Blushwood Health
Chapter 6
Since Celeste moved in, Marissa had watched a completely different side of Declan unfold.
He knew Celeste couldn’t stand bitter flavors and would quietly swap her drink for something sweeter whenever she wrinkled her nose.
When thunder rolled through the night, he’d show up at her door first, soothing her nerves like second nature.
And the study once forbidden territory to Marissa–was now open to Celeste, no questions asked.
That’s when it finally hit her.
This was what Declan looked like when he truly loved someone.
Marissa thought back to those years when Declan had spiraled–when he’d teetered on the edge, and only her presence could calm the storm. She’d actually taken comfort in that, once. Thought it
meant something. That maybe he was starting to care for her.
What a joke.
One afternoon, Marissa passed by the study and caught something out of the corner of her eye.
Celeste.
Standing at Declan’s desk.
Fiddling with something in her hands.
Marissa froze.
Through the narrow crack in the doorway, she saw exactly what it was.
The heirloom brooch.
The one Declan’s grandmother had left him on her deathbed. The only thing he ever treated like it
was irreplaceable.
The brooch swayed dangerously between Celeste’s fingers, slipping and catching, tipping and
tumbling.
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Marissa’s heart seized.
She rushed in and snatched it from Celeste’s hand. “What are you doing?! That’s Declan’s grandmother’s brooch. You can’t just-”
“What’s it to you?” Celeste snapped, snatching it back. Then, catching sight of Marissa’s panic, her lips twisted into a malicious smirk. “You care that much? Well then…”
She let go.
The brooch hit the floor with a sharp, sickening crack.
It broke clean in two.
Marissa’s heart all but stopped.
That brooch–Declan’s most treasured possession. His grandmother had handed it to him
personally before she passed. It was his family’s legacy.
“What happened?”
Declan’s voice rang from the doorway.
Marissa looked up, and there he was, expression dark and unreadable, his gaze locked on the
shattered brooch at their feet.
“It was her,” Celeste said quickly, voice soft and wounded. “I was just holding it, and she barged in
and tried to grab it-”
Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Marissa. How could you-”
“The study has cameras,” she said, voice trembling but firm. “You can check the footage. You’ll see exactly what happened.”
The air went still.
Celeste’s face twitched. For a moment, she looked like she might deny it again–but then her
expression shifted.
“Fine,” she huffed. “It was me. I dropped it, okay? I didn’t mean to. Relax. I’ll buy you another one.”
“A matching one.”
Declan’s anger… vanished.
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Just like that.
He stepped toward Celeste, took her hand gently. “Are you hurt?”
Marissa stood rooted in place, watching as Declan examined Celeste’s fingers with utmost care.
As if that was what really mattered.
No one–no one–knew what that brooch meant to him like Marissa did.
Three years ago, fresh out of surgery, Declan had gone ballistic when his mother lost track of it,
dragging his battered body through the snow for hours, shouting, furious, and utterly wrecked.
They’d fought, and he’d locked himself in his room, hurling anything within reach.
And she–Marissa–had searched the entire estate in the dead of night.
Her fingers went numb. Her skin cracked from the cold.
But at dawn, she found it. Half–buried under ice, just outside the east garden.
She remembered how he held it to his chest, breath shaking, eyes red.
And now?
Celeste smashed it in front of him–and he didn’t even flinch.
All he cared about was whether she’d scraped her hand.
Marissa let out a bitter laugh under her breath.
So that was how deep his love ran.
He loved Celeste so much that everything else–memories, heirlooms, even himself–came
second.
And she? Marissa had really believed that once he healed, once he could walk again, he’d marry her.
What a delusion.
How many nights had she sat by his bedside, watching him fight through physical therapy, whispering silently to herself that she’d stay with him for the rest of her life?
She’d even written it in her journal once-“When he stands up again, I’ll marry him.”
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She almost laughed at the memory now.
She wasn’t his miracle.
She was just the background noise in his survival story.
But at least now, she saw it clearly.
Love that isn’t cherished… doesn’t deserve to be given.
Not anymore.
