“Goodbye, Damien,” I said.
For a moment, he froze. His shoulders tensed, and he turned back toward me as if I were offering forgiveness. As if I were giving him hope. His hand brushed against my hair.
“Goodbye, Celeste. I’ll bring you flowers and cake tomorrow,” he murmured.
I stared at him, steady and unflinching, but he didn’t even bother to meet my gaze. He simply walked away, lighter on his feet, retreating straight to Ariana.
His mother watched him leave, then turned to me. The sigh she released spoke volumes, more than words ever could.
---
Damien never appeared in my hospital room, despite his promise. Instead, he sent some errand boy with a cake and a sunflower—which I hated because of my allergy.
I didn’t even look at them. I handed the items directly to the servant his mother had assigned to care for me and returned to packing my things.
Half an hour earlier, I had seen Ariana’s post online. She was flaunting herself again, claiming that Xander had discovered she was hospitalized and tried to bother her. Luckily, Damien had swooped in, playing hero.
She whined playfully about only having a tiny scratch and how Damien had exaggerated things, forcing her to stay in the hospital for a week. Then she giggled about how it gave Xander more chances to harass her. In the end, of course, she forgave him—because he had bought her favorite cake, apologized, and “saved” her.
Beneath her post was a photo of Damien on one knee, smiling as he opened a cake box for her.
I pressed “like.” Then I blocked them both.
The servant returned just as I zipped my bag. “Miss Celeste, everything is ready. The car is waiting downstairs. We can leave now.”
I nodded and followed silently.
When the elevator stopped on the eighth floor, the doors slid open. There, in front of me, I saw Ariana leaning in, brushing a kiss across Damien’s cheek. He stood by her hospital room door, a faint smile on his face.
I just watched. Felt nothing. No anger, no sorrow. Nothing at all.
---
A week later, I was scheduled to fly to Europe for my marriage. I had refused so many times, but Damien’s mother wouldn’t listen. She insisted on a farewell party, even preparing a dress and jewelry for me. I had no choice but to stay a bit longer, planning to head to the airport immediately after.
That night, everyone from my childhood showed up. Everyone—except Damien.
During the party, someone leaned in, whispering with a sly smirk, “I thought you two were really done. You said the engagement was over, and he’s been showing that servant woman all over town. Yet… here you are, still connected. Must be fate, huh?”
I frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
They blinked at me and then looked away, saying nothing further.
I stopped trying to make sense of it. I smiled instead, turning to the elders who had always cared for me and thanked them. I hugged my friends one by one, inviting them to my wedding in Europe if they could come.
“You’re marrying here? Will Damien even let that happen?” one asked.
I shook my head, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Not with him.”
They exchanged shocked glances, unable to ask more. To them, my life had always been tied to Damien. Everyone knew he would be my husband since childhood. He had made sure no one else came near me. If I wasn’t marrying him… who else could I possibly marry? I laughed bitterly.
The room grew awkward, but I didn’t care. I checked the time and excused myself, heading to say goodbye to his mother.
As I stepped out, I saw one of my friends on the phone. “Where are you? Why didn’t you come tonight? You know—Celeste—”
Damien’s voice cut in, calm but urgent. “She’s upset I didn’t show, right? Don’t tell her, but I’m on my way. I planned a surprise. Help me—bring her to the rooftop garden. I’ve got the ring. Don’t let her leave.” Then the line went dead.
My friend stared at the phone as if it had betrayed him. Who was telling the truth? Me, leaving to marry another? Or Damien, rushing to propose?
I didn’t wait for his answer. I had already changed and directed the servants to load my luggage. He spotted me and ran over.
“Where are you going? Europe? Why so fast? Can’t you wait?”
I paused. He had grown up with me; maybe it was hard for him to accept. I forced a smile. “If I wait, I’ll miss my flight. Don’t worry—we’ll see each other again. Come to my wedding, okay?”
He grew frantic. “Are you really marrying someone else? Does Damien know? Shouldn’t you at least say goodbye to him?”
My chest tightened at the mention of his name. I shook my head softly. “No.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but I checked the time and cut him off gently. “I really have to go now.”
I slid into the car and shut the door. Slowly, the vehicle rolled out of the Thompson estate.
At that exact moment, another car passed ours. Through the glass, I caught a glimpse of Damien—holding a small ring box, eyes shining with anticipation.
I didn’t glance again.
He was probably imagining my surprise, picturing the perfect moment—our parents, childhood friends, everyone who mattered, and me, the girl he still thought he owned.
But I was already gone.
