These days, it was rare to see Celine at home.
She buried herself in outreach programs, charity luncheons, social fundraisers, and meetings for her growing list of advocacies. She filled her hours, her minutes, her seconds—anything to keep her from pausing long enough to remember.
Because if she stopped…
She would remember Nathan showing up out of nowhere.
His soft, sincere apology.
His sad, tired smile before walking away.
She would remember how she acted—cold, prideful, distant—when all she wanted was to throw herself into his arms and tell him she missed him.
Why did she act that way?
Why didn't she run after him?
Why didn't he beg her to stay?
Her confusion drowned her thoughts, tangled her emotions. Their last encounter felt wrong—unfinished. Love stories were supposed to end with dramatic pleas and tearful reconciliation. But theirs ended with a polite apology and a quiet goodbye, as if they were strangers who had imagined falling in love.
Maybe his walking away was the last blow her damaged heart could take.
Maybe she was too numb to react any differently.
And now?
Now she was "back" with Dean.
A relationship of convenience.
A placeholder.
A hollow echo of what once was.
She didn't try. She didn't fight. She simply let things happen—like a speck of dust drifting wherever the wind decided.
The public loved her.
Flashy magazines featured her.
Event hosts invited her as a speaker.
Her name was everywhere.
She was no longer just the sweet-tempered, dutiful girl—she was influential, polished, and admired.
But none of it made her feel alive.
⸻
She had just wrapped up an interview for a major lifestyle show. After exchanging smiles and a cordial cheek kiss with the host, she walked toward Letty.
"What's next on our schedule?" Celine asked, removing her earrings with mechanical movements.
Letty checked her phone. "We have a fitting with the designer next, then a meeting with the event organizer. It's for the celebration party… for you and Sir Dean getting back together."
Celine nodded quietly. "Let's do the fitting. Move the organizer meeting to tomorrow."
Letty took note—but hesitated. "By the way, Miss… Sir Dean called. He asked if you could return his call."
Celine blinked slowly. The reminder rolled off her like water.
She didn't want to talk to him. Not now. Not after learning he was scammed—and worse, by his ex-fiancée. Karma stung beautifully sometimes.
She simply walked ahead, signaling Letty to follow.
When they reached the boutique, Celine froze for a moment.
Her mother and Dinah were already there.
Dinah immediately rushed toward her, overly excited. "Celine, my dear! We've been waiting—your mom and I couldn't help ourselves!"
Celine smiled politely… then walked right past Dinah as if she were invisible, going straight to Lauren.
She kissed her mother's cheek, and Lauren—ever composed—returned a small, understanding smile.
Inside the fitting room, dress after dress slipped over Celine's body like silk. Everything looked flawless on her. Her beauty breathed life into every fabric, turning simple designs into art.
In the background, Dinah's loud voice filled the room—dramatic praise, exaggerated reactions, endless commentary. Celine tuned it out completely.
She picked the dress her mom and Dinah favored—not because she cared, but because it was easier that way.
Before they could invite her to dinner, Celine excused herself and left.
⸻
Once home, she went straight to her room. Her mind was blank—she felt as though she were floating outside of herself.
Bubble bath, she whispered to no one.
She needed warmth. Comfort. Silence.
She filled the tub with steaming water and fragrant bubbles, poured herself a glass of wine, and slid in. The warm water hugged her skin, but her chest remained cold.
Her thoughts drifted—inevitably, painfully—to Nathan.
Why did he apologize?
Why did he seem… changed?
Did he leave already?
Was she right to let him go so easily?
She missed him so much it physically hurt. She yearned for him—his touch, his scent, his voice whispering her name. Her entire body remembered him, even if her pride pretended not to.
But fear always won.
Fear—and the belief that love only led to heartbreak.
So she settled. Settled for convenience, for what was safe, for what demanded nothing real.
⸻
The next day, Celine and Lauren met the event organizer for planning the "reconciliation party." A celebration of her and Dean. A circus of fakery.
And as if rehearsed, Dinah materialized—this time dragging Dean along.
Celine's stomach twisted.
Dean walked toward her with open arms, ready to embrace her. For a split second, disgust flared in her eyes. She moved away, refusing his touch. Dean swallowed the rejection, trying to act unfazed.
They all sat down—but the tension was unbearable.
Dinah's shrill voice.
Dean's forced laughter.
The organizer's tacky suggestions.
Lauren's quiet, composed expression.
The sound pressure built inside her ears.
Her pulse raced.
Her breaths shortened.
It felt like the walls were closing in.
Like she was sinking.
Like she was… drowning.
Then—
"STOP!"
The word burst out of her like a scream escaping a sinking ship.
All eyes turned to her.
"Stop," Celine repeated, voice trembling. "Please… stop all of this. I can't do it anymore. I don't want any part of it."
She backed away, tears threatening but her voice steadier.
"This isn't what I want. I'm done pretending. I'm done lying to myself. I'm not doing this anymore."
For once, the masks slipped.
For once, she chose herself.
She took a shaky breath.
"I love Nathan," she admitted softly, painfully. "He's the only person I want to be with. And if he doesn't want me back, then fine. I'll grow old alone before forcing myself into a life that will make me miserable."
Dinah froze.
Dean's face crumpled.
Lauren stood slowly.
"Celine," she called.
Dinah smirked—expecting Lauren to scold her daughter.
But Lauren walked straight to Celine, her eyes glassy with emotion. She cupped Celine's face gently.
"This," Lauren said proudly, "is what I've wanted to hear all along. You choosing for yourself. Not for me. Not for anyone. Go. Go ahead."
Celine's heart burst with relief. She kissed her mother and ran.
Dean panicked, chasing after her.
"Celine! Wait! You can't leave me—we talked about this!" he yelled, desperate. He knew deep down that if he let her go now, he would lose her forever.
He caught her arm and pulled her into a tight, frantic hug—a hug full of fear and denial.
"I'm sorry," he pleaded, voice cracking. "I'm sorry for hurting you. For not appreciating you. Please don't leave me. I don't care if my life is falling apart—as long as I have you, I'm fine. I swear I'll change. Please, Celine."
She looked at him—heartbroken, but clear.
"Dean," she whispered gently, "let me go."
He shook his head.
"What we had will always be good memories," she continued. "You'll always be my childhood friend… my first love. But you were right before."
Her eyes softened.
"I wasn't yours to keep. And you weren't mine."
Dean's hands fell away.
He knew it too.
He had known it for a long time.
Tears streamed down his face as Celine's silhouette faded into the distance—
the last piece of his past slipping away.