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.

By the time I reached the stairs, a single tear had slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. My mind flashed to years ago, to his friend who had tried the same trick, painting me as cruel and selfish. Back then, Damien hadn’t hesitated for even a second. He had defended me fiercely, even dragging out security footage to make sure his family would never misunderstand me. I had believed, naively, that he would always stand by my side. But now? He didn’t even pause. He simply believed her.

I dug my nails into my palm, desperate to stop the tears. I wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away, never look back. But Damien’s mother kept speaking softly, pleading for me to stay. She had been good to me since childhood. After my parents died, she had treated me like her own. How could I abandon her now?

I slipped away from the crowd, searching for a quiet corner, a small refuge where I could breathe, where I could gather what little composure I had left.

After the engagement broke, I noticed how terrified Mrs. Thompson was that Damien might run straight back to Ariana. She didn’t want that door to close completely between him and me, so she kept guiding him to my side during every moment of the banquet. Ariana, by contrast, was left sulking in the corner.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a drunk, entitled young man stumble over to her, pressing himself into her space. He wouldn’t leave, and the crowd around them pretended not to notice. Everyone had seen what had happened earlier, yet no one intervened. Ariana’s eyes grew red, her lip trembling as though she might cry.

Then, as if summoned by some unseen force, Damien appeared. His fist slammed into the man’s face with brutal precision. The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw.

“Damien! You wouldn’t let me touch Celeste before, and now you won’t let me touch her either?” the man shouted. “Celeste’s your fiancée, but who the hell am I to you?”

Damien’s gaze lingered on him for a long, tense moment before flicking to me. His jaw tightened, his voice low and deadly.

“She’s mine.”

The room went silent. My chest constricted.

Then, in a cruel twist that made my stomach turn, I watched him sweep Ariana into his arms and kiss her fiercely, loudly, as everyone watched. She clung to him as if she would collapse without him.

“If anyone dares bother Ariana again,” he said, his voice a dangerous growl, “I will never let them go.”

The room shifted around me. People who had defended me hours earlier now gathered around her, forming a protective circle as if she were a queen. My stomach lurched so violently I could barely breathe. I ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, pressing my hands over my mouth to stifle sobs, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. My chest ached from crying so hard.

Finally, I sent Mrs. Thompson a text, apologizing, saying I wasn’t feeling well and would return another day to speak with her. I wiped my face, took a shaky breath, and opened the door.

I barely made it two steps before someone grabbed my wrist.

It was Xander, the same man Damien had just punched. His grin was cruel, his eyes dark and assessing.

“Honestly,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I’ve always liked you better than that Ariana. I only stayed away because Damien protected you like you were priceless. But now… he’s protecting someone else. If you want, I can take over.”

I recoiled, jerking my wrist free. “I don’t want you. And this is the Thompson manor. I’d think twice before doing anything reckless here.”

His expression darkened, anger from the earlier punch flaring. He lunged, shoving me against the wall, and then his lips crashed against mine.

I fought, hands trembling, clawing for the emergency phone on the wall. Miraculously, I hit it.

“Damien! Xander won’t leave me alone, come quick—”

But all I heard was his sneer over the line.

“Maddy was harassed by him, and now you too? Celeste, when did you start playing games like this?”

My throat tightened. “I didn’t! He really is—”

The line went dead.

Ice slid into my veins. Damien had hung up.

Xander’s grip tightened, dragging me toward the bathroom. Panic roared in my ears. I grabbed the nearest decoration from the wall and smashed it against him with all my strength.

He screamed in pain and loosened his hold. I bolted, stumbling into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it with shaking hands. My whole body shivered as I called Mrs. Thompson, begging her to send someone.

She arrived quickly. Her orders were sharp and immediate: servants dragged Xander out as he cursed and kicked, his rage fading with every step. I collapsed against the door, utterly drained.

Mrs. Thompson didn’t scold me. She didn’t question me. She simply directed the servants to help me upstairs to change. When the banquet ended, she insisted on sending me home herself.

At the car, she reached out, adjusting my hair like my mother used to. “Before you leave for Europe, come see me more often,” she whispered, eyes glistening but voice calm. “I’ll send your token later.”

I nodded, thanking her with every ounce of strength I had left, and slid into the car.

We were still some distance from my apartment when the driver’s phone rang. I hadn’t meant to listen, but Damien’s voice came through, sharp and urgent.

“Turn around immediately! Ariana has a stomachache. She needs to go to the hospital now.”

I turned toward the window, silent. It was always her. Always.