The headline flashed across my screen before I even processed the words.
“Lucas Rosenthal and Celeste Veyron spotted at elite auction—chemistry still undeniable after all these years.”
My chest constricted, the ache spreading like fire.
I froze, staring at my phone as though it had betrayed me. There they were—Lucas and Celeste, picture-perfect, glowing as if the world revolved around them. Their closeness, the way they smiled at each other—it was intimate, far too intimate.
Every photo showed the same thing: Celeste’s hand brushing his arm, his gaze lingering on her like she was his entire universe. They looked like a dream couple, the kind plastered on glossy magazine covers, exuding elegance and charm.
And yet, he had told me he was on a business trip.
This wasn’t business. This was a date.
My hands trembled as I scrolled through the article, each sentence sRosenthal than a blade. The writer gushed over their “spark,” their “unbreakable bond.” Every word sliced me open.
The phone slipped from my grip and landed on the couch. My vision blurred. My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. The betrayal I had been too afraid to acknowledge was no longer deniable—it was right there in front of me.
But then my hand instinctively went to my stomach.
The baby.
I closed my eyes, breathing slowly as I rested my palm over the small swell. This innocent life didn’t deserve my anguish. No matter how shattered I was, my child was a gift, a light. I had to be strong—not for me, but for us.
That’s why I went to the hospital.
The sterile scent didn’t calm me, but the doctor’s gentle voice did. As the ultrasound wand moved across my stomach, the rhythmic flicker of a heartbeat appeared on the screen.
“Everything looks perfect,” she said warmly. “You’re carrying a healthy baby.”
Tears filled my eyes, but this time they weren’t born of pain. Relief spread through me, washing away the heaviness, if only for a moment. For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than despair.
I felt hope.
Leaving the clinic, I knew what I needed to do next.
Rosenthal Enterprises.
The towering glass building that once felt like home now looked foreign, unwelcoming. Inside, the polished lobby hummed with activity. I clutched my resignation letter tightly as I approached a staff member.
“Is Mr. Rosenthal in his office?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, shifting uneasily. “But you can’t go in right now.”
“Why not? I’m his wife.”
Her hesitation was obvious. “He… has an important visitor. He asked not to be disturbed.”
Shock froze me. He hadn’t even mentioned he was back. “Visitor? Who?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t say.”
My jaw tightened, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “I am his wife,” I repeated firmly.
She only shook her head. “Mr. Rosenthal left strict instructions.”
I forced myself to stay composed. “Fine,” I clipped, before walking away.
But I didn’t leave.
Quietly, I made my way down the hall toward his office. The door was ajar. My pulse hammered as I paused—part of me screaming not to look, not to confirm what I already feared.
And yet I peeked inside.
The sight ripped the air from my lungs.
Lucas stood by his desk with Celeste in his arms. Their faces were too close. Then his lips touched hers.
My heart stopped. The world collapsed.
They kissed like no one else existed. His hand rested on her waist, her smile melted into him—it was intimate, tender, devastating.
I wanted to barge in, to scream, to tear apart the illusion they had built for themselves.
But instead, I pulled out my phone. My hands shook, but I snapped a photo—capturing Celeste’s smug smile mid-kiss, proof of everything.
Perfect.
I left my resignation letter neatly on his table and walked out. Back in my car, I stared at the image, the betrayal seared into my mind. Then I created a fake social media account and sent the photo directly to Julian—Celeste’s husband.
Back home, I packed everything Lucas had ever given me. Every piece of jewelry, every dress, every reminder of his lies. I carried the boxes downstairs, lit a fire, and tossed them in. Flames devoured them, smoke curling into the night.
That’s when Celeste appeared.
She kicked the burning boxes suddenly, scattering embers and charred photos. Sparks danced against her skin, but she only smiled.
My eyes widened. “Celeste, what the hell are you doing?”
She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Oops! My mistake. I slipped. I didn’t mean to.” Then she glanced at the burning photos. “Wait… are these pictures of you and Lucas? Why would you destroy them? Oh—I see. You finally realized you’re worthless to him.”
My brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
Her smile widened cruelly. “I’m just saying… you couldn’t even save your mother back then. She died, and you—useless as always—did nothing.”
The words ignited me. Without thinking, my hand flew.
The slap wasn’t even hard, but she stumbled straight into the fire.
