Chapter 3
Celene’s POV…
What happened in the party only means one thing, I was discarded away like a fucking trash. I need to get out, finally letting myself free after years of being in hell. I used to believe that he cared about me. Now, I’m in front of their house, a house that used to feel like yours, and realizing you were always just a guest.
The front door swung open before I could knock. Vivian Carrington, Rhys’s mother, stood there in a satin robe and pearls like she was hosting a brunch for socialites instead of watching her son’s marriage burn. She didn’t even try to fake warmth. Just scanned me head to toe and sighed. “Didn’t think you’d show. Thought maybe you’d gotten the hint by now.”
“I’m just here for my things,” I said, voice flat.
“Of course.” She stepped aside like she was doing me a favor.
Arielle, Rhys’s sister, was lounging at the top of the stairs in one of Rhys’s old college hoodies, holding a mug she didn’t deserve. “Don’t forget the dresses,” she called down, grinning. “Though I doubt you’ll need them wherever you end up. Do baristas even wear gowns?”
I ignored her. Vivian didn’t. “At least now Rhys can choose someone who fits. Someone worthy of his name.”
I walked past them without blinking. My heels echoed across the marble like punctuation. Not rushing. Not stumbling. Just moving forward. Because if I stopped, I might actually feel all of it. Then I saw him. Rhys, leaning against the doorframe of the living room, arms crossed. No tie. No apology, just watching.
I stopped two feet from him. “Is it true?” I asked, voice low. “That you meant it. The public divorce. The new future. The girl in the red dress.”
He didn’t flinch. “You heard me say it.”
“I want to hear it now. From you. No stage. No cameras.”
His jaw twitched. “Yes, Celene. It’s true.”
My throat tightened, but I didn’t let it show. “Why her?”
He shrugged. “She makes sense.”
“She makes sense?” I echoed.
“She fits, okay? She fits the world I’m building. Her family. Her connections. The way she walks into a room and everyone already respects her.”
I swallowed hard. “And I don’t?”
Rhys didn’t look away. “You were… fine. But you were always trying too hard. Always watching, waiting, apologizing for taking up space.”
I blinked. “So you wanted someone born for the spotlight. Not someone who had to fight to be seen in it.”
He didn’t deny it. “You were exhausting to explain. And I got tired of pretending.” That one landed.
I nodded slowly. “And here I thought love was supposed to be patient.”
He shrugged. “I’m not interested in patience. I’m interested in power. Progress.”
“And peace?” I said bitterly. “Wasn’t I that once? ‘To my wife, my peace.’ Remember that?”
Rhys didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
I smiled bitterly. “I’ll give you the divorce papers tomorrow. If this will make you happy, I’ll let you go…”
I passed through him and went inside my room. My old room felt smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I just wasn’t shrinking anymore. The bed was made, but not mine. No lavender sheets, no books on the nightstand, no hint I’d ever been there.
I opened the closet. My dresses hung in dry cleaner bags, too pristine, like someone had already started erasing me politely. I packed slowly. No tears, just calculation. Then I found it. The drawer. The bracelet, the love notes, the anniversary perfume.
To my wife, my peace. I carried it all to the fireplace. One by one, I threw it in. The bracelet, the letter, the bottle he said smelled like me. The fire didn’t flicker, it devoured. Like it had been waiting, too.
I stood in the bathroom, stripped bare. No mascara, no ring, no more pretending.
“They think I’m broken?” I leaned closer to the mirror. My reflection didn’t flinch.
“They don’t know a damn thing.” And when I walked out of that house for the last time, I didn’t look back. Because you don’t grieve a place that never opened the door for you to begin with.
