By the time I reached the stairs, a single tear had slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. My mind flashed to years ago, to his friend who had tried the same trick, painting me as cruel and selfish. Back then, Damien hadn’t hesitated for even a second. He had defended me fiercely, even dragging out security footage to make sure his family would never misunderstand me. I had believed, naively, that he would always stand by my side. But now? He didn’t even pause. He simply believed her.
I dug my nails into my palm, desperate to stop the tears. I wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away, never look back. But Damien’s mother kept speaking softly, pleading for me to stay. She had been good to me since childhood. After my parents died, she had treated me like her own. How could I abandon her now?
I slipped away from the crowd, searching for a quiet corner, a small refuge where I could breathe, where I could gather what little composure I had left.
After the engagement broke, I noticed how terrified Mrs. Thompson was that Damien might run straight back to Ariana. She didn’t want that door to close completely between him and me, so she kept guiding him to my side during every moment of the banquet. Ariana, by contrast, was left sulking in the corner.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a drunk, entitled young man stumble over to her, pressing himself into her space. He wouldn’t leave, and the crowd around them pretended not to notice. Everyone had seen what had happened earlier, yet no one intervened. Ariana’s eyes grew red, her lip trembling as though she might cry.
Then, as if summoned by some unseen force, Damien appeared. His fist slammed into the man’s face with brutal precision. The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw.
“Damien! You wouldn’t let me touch Celeste before, and now you won’t let me touch her either?” the man shouted. “Celeste’s your fiancée, but who the hell am I to you?”
Damien’s gaze lingered on him for a long, tense moment before flicking to me. His jaw tightened, his voice low and deadly.
“She’s mine.”
The room went silent. My chest constricted.
Then, in a cruel twist that made my stomach turn, I watched him sweep Ariana into his arms and kiss her fiercely, loudly, as everyone watched. She clung to him as if she would collapse without him.
“If anyone dares bother Ariana again,” he said, his voice a dangerous growl, “I will never let them go.”
The room shifted around me. People who had defended me hours earlier now gathered around her, forming a protective circle as if she were a queen. My stomach lurched so violently I could barely breathe. I ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, pressing my hands over my mouth to stifle sobs, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable. My chest ached from crying so hard.
Finally, I sent Mrs. Thompson a text, apologizing, saying I wasn’t feeling well and would return another day to speak with her. I wiped my face, took a shaky breath, and opened the door.
I barely made it two steps before someone grabbed my wrist.
It was Xander, the same man Damien had just punched. His grin was cruel, his eyes dark and assessing.
“Honestly,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I’ve always liked you better than that Ariana. I only stayed away because Damien protected you like you were priceless. But now… he’s protecting someone else. If you want, I can take over.”
I recoiled, jerking my wrist free. “I don’t want you. And this is the Thompson manor. I’d think twice before doing anything reckless here.”
His expression darkened, anger from the earlier punch flaring. He lunged, shoving me against the wall, and then his lips crashed against mine.
I fought, hands trembling, clawing for the emergency phone on the wall. Miraculously, I hit it.
“Damien! Xander won’t leave me alone, come quick—”
But all I heard was his sneer over the line.
“Maddy was harassed by him, and now you too? Celeste, when did you start playing games like this?”
My throat tightened. “I didn’t! He really is—”
The line went dead.
Ice slid into my veins. Damien had hung up.
Xander’s grip tightened, dragging me toward the bathroom. Panic roared in my ears. I grabbed the nearest decoration from the wall and smashed it against him with all my strength.
He screamed in pain and loosened his hold. I bolted, stumbling into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it with shaking hands. My whole body shivered as I called Mrs. Thompson, begging her to send someone.
She arrived quickly. Her orders were sharp and immediate: servants dragged Xander out as he cursed and kicked, his rage fading with every step. I collapsed against the door, utterly drained.
Mrs. Thompson didn’t scold me. She didn’t question me. She simply directed the servants to help me upstairs to change. When the banquet ended, she insisted on sending me home herself.
At the car, she reached out, adjusting my hair like my mother used to. “Before you leave for Europe, come see me more often,” she whispered, eyes glistening but voice calm. “I’ll send your token later.”
I nodded, thanking her with every ounce of strength I had left, and slid into the car.
We were still some distance from my apartment when the driver’s phone rang. I hadn’t meant to listen, but Damien’s voice came through, sharp and urgent.
“Turn around immediately! Ariana has a stomachache. She needs to go to the hospital now.”
I turned toward the window, silent. It was always her. Always.
