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.

The driver stole a glance at me in the rearview mirror, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. “Madam said Miss Celeste was upset earlier… She told me to bring you home first.”

I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. “Since when do you care about outsiders? Huh?”

Outsider. That word cut through me. My hands clenched the strap of my bag until my knuckles ached. That was who I had become—nothing more than an outsider.

I didn’t want to make things harder for him, so I told him to stop the car and let me out. He hesitated for only a heartbeat, then pulled over. The cold air hit me the second my feet touched the pavement, biting and harsh. Within moments, the taillights had vanished into the night.

I trudged along the empty street, scarf wound tightly around my face. The wine from the banquet still buzzed faintly in my system, and my thoughts wandered to memories I shouldn’t have revisited. Mrs. Thompson’s last birthday floated into my mind—everyone teasing us about wedding dresses and future children, all of it light, warm, and full of laughter. That day, I had been so happy that I drank too much and ended up doubled over with stomach pain.

It had been storming that night. No taxis. Damien couldn’t use the family car. But he didn’t care. He had carried me through icy streets all the way to the hospital, refusing to let me cry, refusing to let me suffer alone.

And now, a year later, that same Damien could leave me standing alone on the roadside for Ariana.

My nose stung. I tightened my scarf, keeping my steps slow and deliberate. By the time I reached my apartment, my muscles ached from the cold.

I was just about to unlock the door when a hand suddenly covered my eyes from behind. “Guess who?”

My heart jumped, but I forced myself to remain calm. Slowly, I pried his hand away, keeping my face unreadable.

It was Damien.

His frown deepened when he realized I wasn’t playing along. He lowered his hand awkwardly and pulled a small box from his pocket. “My mom said you left something behind,” he murmured, turning it over between his fingers. “I was told to bring it back. What is it?”

The box wobbled lightly in his grip, and my breath caught. That small container… it held the token of trust my mother had exchanged with the Thompsons before she died.

I lunged forward, snatching it from him before he could pry it open.

His eyes narrowed. “Celeste… are you hiding something from me?”

I could feel the sharp corners of the box digging into my palm. Once, Damien and I had promised never to keep secrets from each other. That was before Ariana. Before lies became effortless, before he learned how to bend the truth without a second thought.

I gripped the box tighter, the ache radiating into my chest. I looked up at him. “It’s not a secret. But there’s no reason I should tell you.”

We weren’t anything anymore.

I turned toward my door, wishing this night could end.

But he moved faster. Damien yanked my bag open and pulled the box back into his hands. “Really?” His voice dripped with mockery. “What is this? A gift from some outsider? Is that why you didn’t want me to see it?”

Something inside me shattered. I didn’t think. I reached for it, stretching onto my toes, desperate to reclaim it before he could open it.

He held my hand, steadying me. I knew he liked this, the way it reminded him of the past—when I had laughed, thrown myself into his arms, begged for what he had taken. He used to love that.

This time, I stared up at him, and he noticed. My eyes were red. His smile faltered.

“You cried… just because I wanted to see it?” he asked quietly.

I pressed my lips together. All I wanted was for him to hand it back. That was all. But before I could explain, his phone started ringing. Once. Twice. Over and over, relentless. I glanced down—the screen lit up with her name. Ariana.

Damien shifted, restless, visibly anxious. Finally, he muttered, “She keeps calling. I don’t know what’s wrong… maybe something happened. She’s alone. I should go—”

“Give me back my things, then leave,” I interrupted, voice steady.

His face darkened. I could see the words die in his throat. But the phone wouldn’t stop. Finally, he shoved the box into my hands, rough and careless. The lid popped open, and a yellowed piece of paper slid out, fluttering to the floor.

He glanced at it once, then turned and left without a word.

I bent down, picked it up, and saw what it was. Our marriage certificate, waiting for his signature. Without thinking, I tore it into pieces. The scraps fell into the trash along with whatever remained of us.

After that night, I knew there was nothing left for me here. Nothing but emptiness and cold streets. No family, no ties, only this city that had turned its back on me. I had to sell everything before leaving.

My parents’ apartment. The wedding house Damien had bought for us. Both names on the deeds meant I couldn’t just walk away. I had to see him one last time.

I sent him a message. Silence. I waited, but time wasn’t on my side. I didn’t want to return to New York later just to settle this. So I opened his profile, hoping to find some clue where he was—but the moment I clicked, my heart dropped. I had been blocked.

The air seemed to vanish from my lungs. I thought about calling his mother, but she told me Damien hadn’t come home since that night.

Swallowing my pride, I messaged Ariana. “I need to speak to Damien. Tell him, please, and let me know.”

Her reply came instantly. An address.

It was the villa—our holiday home, the place we’d shared in secret, where no one else was ever allowed. Where I had kissed him for the first time. Where he’d whispered that this sanctuary would always be ours, untouchable.

And now she had been there too.

I told myself not to think, not to feel, and drove. The road wound through silent trees, but when I arrived, the silence was gone. Laughter echoed everywhere. Strangers filled the house that had once been ours alone.

I walked along the garden path, chest tight with dread. Then I saw them.

Ariana, half-kneeling, her lips brushing his cheek. “Thank you for letting me bring my friends here,” she said, honeyed and sweet.

He moved slightly to pull away, but then his eyes lifted—and they landed on me.

The trace of her kiss still lingered on his face. And all I could think of was that night, our first kiss right here in this villa. My awkward, clumsy little thank-you kiss. He’d smiled then, so warmly, and after that, he always asked for kisses whenever I made him happy. Every corner, every wall here had witnessed our love.

And now… they would see it end.

I waited until she finally stepped back, then took a careful step forward. My hands shook slightly as I held out the papers.

“You bought our wedding house,” I said quietly. “Since we’re done, it should go back to you. Take a look. If you don’t want it, I’ll buy it back at market price.”

Damien’s gaze sharpened. Cold. His knuckles cracked as he gripped the documents as though they were filthy. He stared at me for a long moment before speaking.

“Anything else?”

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. “I still have some things inside. I’d like to collect them this time.”

His expression darkened, as though I’d said something unforgivable.

Ariana’s hand flew to her lips in a fake gasp. “Oh, I thought all that stuff in there was junk. I moved everything to the storage room. Want me to take you?”

I nodded politely. “Thank you.”

She smiled, sweet and calculating, brushing her hand against Damien’s shoulder as if claiming him. She started to move, but he caught her wrist instantly.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

Her cheeks colored. She pouted. “Why are you so clingy?”

I lowered my eyes and walked ahead, pretending I hadn’t noticed anything.

The storage room was tiny—the smallest in the house. Cramped. Stale. Barely enough room for two.

Damien leaned against the doorway, eyes cold as ice, watching silently while I rifled through my belongings. The weight of his silence pressed on me.

Ariana crouched beside me, pretending to help, her perfume thick and suffocating in the confined space. Her voice was soft but cutting.

“You’ve found so many reasons to see him again. You really haven’t let go, have you? Fine, I’ll help.”

Before I could even react, she brushed against a shelf, and a box teetered, then toppled.

I barely had time to react.

Damien’s pupils narrowed. He lunged—but not toward me. He grabbed Ariana, pulling her up into his arms with a ferocity that left her stunned.

The box missed her by inches, but slammed into my shoulder. The impact sent me tumbling to the floor, pain flashing bright and blinding.

I crumpled there.

Damien frowned, just frowned. Then, without a glance my way, he cradled her as if she were glass, her arm scratched, and rushed her outside. I heard him call for a car, voice sharp with concern—but none of it was for me.

Pain spread through my body, and I could barely breathe. My vision blurred. Yet in the creeping darkness, a thought brought me a strange calm:

It’s good I don’t love him anymore.

If I don’t love him, I won’t cry when he chooses her over me.

If I don’t love him, I can finally stop waiting for someone who will never save me.

Ariana’s friends swarmed when they saw her tiny scratch. Damien hustled her to the car, to the hospital. No one glanced back.

I don’t know how long I lay there. Dawn found me. The maid discovered my crumpled form in the storage room, eyes wide in shock. She called for an ambulance immediately. She even called Damien.

“Mr. Damien,” I heard her say faintly through the phone. “Miss Celeste was badly hurt. She collapsed in the storage room. The ambulance is on its way. Do you want to see her?”

A pause. Then his voice—flat, indifferent, final.

“Why should I go? The ambulance is coming. It doesn’t concern me anymore.”

The maid tried again. He snapped, voice sharp. “Make sure she and her things are cleared out properly. I don’t want her cluttering my home.”

The line went dead.