After that night, I knew there was nothing left for me here. Nothing but emptiness and cold streets. No family, no ties, only this city that had turned its back on me. I had to sell everything before leaving.
My parents’ apartment. The wedding house Damien had bought for us. Both names on the deeds meant I couldn’t just walk away. I had to see him one last time.
I sent him a message. Silence. I waited, but time wasn’t on my side. I didn’t want to return to New York later just to settle this. So I opened his profile, hoping to find some clue where he was—but the moment I clicked, my heart dropped. I had been blocked.
The air seemed to vanish from my lungs. I thought about calling his mother, but she told me Damien hadn’t come home since that night.
Swallowing my pride, I messaged Ariana. “I need to speak to Damien. Tell him, please, and let me know.”
Her reply came instantly. An address.
It was the villa—our holiday home, the place we’d shared in secret, where no one else was ever allowed. Where I had kissed him for the first time. Where he’d whispered that this sanctuary would always be ours, untouchable.
And now she had been there too.
I told myself not to think, not to feel, and drove. The road wound through silent trees, but when I arrived, the silence was gone. Laughter echoed everywhere. Strangers filled the house that had once been ours alone.
I walked along the garden path, chest tight with dread. Then I saw them.
Ariana, half-kneeling, her lips brushing his cheek. “Thank you for letting me bring my friends here,” she said, honeyed and sweet.
He moved slightly to pull away, but then his eyes lifted—and they landed on me.
The trace of her kiss still lingered on his face. And all I could think of was that night, our first kiss right here in this villa. My awkward, clumsy little thank-you kiss. He’d smiled then, so warmly, and after that, he always asked for kisses whenever I made him happy. Every corner, every wall here had witnessed our love.
And now… they would see it end.
I waited until she finally stepped back, then took a careful step forward. My hands shook slightly as I held out the papers.
“You bought our wedding house,” I said quietly. “Since we’re done, it should go back to you. Take a look. If you don’t want it, I’ll buy it back at market price.”
Damien’s gaze sharpened. Cold. His knuckles cracked as he gripped the documents as though they were filthy. He stared at me for a long moment before speaking.
“Anything else?”
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. “I still have some things inside. I’d like to collect them this time.”
His expression darkened, as though I’d said something unforgivable.
Ariana’s hand flew to her lips in a fake gasp. “Oh, I thought all that stuff in there was junk. I moved everything to the storage room. Want me to take you?”
I nodded politely. “Thank you.”
She smiled, sweet and calculating, brushing her hand against Damien’s shoulder as if claiming him. She started to move, but he caught her wrist instantly.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
Her cheeks colored. She pouted. “Why are you so clingy?”
I lowered my eyes and walked ahead, pretending I hadn’t noticed anything.
The storage room was tiny—the smallest in the house. Cramped. Stale. Barely enough room for two.
Damien leaned against the doorway, eyes cold as ice, watching silently while I rifled through my belongings. The weight of his silence pressed on me.
Ariana crouched beside me, pretending to help, her perfume thick and suffocating in the confined space. Her voice was soft but cutting.
“You’ve found so many reasons to see him again. You really haven’t let go, have you? Fine, I’ll help.”
Before I could even react, she brushed against a shelf, and a box teetered, then toppled.
I barely had time to react.
Damien’s pupils narrowed. He lunged—but not toward me. He grabbed Ariana, pulling her up into his arms with a ferocity that left her stunned.
The box missed her by inches, but slammed into my shoulder. The impact sent me tumbling to the floor, pain flashing bright and blinding.
I crumpled there.
Damien frowned, just frowned. Then, without a glance my way, he cradled her as if she were glass, her arm scratched, and rushed her outside. I heard him call for a car, voice sharp with concern—but none of it was for me.
Pain spread through my body, and I could barely breathe. My vision blurred. Yet in the creeping darkness, a thought brought me a strange calm:
It’s good I don’t love him anymore.
If I don’t love him, I won’t cry when he chooses her over me.
If I don’t love him, I can finally stop waiting for someone who will never save me.
Ariana’s friends swarmed when they saw her tiny scratch. Damien hustled her to the car, to the hospital. No one glanced back.
I don’t know how long I lay there. Dawn found me. The maid discovered my crumpled form in the storage room, eyes wide in shock. She called for an ambulance immediately. She even called Damien.
“Mr. Damien,” I heard her say faintly through the phone. “Miss Celeste was badly hurt. She collapsed in the storage room. The ambulance is on its way. Do you want to see her?”
A pause. Then his voice—flat, indifferent, final.
“Why should I go? The ambulance is coming. It doesn’t concern me anymore.”
The maid tried again. He snapped, voice sharp. “Make sure she and her things are cleared out properly. I don’t want her cluttering my home.”
The line went dead.
