shook around the box, trying to stop myself from trembling. I had told myself I was ready to walk away—but seeing this, seeing them like this, cracked something deep inside me.

I remembered the first time we had fought over her. He had fallen to his knees, swearing that everything he did was to repay a debt, that it was only temporary, that the delay in our wedding was meant to bring us together sooner.

But her debt never ended. It grew and consumed everything I should have had with him.

Tonight, the last snowflake fell, and the avalanche finally broke free.

I could let go.

I placed the signet ring carefully on the table, forcing my hand not to shake. “Then when it’s convenient, have someone return it to me.”

I had planned to speak, to finally say the words—let’s end this—but then I saw her nails clutching at his shirt, clinging to him like she owned him. His body stiffened under her touch. My stomach twisted violently. I couldn’t stay another second. I turned and walked toward the door.

“Wait.”

His voice cut through the room like a knife. I froze.

“Are you really breaking off the engagement?” His tone was low, dark, threatening.

I tilted my head just enough for him to hear. “Yes.”

I caught the curve of his mocking lips. He stepped forward suddenly and kicked the boxes stacked against the wall. “If you’re ending this, why are you holding on to this junk?”

He stared at me, waiting for me to crumble, waiting for tears like before. But I didn’t.

“You’re right,” I said evenly. “No need to keep them. If they bother you, throw them out yourself.”

His fists clenched, knuckles cracking audibly. “I wouldn’t touch your things. Take them yourself. So you don’t have an excuse to come crawling back later.”

“Fine.”

Numb, I entered the bedroom and began gathering every fragment of myself from the space. This had been our wedding room. Every shelf, every drawer, every corner held the memories we had built together since childhood. Now I was erasing myself, piece by piece.

When my eyes landed on the red bedsheet—wrinkled, stained—my stomach lurched. I pressed my hand to my mouth, choking back bile. That sheet… evidence. Proof of what they had done, of his betrayal.

Tears threatened to fall, but I swallowed hard and forced myself to calm down.

From the living room, I could hear them—giggling, laughing like lovers who wanted me to feel every bit of it. They wanted me broken.

I kept my expression blank, kept folding, kept packing. When everything that was mine was gone, I closed the bedroom door gently.

Then his voice reached me again. “Celeste… remember when you promised to do something for me, unconditionally? That still counts, right?”

My heart stuttered. Memories flooded back: the summer after college exams, the swollen river, my reckless attempt to cross it. The current almost swept me away, and he had jumped in without hesitation, pulling me to safety with one arm while the other scraped against jagged rocks. Blood ran freely, yet he smiled, so I wouldn’t feel guilty.

I had promised then, tears in my eyes, to do anything he asked, one day, no questions asked.

Back then he had said, “All I want is for Celeste to be happy for the rest of her life.”

I had laughed, telling him to choose something for himself. He had only smiled. “As long as you’re with me, I don’t need anything else.”

And now… here he was. Softly kissing her forehead. “Maddie wants cherry cake from Sun Valley. Go get it.”

I stared at him, burning holes into him with my gaze, then whispered, “Alright.”

Even this favor—my last promise—was for her. Always for her.

And that was fine. That way, nothing remained between us.

When I stepped outside, New York had been swallowed by a storm. Snow fell thick and fast, clinging to my hair, my lashes, coating the streets in a treacherous white. I gritted my teeth, climbed into the car, and drove, even though I knew the roads were against me.

I’ve never been a confident driver, and the slick streets, coated with fresh snow, nearly threw me off more than once. Every block felt like a battle, every turn a gamble.

By the time I finally got the cherry cake, my legs were wobbly from slipping on the icy sidewalks countless times. My fingers were numb, the box barely in my grasp. I handed it to her.

She took a bite, scrunched her face, and spat it into a napkin.

“It’s freezing. It tastes awful!” she whined.

Damien didn’t respond. Without a word, he tossed the entire box into the trash, crouched down, and scooped her up into his arms. “Come on. I’ll take you somewhere warm to eat.”

I stayed frozen, holding myself together, until he glanced at me, irritation written all over his face. “Why are you just standing there? Get in the car.”

I had no strength left to argue. Sliding into the back seat, I pressed my head against the cold glass, shutting out everything around me.

The ride was torture. Ariana leaned against him, whispering into his ear, and he let her. Their laughter echoed in my skull, a dull thrum against the numbness in my limbs. I closed my eyes, willing myself to pretend this wasn’t happening.

Then, headlights blazed into my vision. A car from the opposite lane had spun on the ice, sliding straight toward us.

Damien didn’t hesitate. He swerved sharply, the world tilting sideways, and in the split second before impact, he threw himself over her, shielding her completely.

The crash slammed into me like thunder. Pain shot through my body, the world narrowing to one image: him. Him holding her. Protecting her.

My lips trembled, and everything went black.

---

When I woke, I was in a hospital bed. A stranger told me they had found me unconscious and brought me here. A week passed. Not once did Damien appear.

Every day, though, I saw her. Ariana. Her posts were sharp as knives, images of him at her bedside, holding her hand, feeding her soup.

“I didn’t expect that between life and death, he would choose me,” she wrote.

“He wanted to see you, but I said I had a headache, so he stayed.”

“Celeste, I’ll make sure I’m the only one in his heart.”

I blocked her. I blocked him too.

Before, I might have hoped we could part without hate, that some shard of what we once had could survive. But after this… no. I didn’t want to see him again. Not once, not ever.

The day after discharge, it was his mother’s birthday. I wanted to stay away, to cut every tie to the Thompsons. But she called relentlessly, begging me to come, even threatening that she wouldn’t celebrate if I didn’t.

She had always been good to me. After my parents died, she treated me like her own daughter. I couldn’t ignore her, especially since she was the only warmth left in that house. Besides, if I was ending this engagement, I needed to do it in front of her and his father. They deserved to hear it from me.

I agreed.

His mother loved grand celebrations. By the time I arrived, the house was alive with glittering lights and laughter, as if nothing had ever gone wrong.

And then I saw them.

Ariana holding Damien’s arm, steadying him, his voice sharp and cutting through the hum of the party.

She noticed me. Striding toward me, she tilted her head and smiled that cruel little smile.

“Look at you. Nearly got yourself killed just to protect me,” she mocked.

My stomach tightened. Before I could even move, her gaze locked on mine. “Damien’s mother is so on your side. You must feel very proud,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt.

I tried to pull away, but she clung to my arm, nails digging into my skin.

“She’s only on your side because of your mother,” she spat. “Your parents were short-lived, weren’t they? Gone. How long can that friendship last? Once I have Damien, do you think she’d ever go against her own son for you?”

Something inside me snapped. My parents—no one dared touch them. Before I realized it, my hand had struck her face. The sound of it cracked through the room.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and she stumbled back, sobbing into Damien’s arms.

“I only told her not to stay angry at you!” she cried. “But she said I shouldn’t care at all. That you mean nothing to her!”

Damien’s expression darkened. He looked at me like I was a stranger.

“Celeste. APOLOGIZE.”

I laughed bitterly. The man who once shielded me from everything now stood as her protector. I stared at them, then turned toward the door. I wanted no part in this twisted display.

But Damien’s hand clamped onto my wrist, hard enough to make me wince. The pain in my bones was nothing compared to the ache in my chest, seeing him believe her.

I lifted my eyes to him, steady and unflinching. “I hit her because she insulted my parents. And as for you… she’s right. Someone who chooses her over me without even asking the truth is nothing to me.”

One by one, I pried his fingers off, refusing to be trapped, and finally walked away.