As soon as the penthouse door clicked shut behind her, Celine exhaled, like she'd been holding it in all day.
She didn't turn on the lights.
The city poured in through the glass walls, casting her living room in muted gold and shadow. Her heels came off mid-walk, one abandoned in the hallway, the other somewhere on the rug.
She went straight to the bar.
Wine wasn't enough tonight.
She grabbed the whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and took a long pull straight from the bottle. The burn hit hard, settling deep in her chest as she leaned against the counter, staring at her reflection in the dark glass.
"Heartless," she murmured.
A hollow laugh followed.
"No wonder no man stays."
Another drink.
The silence wrapped around her, thick and familiar.
Outside, the city moved on, cars, laughter, light. A world untouched by court threats, greedy ex-husbands, or headlines that never quite died.
Celine slid onto the couch, her gown slipping slightly off her shoulder as she curled into herself.
Alone.
Always.
And yet,
Her mind betrayed her.
A flash of flour-dusted arms.
A child's outraged voice.
She scoffed, reaching for the bottle again.
Love was a myth.
Pain wasn't.
Her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Annoyed, she glanced at the screen, then paused.
Iris.
Of course.
Celine answered, already uninterested. "What do you want?"
"Well, well," Iris, her younger sister voice came, sweet and sharp at the same time. "The queen of failed marriages finally picks up."
Celine said nothing.
In the background, laughter. Family noise. Everything she had cut off.
Everything she didn't have.
"Tell me," Iris continued, "how does it feel spending another holiday alone?"
Celine took a slow sip of whiskey. "If you called to mock me, you've done your job. Hang up."
"Oh, don't be like that. I'm just checking on my big sister. You know, the one our parents only remember when the tabloids do."
Silence.
"Mom gave me the biggest piece of turkey," Iris added casually. "Said I deserved it. For staying married. For giving her grandkids."
Celine's grip tightened slightly on the bottle.
"You done?" she asked.
A pause.
"Maybe next time, try keeping a husband."
That was enough.
Celine stood.
"When your husband stops pretending to be faithful," she said coldly, "call me. Then we'll talk."
She ended the call.
The silence returned.
Heavier this time.
Celine stared at nothing for a long moment, then let out a quiet breath.
She wasn't always like this.
Once, she had believed.
Her first husband, Daniel, had been everything. Young love. Promises. A future that felt certain.
Until one night,
She came home early.
And found him in their bed.
With someone else.
No explanation ever mattered after that.
She filed for divorce two weeks later.
And learned something no one had warned her about,
Love didn't always stay. Sometimes, it left first.
Celine took another drink.
She wasn't heartless.
She was just tired.
Morning came whether she wanted it or not.
The curtains were already drawn when her bedroom door opened.
"Celine, rise and shine. The empire won't run itself."
Stacy.
Celine groaned softly, turning slightly under the sheets.
"Coffee's ready," Stacy continued, stepping inside. "Emails are a disaster, and you have a high-profile client coming in today."
No response.
Stacy folded her arms.
"I didn't come to ask. I came to drag you out."
That earned a small, tired huff from Celine.
"Five minutes," she muttered.
"You said that yesterday."
"And I meant it yesterday."
Stacy smirked slightly. "Up. Now."
The shower helped.
Not much, but enough.
By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a robe, the fog in her head had thinned just slightly.
Work.
That, she could handle.
Her wardrobe slid open as she chose quickly, tailored silk trousers, a structured blouse. By the time she picked up her bag, the woman from last night was gone.
Replaced by the version the world knew.
Untouchable.
Her phone buzzed again just as she reached for the door.
Unknown number.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
She opened the message.
"Sign the papers, Celine. Or I start with your company."
A pause.
Then,
She smiled.
"Try me," she whispered.