The next morning, my alarm blared like a siren against the aching quiet of my apartment. Sunlight filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the mess I hadn't cleaned up the night before—heels discarded by the door, dress draped across the sofa, the velvet ring box half-open on the marble counter.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring blankly ahead, my body aching with exhaustion that went far beyond physical. The engagement party had been a masterclass in emotional detachment, a performance so polished it earned applause. But I hadn't slept. Not really. My mind had been stuck in a loop—replaying every fake smile, every calculated glance Blake threw my way, and the suffocating knowledge that none of this was ending anytime soon.
I eventually forced myself to shower and dress, settling on a black pantsuit that mirrored my mood: sharp, functional, and impenetrable.
Sarah was already waiting in the lobby when I stepped into the elevator.
"Morning," she said, handing me a coffee. She paused when she saw my face. "Well. You look like you strangled the sun."
"I feel like I swallowed a hurricane," I muttered, taking a grateful sip.
She followed me into the waiting car. "So… last night. Congratulations, by the way."
I gave her a deadpan look.
"Okay, fine," she said, raising her hands. "That was sarcasm. You looked like you were being held hostage by five tiers of frosting."
"Because I was."
Sarah tilted her head, studying me. "Still no real talk between you two?"
"None."
"And you're planning on letting it stay that way?"
"I don't need heart-to-hearts with Blake Aldridge to survive this arrangement."
She nodded slowly. "No. But you might need an outlet. Because pretending not to care while you're clearly imploding isn't exactly sustainable."
I glanced at her. "I'm not imploding."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm managing," I added.
We pulled up to the Cater Innovations building, the towering glass facade reflecting the morning sun. I exited the car, shoulders squared. This was my territory. My command post. If I couldn't control my personal life, I'd double down where I could.
Inside, the whispers had already started.
"Did you see the ring?"
"Her dress was incredible."
"Think they're actually in love, or is it all for show?"
I passed them with practiced indifference. Let them gossip. Let them speculate. It changed nothing.
Once in my office, I tossed my bag onto the chair and sat behind my desk. Sarah set my tablet on the surface and hesitated.
"Celine… can I ask something?"
I sighed. "You're going to anyway."
She smiled faintly. "Do you think any of this is going to break through that steel cage you've built around your heart?"
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't sure.
After she left, I tried to focus on the quarterly forecasts, but my mind kept drifting back to Evelyn Aldridge's words. Don't confuse silence with failure.
Was that what this was? Silence? Or a refusal to engage? A stalemate neither Blake nor I wanted to end?
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: You left your phone charger at the ballroom. I had it sent to your office.
No name, but I didn't need one.
Blake.
I deleted the message.
An hour later, a small white box was delivered to my desk. Inside—my charger, neatly wrapped in tissue paper. No note. No further message.
It was nothing.
But also, not nothing.
I hated that.
By late afternoon, I finally cracked. I grabbed my coat and told Sarah I was going for a walk. I didn't tell her where.
I found myself at my mother's garden, just outside the city limits, tucked behind the old family estate. A hidden sanctuary of roses, peonies, and creeping ivy, it was the only place where I still felt like her memory lingered.
I sank onto the stone bench beneath the willow tree and closed my eyes.
"What would you do, Mom?" I whispered.
You believed in love. You believed in people. You would've seen past the smugness and into the reasons Blake is the way he is.
But I'm not you.
I don't want to see through him. I want to fight him.
And yet, last night, when he stood beside me…
He didn't look like the enemy. He looked like someone just as lost.
I opened my eyes and stared at the garden.
No, I told myself. You don't get to soften. Not now. Not when everything's still fake.
I stood, brushing imaginary dust from my coat.
The war hadn't ended.
We were just in the quiet before the next move.
And I intended to play it flawlessly.
Because whatever fragile humanity Blake Aldridge wanted to show me, it wouldn't work.
I wouldn't let it.
This wasn't love. This wasn't compromise. It was survival.
And I was damn good at surviving.