-CELINE POV-


    (Three Weeks Later)


    5 vouchers


    The morning sunlight spilled across the kitchen tiles, bright and far too cheerful for the mood of the little boy sitting across from me.


    His arms were crossed tight across his chest, his cheeks puffed out in stubborn protest, and his lower lip was doing that wobble that always made me want tough and hug him at the same time.


    It was Caesar’s first day of kindergarten, and instead of bouncing with excitement the way I had pictured in my head, he looked like someone had just told him Christmas was canceled.


    I crouched down in front of him, brushing my fingers through his messy dark hair, trying to sweet–talk his gaze up to mine.


    “Aren’t you happy, Caesar?” I asked softly, my tone that patient sing–song I had learned was the only thing capable of disarming him when he was in one of these moods.


    “You will get to meet kids your age…like Tommy from down the street….and make new friends.” I added <i>a </i>smile for good measure.


    His little frown deepened. “But I want to stay home with you.”


    My heart melted instantly, traitorous thing that it was. As much as I wanted to scoop him up and say ‘Fine, no school, let’s just bake cookies all day and never leave each other’s side,’ I knew I could not.


    He needed to learn that the world was bigger than his father’s mansion and his mother’s arms. <fnb5d9> Find the newest release on find?novel</fnb5d9>


    I tilted my head, exaggerating a pout. “Oh, Caesar… that is so sweet. But if you stayed home, Mama would be sad.” I tapped my chest dramatically. “And you don’t want Mama to be sad, do you?”


    He hesitated, chewing his lip before giving me a reluctant shake of the head.


    “Good boy,” I whispered, pulling him into my arms for a long hug, breathing in the faint scent of his strawberry shampoo.


    He clung to me just as tightly, his small hands gripping the back of my sweater like he could anchor himself to me and never let go.


    One of the maids appeared at my side, handing me his tiny backpack and lunchbox. I took them, forcing my smile brighter, and jangled my car keys in my hand.


    Hunter had finally…finally…given in and let me drive again. I swear the man had aged ten years in the two weeks he spent giving me lessons.


    I sent two of his cars to the repair shop before he stopped looking at me like I was a ticking bomb behind the wheel.


    <b>12:30 </b><b>Sun</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>28 </b>


    5 vouchers


    To celebrate my victory, I had picked a sleek ck BMW for today, the kind of car that practically whispered confidence the second you slid into the seat.


    I ushered Caesar into the back, kissing his check before shutting the door. He giggled, his earlier pout cracking just slightly, and I grinned in triumph.


    I slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel as if it might vanish if I did not hold on tight enough. The new–leather smell wrapped around me, clean and sharp, grounding me.


    If anyone had told me a year ago that I would be here, driving my son to his first day of school, wearing a wedding band that marked me as Mrs. Hunter Reid…I would haveughed.


    Or cried. Maybe both.


    My gaze shed briefly to my stomach. A shadow passed through me, a pang I carried daily. The child I had lost.


    The pain of it was still there, but softer now, dulled by time and by Hunter’s relentless devotion. We hade far, and yet, I knew, there was still farther to go.


    The school gates were crowded, parents and children buzzing with first–day nerves. As soon as I stepped out with Caesar, the atmosphere shifted.


    I felt eyes on me, the quiet whispers, the quiet double takes. Being Hunter Reid’s wife had that effect. There was respect, yes, but also something else.


    Curiosity. Envy. And sometimes, barely hidden dislike.


    I kept my head high, Caesar’s hand in mine, smiling at him rather than anyone else.


    “Celine? Celine Brown?<b>” </b>


    I froze. Brown. The name tasted strange now, a reminder of a girl I no longer was.


    When I turned, I found myself staring at a vaguely familiar face: a woman in her thirties, wearing a teacher’s badge clipped to her blouse.


    Recognition hit a beatter. Lauren, a ssmate from high school.


    And because fate had a cruel sense of humor, another familiar face appeared behind her…. Tracy, another former ssmate, this one with a child tugging at her skirt.


    “Oh my God, it is you,” Tracy gushed, eyes darting instantly to the diamond on my finger. “Wow. Mrs. Reid,


    now.”


    I braced myself. I knew that tone.


    Within minutes, I was cornered into an invitation to join them for coffee at a nearby café once the kids were settled.


    828


    5 vouchers


    <b>12:30 </b><b>Sun</b><b>, </b>Sep 28


    Against my better judgment..and because part of me wanted to prove I was not the timid girl they remembered….d agreed.


    The cafe smelled of burnt espresso and sugar. I sipped at atte, already regretting this decision, while the two women leaned in with conspiratorial smiles.


    “So,” Lauren began, “we saw your sister Jesse the other day.”


    I stiffened but forced a casual shrug.


    “She said she hasn’t heard from you in months. That you have… cut off the family. And with your mother sick…cancer, poor thing…it seems cruel, you know?”


    Tracy nodded gravely, her eyes shining with false sympathy. “She said your husband doesn’t like her. That he’s keeping you from them.”


    Ah. There it was.


    I set my cup down slowly, folding my hands together. “You know,” I said, keeping my tone light, “it’s funny how people forget. Jesse made my life hell in high school. Constant ridicule, constant cruelty. And as for that woman? She’s not my mother. She made sure I knew that every single day I grew up under her roof. So forgive me if I don’t suddenly y the doting daughter now that karma finally caught up.”


    Their eyes widened, mouths opening and closing like fish. They were not expecting me to fight back. The old Celine would have stammered, apologized, shrunk into her chair.


    Not this one.


    I leaned back, smiling sweetly. “So no, I don’t feel guilty. Not for protecting my peace. Not for building a life away from people who never gave a damn about me. And if that makes me cruel?” I lifted my cup again. “So be <i>it</i>.”


    The silence that followed was delicious. They exchanged stunned nces, clearly at a loss.


    I stood, gathering my bag. “Thanks for the coffee. You both take care now.” And with that, I left them blinking after me, their mouths still half–open.


    When I got home, the guards at the gate handed me a parcel. I carried it inside, setting it on the console table. Before I could open it, my phone buzzed.


    Hunter.


    The second I answered, his deep voice washed over me like a balm. “How was Caesar’s first day?”


    I smiled, sinking onto the couch. “He staged a whole protest. Arms folded, pout in ce, the works. Told me


    he did not want to leave me.”


    Hunter’sugh rumbled through the line, low and warm. “That’s my boy.”


    “And how was your day, Mr. CEO?” I teased.


    “I hated it,” he admitted immediately. “Vincent’s dragging me through meetings. I miss you.”


    My chest tightened, a mixture of affection and longing. “We miss you too.”


    “Tell me everything when I get home,” I promised, and he reluctantly hung up, muttering something about Vincent ring at him.


    Alone again, I turned back to the parcel. Tearing it open, I unfolded the letter inside.


    My breath caught.


    ‘Congrattions. You have been epted into the école des Beaux–Arts in Paris. Orientation begins in two


    weeks.’


    France.


    Art school.


    A dream I had hidden under my worries and sadness is now close to being real.


    I sat down on the couch, holding the letter with shaking hands, feeling both excited and scared.


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