Celine Rosenfield was the eldest daughter of Ben and Lauren Rosenfield—the real estate power couple behind HUB Inc., one of the city's most influential firms. To everyone around her, she was perfection personified: her father's intellect wrapped in her mother's beauty. The apple of her family's eye, adored, protected, and spoiled in equal measure.
From the time she could walk, her mother had her under careful instruction. Lauren Rosenfield believed that grace could be taught and elegance could be rehearsed. "A lady must never be careless," she would say, guiding Celine's hands during afternoon tea or correcting the way she crossed her ankles.
Under her mother's direction, Celine's childhood became a calendar of refinement—ballet, painting, etiquette, piano. Every lesson was meant to mold her into someone poised, soft-spoken, and admirable.
But Celine's spirit had other plans.
While her mother adored the quiet rhythm of waltzes, Celine loved the echo of drumbeats. She preferred chess over tea parties, racquetball over ballet, and spoke her mind even when it wasn't "ladylike." Her high-spirited energy often clashed with her mother's obsession with perfection. Yet beneath that defiance was a daughter who couldn't stand to see disappointment in her mother's eyes.
So she learned balance. To smile when corrected. To obey without erasing herself entirely.
At heart, she was kind and humble. Her little brother, Carl, brought out the best in her—protective, playful, and fiercely loyal. The two would sneak into their father's study late at night, pretending to read business reports or challenging each other to chess until they were caught and sent back to bed, giggling all the way.
Though she wasn't expected to inherit the family empire, Celine never felt overshadowed. She encouraged Carl wholeheartedly, coaching him quietly behind their parents' backs and offering insight that often surprised even him. She admired her father's intellect and aspired to her mother's grace, believing she could embody both—the sharp mind and the polished heart.
And then there was Dean Carter.
Dean had always been there. Their fathers—Ben Rosenfield and Roy Carter—had built their fortunes together and once made a pact that their families would unite through marriage. To everyone around them, that meant one thing: Celine and Dean were destined.
They grew up side by side—from shared summer camps to joint family holidays and business galas where adults whispered, "A perfect match."
Celine adored him from the start. To her, Dean was everything a girl could dream of: charming, thoughtful, confident. He'd shield her from teasing classmates, swat away insects, or catch a stray ball before it hit her. Every gesture made her heart flutter. He was her prince, and she his quiet admirer.
"Someday," people would tease, "you'll be Mrs. Carter." Celine would blush, secretly thrilled.
She believed what everyone said—that she was lucky, that they were meant to be, that no one could look better at each other's side.
And for a long time, Dean made her believe it too.
Until one afternoon, she overheard him telling his friends that he wanted to marry "a refined, dutiful girl—someone honorable and elegant."
The words struck her like a cold wave.
That wasn't her.
From that day forward, she began to change. She tucked away her fiery nature, silenced her opinions, and replaced them with gentle smiles and polite nods. Every day became a mission—to be perfect in his eyes.
When they entered high school, Dean finally confessed his feelings. Celine cried tears of joy—part relief, part disbelief. Even though their relationship was long expected, it still felt like a dream realized. Their families celebrated as though the pact made decades ago had finally begun to bloom.
Celine gave him everything. Her time, her loyalty, her trust—her firsts.
He became her world, and she, his constant supporter. She believed they were building their forever.
But slowly, the warmth began to fade.
As graduation approached and college loomed, Dean became distant. The sweet boy who once called her every night now answered with brief texts and practiced excuses. Rumors of him seeing other girls spread like wildfire.
Celine confronted him once, trembling, her eyes glossy with fear."Dean, is it true?"
He sighed, brushing it off. "You know me better than that, Celine. I've just been busy preparing for my entrance exams."
And she believed him. Because that's what loyal girlfriends do—trust the man they love.
But Sadie didn't.
"Celine, you have to open your eyes! He's a walking red flag!" Sadie's frustration spilled over one afternoon at their favorite café.
"Sadie, calm down," Celine countered. "He denied it. We talked about it."
"And you just believed him?"
"Yes—because he gave me his word!"Sadie leaned back, exasperated. "Fine. I just don't want you to get hurt."
Sadie had been her best friend since elementary school—bold, outspoken, and fiercely protective. She'd never liked Dean, calling him arrogant and insincere. But Celine refused to listen. Love made her deaf.
When it came time for college, Celine stayed close to home, enrolling in a prestigious local university, while Dean went abroad. Before he left, he promised he'd return to her—that he'd fulfill their families' vow.
She held onto that promise like a lifeline.
Distance didn't weaken her devotion; it made her work harder. She sent him care packages, called him on weekends, and wrote letters he rarely answered. His replies grew shorter—thank-you texts, quick updates, excuses about being too busy.
She convinced herself he was doing it for them.
On holidays, when Dean stayed abroad, she told herself he was focused. When his parents visited him instead of him coming home, she smiled politely, pretending not to be hurt.
Her mother would say, "Endure, Celine. Love requires patience." So she did.
She poured her energy into self-improvement—majoring in Social Science, minoring in Business, and enrolling in a finishing school to refine her manners. Every achievement, every skill, every class—she imagined it was preparing her for their future together.
She ranked among the top of her class, though she tried not to outshine others. The only secret rebellion she kept was her love for investing—quietly funding small businesses and helping Carl with financial decisions behind their mother's back. It was their secret bond, and it kept her from sinking into loneliness.
She told herself Dean would come back. That all her patience, all her quiet sacrifices, would be worth it.
But while she waited, dreaming of their reunion—Dean was busy making promises of his own.