From the age of ten, Celeste Duncan's heart had belonged to one man—Philip Robertson. Her youthful dreams, her first loves, even her visions of marriage—they all revolved around him. No matter how often he chose others over her, no matter how deeply he hurt her, she clung to the belief that one day, they would marry and live happily ever after. Until the night before their wedding, when she found Philip in their bridal suite—with another woman in his arms. That night, the illusions shattered. Celeste blocked Philip on every platform, cut all ties, and returned to a home she hadn’t seen in years. Then, in a whirlwind of defiance, she married Alfred Hopkins—a ruthless, heirless tycoon with a reputation as cold as his demeanor. What began as a marriage of convenience soon became her weapon: step by step, she reclaimed her mother's stolen legacy and humiliated everyone who had ever wronged her. Even when Philip fell to his knees, begging for forgiveness, she turned him away without a second glance. But when Alfred pinned her to the bed one night, his touch burning with possessiveness, Celeste made a shocking discovery: this marriage she'd thought was transactional, emotionless… had been fifteen years in the making. And Alfred? He'd been waiting far longer than she ever knew.

Chapter 1Celeste Duncan stood at the towering floor-to-ceiling window, draped in a silk robe, gazing out at the scattered city lights. After a long moment, she pulled out her phone and made a call."I agree to the engagement."A brief silence. Then, her father Herbert's voice came through, barely able to hide his delight."Cece, when are you coming home? I'll come pick you up."No one had called her by that childhood nickname in years. The sound of it made her eyes sting."Next Monday."She ended the call before he could say more.After her mother died, her father wasted no time bringing his mistress and her daughter into their home. Celeste loathed them, but she would never allow her mother's company to fall into their hands. She'd fought desperately for Philip Robertson before, maneuvering through every obstacle, but now she didn't see the point—she'd take back what was hers in the most direct way possible.Thinking of Philip sent a familiar ache through her chest.Eight-thirty that evening, Celeste set the dinner she'd carefully prepared onto the table.At that moment, a message came in from Philip.[Something came up at work. Don't wait for me.]She stared at her phone, feeling empty inside.Today was her twenty-third birthday—and the fifth anniversary of her relationship with Philip.Since six o'clock, she'd been calling, texting, hoping for a response. Each call went unanswered; every ten texts got a single, curt reply: [I'm busy.]Her chat with him looked like a one-person show.[I ordered tomahawk steaks…][I bought roses and lilies…][The wine is your favorite. I picked it up from the vineyard this afternoon.][I made scented candles, gardenia, just for tonight.]For thirteen years, Philip had never missed her birthday.She dialed his number again, unwilling to give up, but this time his phone was off.She glanced at the time his last message had come in, but before she could process it, a notification popped up—a social media update from one of her starred contacts."Mr. VIN's concert—been looking forward to this."The attached photo showed two arms pressed close together, a man and a woman.Under the dim lights, the man's diamond cufflinks gleamed—gardenia-shaped, custom-made, the only pair like them in all of Silvercrest.They were Philip's favorite design. She'd had them made for him.Celeste's hand trembled as she zoomed in on the photo, then out, then in again, her eyes burning until she could barely see. With a sudden gasp, she hurled her phone onto the table, fighting for breath like a fish out of water.She'd bought tickets the moment Mr. VIN's national tour was announced. She'd told Philip it was all she wanted for her birthday. He'd promised to go with her—then bailed at the last minute.Now, on her birthday, he'd gone with Viola Allen instead.Pain radiated through her chest, spreading until she could barely breathe. She pressed her palm to her face, no longer able to pretend or make excuses.When she was a sickly child, she'd moved from Asterwynn to Silvercrest at the age of ten for her health—that's when she met Philip.Because of him, she'd refused to return to Asterwynn, even after she'd grown strong.He was two years older, her protector and companion through middle school and college. On her eighteenth birthday, he'd confessed his feelings, brought her the most beautiful bouquet, and swore she'd be the only one he'd ever love.But when had everything started to change?Maybe it was the day she introduced Viola to Philip, her arm linked with the timid girl's.Viola had stood there in her too-clean white dress, fingers twisting together. "I'm one of Miss Duncan's scholarship students," she'd murmured to Philip, offering that fragile smile of hers - the kind that made you want to give her your coat even when it wasn't cold.Stubborn, like a lily blooming on the edge of a cliff, she'd so easily awakened Philip's instinct to protect.From then on, whenever Philip had to pick—Celeste or Viola—his choice was almost always the same.Nine times out of ten, it was Viola.Celeste hadn't taken it lying down, either. There had been arguments.Philip would always look at her with disappointment clouding his face, brow furrowed. "Viola's not in good health. She can't compare to you in anything, so stop picking on her."So being a little fragile meant Viola could shamelessly steal her boyfriend?Her phone buzzed repeatedly on the table.Celeste snatched it up right away.Three new messages flashed onto the screen.[Viola's violin skills really are world-class. Philip has already helped me get in touch with a teacher—after the concert, he'll take me to meet them.][Isn't it your birthday today? I pushed Philip to go home to you, but he was worried I wouldn't eat properly, so he insisted on staying with me. You called so many times, he got annoyed and turned off his phone.][This is the gift Philip gave me. Miss Celeste, do you think it matches my dress?]A gorgeous, multicolored diamond bracelet sparkled in the photo. The latest piece from a luxury brand—one that required pre-ordering weeks in advance just to get your hands on.Celeste remembered mentioning it to Philip when the ad campaign first launched.So he'd bought it all right—just not for her.Celeste calmly set her phone down, lit a candle, and celebrated her birthday alone. Every last bit of food went into the trash, including the cake she'd spent half a month learning how to bake from scratch.The only reason she was waiting until next week to leave was because, after thirteen years, her life and Philip's were hopelessly entangled. Emotionally. Practically. Cutting ties wouldn't be easy.She needed time.Half-asleep, she felt the mattress dip as someone sat beside her.A cool hand brushed her cheek, gently squeezing. Philip's familiar, deep voice was warm with the affection she'd heard a thousand times."Celly, I'm sorry I'm late. Here—your birthday present. See if you like it."The interruption dragged her from sleep. She frowned, blinking herself awake.He was wearing only a black shirt, jacket nowhere in sight. Soft lamplight carved his features into sharp relief, the hint of a tender smile making him look even more impossibly attractive. His eyes were deep enough to drown in.Celeste pushed herself upright and watched as he opened the box he'd brought.Inside, nestled against black velvet, was a multicolored diamond bracelet."You've always wanted this, haven't you? Let me put it on for you."Just as Philip reached for the bracelet, his phone rang.He tossed the box onto the bed and stood to answer it."What happened? You fell? Are you hurt? Don't cry, I'll be right there."He was so frantic, he didn't even spare a word for Celeste as he hurried out."Philip…"She called out, but the bedroom door shut firmly behind him.He didn't look back.A few minutes later, Viola's message arrived, right on schedule.[Did you put on the bracelet? Miss Celeste, you must accept it, okay? It took me ages to convince Philip to give it to you. He adores how thoughtful I am—after the concert, he insisted on buying me one as well.][I love what this bracelet represents: that the one who's loved will always be happy.]The same brand, their most iconic couple's bracelet.The year Philip started his company, he'd taken Celeste to see this bracelet in the boutique. Back then, money was so tight she'd sold two ceramic pieces her mother had left her just to help Philip bridge the gap for some critical projects.She couldn't bear to see him burdened.Once the business took off, though, he never brought up the bracelet again.When the project money finally came in, she'd gone back for those ceramics, but they'd already been bought by a mysterious collector for an exorbitant sum—gone for good.That night, Philip didn't come home.The next morning, as Celeste sat down to breakfast, another message from Viola appeared on her phone.This time, there were no words—just a photograph.It was a picture of Philip, fast asleep.He was curled around Viola from behind, holding her tightly in his arms, both of them lost in deep slumber.Viola wore a bashful, dreamy smile. Her lips were swollen, and the open collar of her nightgown revealed a trail of bruised kisses that disappeared down her neck and chest.There was no need to guess what had happened last night.In the five years they'd been together, Philip and Celeste had never crossed that final line.When he couldn't restrain himself in the early days, Philip would hold her close, his voice rough and pleading. "Celly, can't you just grow up a little faster?"But later, he never touched her that way again. He'd only comfort her, promising, "After we're married, I'll make you mine."She'd always thought it was tenderness. That it was love.But isn't desire just another side of love?Celeste stared at the photo, tears streaming down her face as if someone had gouged a piece of her heart away, leaving nothing but raw, bleeding pain.After lunch, she made her way to the neighboring villa.She crossed the specially built skybridge, gazing down at the riot of blooms in the garden below—flowers everywhere, yet all she could feel was emptiness.She and Philip had bought these two houses outright after closing a major deal together.The deeds were in her name.Philip used to say that everything he owned belonged to her. "What's wrong with putting your name on it?" he'd ask with a smile.He even had a private garden and skybridge built to connect the two homes."That way, if you ever get upset and want to run home to your family, you only have to go next door," he'd tease. "As long as I can look up and see you, I'll feel at ease."Now, even though she was right in front of him, day after day, he hadn't truly looked at her in ages.She keyed in the entry code and pushed open the door. The sprawling villa was unfurnished, designed instead as a gallery. In every display case was a piece of her mother's life's work—rare and beautiful ceramics.Years ago, she had carefully placed each one inside, entrusting her past and her future to Philip.Now, one by one, she would pack them up with her own hands, and take her future back.Her fingers traced the custom glass doors of the display cabinets, pausing at the largest one.Inside, the pieces weren't beautiful—misshapen, uneven, each one unique.Every year, on the anniversary of her mother's death, Philip would take her to a pottery studio."Don't be sad, Celly. I'll help you make your mom's favorite things. She'll know how much you miss her. She'll know you'll be okay."Celeste hadn't inherited her mother's talent.When she first started, she couldn't even shape a lump of clay.Back then, Philip wasn't "Mr. Robertson" with his fancy suits and open wallet.He'd stoop and plead with the studio owner, just so she could lose herself in the rhythm of working clay, letting her grief pour out her fingertips.Over time, she improved. But the time—and patience—Philip gave her grew less and less.She opened the cabinet and took out the prettiest painted jar.Their names were scrawled on it in childish, colorful letters, with a big red heart in the center.She remembered Philip holding her hand as she wrote the words, kissing the tip of her ear, his voice low and teasing."Now your mom has given her approval. You can't go back on it, okay?"A bitter smile tugged at Celeste's lips.All the things she'd treasured—every perfect memory—had become a punchline.Her grip loosened. The painted jar slipped from her hand, smashing against the floor with a sharp crack, shards flying across the polished wood.Like rainbow-hued bubbles of memory, her happiness burst and vanished, carried away on the wind....By the time she finished packing and loading everything into the car, it was nearly four in the afternoon.She called the real estate agent, walked him through the place, signed every document, agreed on the price, and told him to put it on the market next Monday.Chapter 2Celeste Duncan stood at the towering floor-to-ceiling window, draped in a silk robe, gazing out at the scattered city lights. After a long moment, she pulled out her phone and made a call."I agree to the engagement."A brief silence. Then, her father Herbert's voice came through, barely able to hide his delight."Cece, when are you coming home? I'll come pick you up."No one had called her by that childhood nickname in years. The sound of it made her eyes sting."Next Monday."She ended the call before he could say more.After her mother died, her father wasted no time bringing his mistress and her daughter into their home. Celeste loathed them, but she would never allow her mother's company to fall into their hands. She'd fought desperately for Philip Robertson before, maneuvering through every obstacle, but now she didn't see the point—she'd take back what was hers in the most direct way possible.Thinking of Philip sent a familiar ache through her chest.Eight-thirty that evening, Celeste set the dinner she'd carefully prepared onto the table.At that moment, a message came in from Philip.[Something came up at work. Don't wait for me.]She stared at her phone, feeling empty inside.Today was her twenty-third birthday—and the fifth anniversary of her relationship with Philip.Since six o'clock, she'd been calling, texting, hoping for a response. Each call went unanswered; every ten texts got a single, curt reply: [I'm busy.]Her chat with him looked like a one-person show.[I ordered tomahawk steaks…][I bought roses and lilies…][The wine is your favorite. I picked it up from the vineyard this afternoon.][I made scented candles, gardenia, just for tonight.]For thirteen years, Philip had never missed her birthday.She dialed his number again, unwilling to give up, but this time his phone was off.She glanced at the time his last message had come in, but before she could process it, a notification popped up—a social media update from one of her starred contacts."Mr. VIN's concert—been looking forward to this."The attached photo showed two arms pressed close together, a man and a woman.Under the dim lights, the man's diamond cufflinks gleamed—gardenia-shaped, custom-made, the only pair like them in all of Silvercrest.They were Philip's favorite design. She'd had them made for him.Celeste's hand trembled as she zoomed in on the photo, then out, then in again, her eyes burning until she could barely see. With a sudden gasp, she hurled her phone onto the table, fighting for breath like a fish out of water.She'd bought tickets the moment Mr. VIN's national tour was announced. She'd told Philip it was all she wanted for her birthday. He'd promised to go with her—then bailed at the last minute.Now, on her birthday, he'd gone with Viola Allen instead.Pain radiated through her chest, spreading until she could barely breathe. She pressed her palm to her face, no longer able to pretend or make excuses.When she was a sickly child, she'd moved from Asterwynn to Silvercrest at the age of ten for her health—that's when she met Philip.Because of him, she'd refused to return to Asterwynn, even after she'd grown strong.He was two years older, her protector and companion through middle school and college. On her eighteenth birthday, he'd confessed his feelings, brought her the most beautiful bouquet, and swore she'd be the only one he'd ever love.But when had everything started to change?Maybe it was the day she introduced Viola to Philip, her arm linked with the timid girl's.Viola had stood there in her too-clean white dress, fingers twisting together. "I'm one of Miss Duncan's scholarship students," she'd murmured to Philip, offering that fragile smile of hers - the kind that made you want to give her your coat even when it wasn't cold.Stubborn, like a lily blooming on the edge of a cliff, she'd so easily awakened Philip's instinct to protect.From then on, whenever Philip had to pick—Celeste or Viola—his choice was almost always the same.Nine times out of ten, it was Viola.Celeste hadn't taken it lying down, either. There had been arguments.Philip would always look at her with disappointment clouding his face, brow furrowed. "Viola's not in good health. She can't compare to you in anything, so stop picking on her."So being a little fragile meant Viola could shamelessly steal her boyfriend?Her phone buzzed repeatedly on the table.Celeste snatched it up right away.Three new messages flashed onto the screen.[Viola's violin skills really are world-class. Philip has already helped me get in touch with a teacher—after the concert, he'll take me to meet them.][Isn't it your birthday today? I pushed Philip to go home to you, but he was worried I wouldn't eat properly, so he insisted on staying with me. You called so many times, he got annoyed and turned off his phone.][This is the gift Philip gave me. Miss Celeste, do you think it matches my dress?]A gorgeous, multicolored diamond bracelet sparkled in the photo. The latest piece from a luxury brand—one that required pre-ordering weeks in advance just to get your hands on.Celeste remembered mentioning it to Philip when the ad campaign first launched.So he'd bought it all right—just not for her.Celeste calmly set her phone down, lit a candle, and celebrated her birthday alone. Every last bit of food went into the trash, including the cake she'd spent half a month learning how to bake from scratch.The only reason she was waiting until next week to leave was because, after thirteen years, her life and Philip's were hopelessly entangled. Emotionally. Practically. Cutting ties wouldn't be easy.She needed time.Half-asleep, she felt the mattress dip as someone sat beside her.A cool hand brushed her cheek, gently squeezing. Philip's familiar, deep voice was warm with the affection she'd heard a thousand times."Celly, I'm sorry I'm late. Here—your birthday present. See if you like it."The interruption dragged her from sleep. She frowned, blinking herself awake.He was wearing only a black shirt, jacket nowhere in sight. Soft lamplight carved his features into sharp relief, the hint of a tender smile making him look even more impossibly attractive. His eyes were deep enough to drown in.Celeste pushed herself upright and watched as he opened the box he'd brought.Inside, nestled against black velvet, was a multicolored diamond bracelet."You've always wanted this, haven't you? Let me put it on for you."Just as Philip reached for the bracelet, his phone rang.He tossed the box onto the bed and stood to answer it."What happened? You fell? Are you hurt? Don't cry, I'll be right there."He was so frantic, he didn't even spare a word for Celeste as he hurried out."Philip…"She called out, but the bedroom door shut firmly behind him.He didn't look back.A few minutes later, Viola's message arrived, right on schedule.[Did you put on the bracelet? Miss Celeste, you must accept it, okay? It took me ages to convince Philip to give it to you. He adores how thoughtful I am—after the concert, he insisted on buying me one as well.][I love what this bracelet represents: that the one who's loved will always be happy.]The same brand, their most iconic couple's bracelet.The year Philip started his company, he'd taken Celeste to see this bracelet in the boutique. Back then, money was so tight she'd sold two ceramic pieces her mother had left her just to help Philip bridge the gap for some critical projects.She couldn't bear to see him burdened.Once the business took off, though, he never brought up the bracelet again.When the project money finally came in, she'd gone back for those ceramics, but they'd already been bought by a mysterious collector for an exorbitant sum—gone for good.That night, Philip didn't come home.The next morning, as Celeste sat down to breakfast, another message from Viola appeared on her phone.This time, there were no words—just a photograph.It was a picture of Philip, fast asleep.He was curled around Viola from behind, holding her tightly in his arms, both of them lost in deep slumber.Viola wore a bashful, dreamy smile. Her lips were swollen, and the open collar of her nightgown revealed a trail of bruised kisses that disappeared down her neck and chest.There was no need to guess what had happened last night.In the five years they'd been together, Philip and Celeste had never crossed that final line.When he couldn't restrain himself in the early days, Philip would hold her close, his voice rough and pleading. "Celly, can't you just grow up a little faster?"But later, he never touched her that way again. He'd only comfort her, promising, "After we're married, I'll make you mine."She'd always thought it was tenderness. That it was love.But isn't desire just another side of love?Celeste stared at the photo, tears streaming down her face as if someone had gouged a piece of her heart away, leaving nothing but raw, bleeding pain.After lunch, she made her way to the neighboring villa.She crossed the specially built skybridge, gazing down at the riot of blooms in the garden below—flowers everywhere, yet all she could feel was emptiness.She and Philip had bought these two houses outright after closing a major deal together.The deeds were in her name.Philip used to say that everything he owned belonged to her. "What's wrong with putting your name on it?" he'd ask with a smile.He even had a private garden and skybridge built to connect the two homes."That way, if you ever get upset and want to run home to your family, you only have to go next door," he'd tease. "As long as I can look up and see you, I'll feel at ease."Now, even though she was right in front of him, day after day, he hadn't truly looked at her in ages.She keyed in the entry code and pushed open the door. The sprawling villa was unfurnished, designed instead as a gallery. In every display case was a piece of her mother's life's work—rare and beautiful ceramics.Years ago, she had carefully placed each one inside, entrusting her past and her future to Philip.Now, one by one, she would pack them up with her own hands, and take her future back.Her fingers traced the custom glass doors of the display cabinets, pausing at the largest one.Inside, the pieces weren't beautiful—misshapen, uneven, each one unique.Every year, on the anniversary of her mother's death, Philip would take her to a pottery studio."Don't be sad, Celly. I'll help you make your mom's favorite things. She'll know how much you miss her. She'll know you'll be okay."Celeste hadn't inherited her mother's talent.When she first started, she couldn't even shape a lump of clay.Back then, Philip wasn't "Mr. Robertson" with his fancy suits and open wallet.He'd stoop and plead with the studio owner, just so she could lose herself in the rhythm of working clay, letting her grief pour out her fingertips.Over time, she improved. But the time—and patience—Philip gave her grew less and less.She opened the cabinet and took out the prettiest painted jar.Their names were scrawled on it in childish, colorful letters, with a big red heart in the center.She remembered Philip holding her hand as she wrote the words, kissing the tip of her ear, his voice low and teasing."Now your mom has given her approval. You can't go back on it, okay?"A bitter smile tugged at Celeste's lips.All the things she'd treasured—every perfect memory—had become a punchline.Her grip loosened. The painted jar slipped from her hand, smashing against the floor with a sharp crack, shards flying across the polished wood.Like rainbow-hued bubbles of memory, her happiness burst and vanished, carried away on the wind....By the time she finished packing and loading everything into the car, it was nearly four in the afternoon.She called the real estate agent, walked him through the place, signed every document, agreed on the price, and told him to put it on the market next Monday.Chapter 3Celeste Duncan stood at the towering floor-to-ceiling window, draped in a silk robe, gazing out at the scattered city lights. After a long moment, she pulled out her phone and made a call."I agree to the engagement."A brief silence. Then, her father Herbert's voice came through, barely able to hide his delight."Cece, when are you coming home? I'll come pick you up."No one had called her by that childhood nickname in years. The sound of it made her eyes sting."Next Monday."She ended the call before he could say more.After her mother died, her father wasted no time bringing his mistress and her daughter into their home. Celeste loathed them, but she would never allow her mother's company to fall into their hands. She'd fought desperately for Philip Robertson before, maneuvering through every obstacle, but now she didn't see the point—she'd take back what was hers in the most direct way possible.Thinking of Philip sent a familiar ache through her chest.Eight-thirty that evening, Celeste set the dinner she'd carefully prepared onto the table.At that moment, a message came in from Philip.[Something came up at work. Don't wait for me.]She stared at her phone, feeling empty inside.Today was her twenty-third birthday—and the fifth anniversary of her relationship with Philip.Since six o'clock, she'd been calling, texting, hoping for a response. Each call went unanswered; every ten texts got a single, curt reply: [I'm busy.]Her chat with him looked like a one-person show.[I ordered tomahawk steaks…][I bought roses and lilies…][The wine is your favorite. I picked it up from the vineyard this afternoon.][I made scented candles, gardenia, just for tonight.]For thirteen years, Philip had never missed her birthday.She dialed his number again, unwilling to give up, but this time his phone was off.She glanced at the time his last message had come in, but before she could process it, a notification popped up—a social media update from one of her starred contacts."Mr. VIN's concert—been looking forward to this."The attached photo showed two arms pressed close together, a man and a woman.Under the dim lights, the man's diamond cufflinks gleamed—gardenia-shaped, custom-made, the only pair like them in all of Silvercrest.They were Philip's favorite design. She'd had them made for him.Celeste's hand trembled as she zoomed in on the photo, then out, then in again, her eyes burning until she could barely see. With a sudden gasp, she hurled her phone onto the table, fighting for breath like a fish out of water.She'd bought tickets the moment Mr. VIN's national tour was announced. She'd told Philip it was all she wanted for her birthday. He'd promised to go with her—then bailed at the last minute.Now, on her birthday, he'd gone with Viola Allen instead.Pain radiated through her chest, spreading until she could barely breathe. She pressed her palm to her face, no longer able to pretend or make excuses.When she was a sickly child, she'd moved from Asterwynn to Silvercrest at the age of ten for her health—that's when she met Philip.Because of him, she'd refused to return to Asterwynn, even after she'd grown strong.He was two years older, her protector and companion through middle school and college. On her eighteenth birthday, he'd confessed his feelings, brought her the most beautiful bouquet, and swore she'd be the only one he'd ever love.But when had everything started to change?Maybe it was the day she introduced Viola to Philip, her arm linked with the timid girl's.Viola had stood there in her too-clean white dress, fingers twisting together. "I'm one of Miss Duncan's scholarship students," she'd murmured to Philip, offering that fragile smile of hers - the kind that made you want to give her your coat even when it wasn't cold.Stubborn, like a lily blooming on the edge of a cliff, she'd so easily awakened Philip's instinct to protect.From then on, whenever Philip had to pick—Celeste or Viola—his choice was almost always the same.Nine times out of ten, it was Viola.Celeste hadn't taken it lying down, either. There had been arguments.Philip would always look at her with disappointment clouding his face, brow furrowed. "Viola's not in good health. She can't compare to you in anything, so stop picking on her."So being a little fragile meant Viola could shamelessly steal her boyfriend?Her phone buzzed repeatedly on the table.Celeste snatched it up right away.Three new messages flashed onto the screen.[Viola's violin skills really are world-class. Philip has already helped me get in touch with a teacher—after the concert, he'll take me to meet them.][Isn't it your birthday today? I pushed Philip to go home to you, but he was worried I wouldn't eat properly, so he insisted on staying with me. You called so many times, he got annoyed and turned off his phone.][This is the gift Philip gave me. Miss Celeste, do you think it matches my dress?]A gorgeous, multicolored diamond bracelet sparkled in the photo. The latest piece from a luxury brand—one that required pre-ordering weeks in advance just to get your hands on.Celeste remembered mentioning it to Philip when the ad campaign first launched.So he'd bought it all right—just not for her.Celeste calmly set her phone down, lit a candle, and celebrated her birthday alone. Every last bit of food went into the trash, including the cake she'd spent half a month learning how to bake from scratch.The only reason she was waiting until next week to leave was because, after thirteen years, her life and Philip's were hopelessly entangled. Emotionally. Practically. Cutting ties wouldn't be easy.She needed time.Half-asleep, she felt the mattress dip as someone sat beside her.A cool hand brushed her cheek, gently squeezing. Philip's familiar, deep voice was warm with the affection she'd heard a thousand times."Celly, I'm sorry I'm late. Here—your birthday present. See if you like it."The interruption dragged her from sleep. She frowned, blinking herself awake.He was wearing only a black shirt, jacket nowhere in sight. Soft lamplight carved his features into sharp relief, the hint of a tender smile making him look even more impossibly attractive. His eyes were deep enough to drown in.Celeste pushed herself upright and watched as he opened the box he'd brought.Inside, nestled against black velvet, was a multicolored diamond bracelet."You've always wanted this, haven't you? Let me put it on for you."Just as Philip reached for the bracelet, his phone rang.He tossed the box onto the bed and stood to answer it."What happened? You fell? Are you hurt? Don't cry, I'll be right there."He was so frantic, he didn't even spare a word for Celeste as he hurried out."Philip…"She called out, but the bedroom door shut firmly behind him.He didn't look back.A few minutes later, Viola's message arrived, right on schedule.[Did you put on the bracelet? Miss Celeste, you must accept it, okay? It took me ages to convince Philip to give it to you. He adores how thoughtful I am—after the concert, he insisted on buying me one as well.][I love what this bracelet represents: that the one who's loved will always be happy.]The same brand, their most iconic couple's bracelet.The year Philip started his company, he'd taken Celeste to see this bracelet in the boutique. Back then, money was so tight she'd sold two ceramic pieces her mother had left her just to help Philip bridge the gap for some critical projects.She couldn't bear to see him burdened.Once the business took off, though, he never brought up the bracelet again.When the project money finally came in, she'd gone back for those ceramics, but they'd already been bought by a mysterious collector for an exorbitant sum—gone for good.That night, Philip didn't come home.The next morning, as Celeste sat down to breakfast, another message from Viola appeared on her phone.This time, there were no words—just a photograph.It was a picture of Philip, fast asleep.He was curled around Viola from behind, holding her tightly in his arms, both of them lost in deep slumber.Viola wore a bashful, dreamy smile. Her lips were swollen, and the open collar of her nightgown revealed a trail of bruised kisses that disappeared down her neck and chest.There was no need to guess what had happened last night.In the five years they'd been together, Philip and Celeste had never crossed that final line.When he couldn't restrain himself in the early days, Philip would hold her close, his voice rough and pleading. "Celly, can't you just grow up a little faster?"But later, he never touched her that way again. He'd only comfort her, promising, "After we're married, I'll make you mine."She'd always thought it was tenderness. That it was love.But isn't desire just another side of love?Celeste stared at the photo, tears streaming down her face as if someone had gouged a piece of her heart away, leaving nothing but raw, bleeding pain.After lunch, she made her way to the neighboring villa.She crossed the specially built skybridge, gazing down at the riot of blooms in the garden below—flowers everywhere, yet all she could feel was emptiness.She and Philip had bought these two houses outright after closing a major deal together.The deeds were in her name.Philip used to say that everything he owned belonged to her. "What's wrong with putting your name on it?" he'd ask with a smile.He even had a private garden and skybridge built to connect the two homes."That way, if you ever get upset and want to run home to your family, you only have to go next door," he'd tease. "As long as I can look up and see you, I'll feel at ease."Now, even though she was right in front of him, day after day, he hadn't truly looked at her in ages.She keyed in the entry code and pushed open the door. The sprawling villa was unfurnished, designed instead as a gallery. In every display case was a piece of her mother's life's work—rare and beautiful ceramics.Years ago, she had carefully placed each one inside, entrusting her past and her future to Philip.Now, one by one, she would pack them up with her own hands, and take her future back.Her fingers traced the custom glass doors of the display cabinets, pausing at the largest one.Inside, the pieces weren't beautiful—misshapen, uneven, each one unique.Every year, on the anniversary of her mother's death, Philip would take her to a pottery studio."Don't be sad, Celly. I'll help you make your mom's favorite things. She'll know how much you miss her. She'll know you'll be okay."Celeste hadn't inherited her mother's talent.When she first started, she couldn't even shape a lump of clay.Back then, Philip wasn't "Mr. Robertson" with his fancy suits and open wallet.He'd stoop and plead with the studio owner, just so she could lose herself in the rhythm of working clay, letting her grief pour out her fingertips.Over time, she improved. But the time—and patience—Philip gave her grew less and less.She opened the cabinet and took out the prettiest painted jar.Their names were scrawled on it in childish, colorful letters, with a big red heart in the center.She remembered Philip holding her hand as she wrote the words, kissing the tip of her ear, his voice low and teasing."Now your mom has given her approval. You can't go back on it, okay?"A bitter smile tugged at Celeste's lips.All the things she'd treasured—every perfect memory—had become a punchline.Her grip loosened. The painted jar slipped from her hand, smashing against the floor with a sharp crack, shards flying across the polished wood.Like rainbow-hued bubbles of memory, her happiness burst and vanished, carried away on the wind....By the time she finished packing and loading everything into the car, it was nearly four in the afternoon.She called the real estate agent, walked him through the place, signed every document, agreed on the price, and told him to put it on the market next Monday.