Chapter 231 <fn88cf> ???? ????s? ???????s ?? find{n}ovel</fn88cf>
<b>Chapter </b><b>231 </b>
-HUNTER POV-
I didn’t sleep that night.
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2755 Vouchers
Celine was curled against me, her cheek pressed to my chest, her breath slow and even. She had fallen asleep right after we made love, her skin still warm, her body soft and boneless with exhaustion.
She looked at peace, almost weightless, like grief had not lived inside her for months.
And yet, I was wide awake, my eyes locked on the envelope sitting on the nightstand. That goddamn letter.
The one with the Paris art school’s crest printed in gold, mocking me with every flicker of moonlight that hit it.
I reached for it again, unfolding the paper for what had to be the hundredth time, tracing the neat ck words that confirmed her eptance. ‘Orientation in two weeks. Attendance required.’
Two weeks. That was all the time I had before she was gone…off to another country, to another life.
My throat burned with words I couldn’t voice.
Part of me wanted to tear the letter in half, call the school, buy them, and close their doors just so they’d never lure her away.
But then I nced at her sleeping face, the faint smile on her lips even in her dreams, and guilt gutted me.
She deserved this. God, she deserved everything she had ever been denied. And yet, all I could think was: ‘What if Paris steals her from me? What if she goes there and realizes she doesn’t need me?‘
I closed my eyes, pressing a hand over them, fighting the panic crawling up my chest. For years, I had been the man who controlled every oue, who bent the world until it gave me what I wanted.
But with her, I could not bend, could not demand. I had to trust. And trust was far harder than destroying empires.
Sunlight spilled across the kitchen as Celine hummed to herself, buttering Caesar’s toast while he made a mess with his juice. I sat at the counter, coffee in hand, watching her like I hadn’t spent half the night wrestling with myself.
Her robe slipped from one shoulder, baring soft skin. Her hair was messy, her eyes brighter than I had seen them in weeks. She was… glowing.
And all I could think was, she was glowing because of that letter.
“Do you really want to go all the way there?” The question left my mouth before I could stop it.
Her hand froze on the butter knife. Slowly, she turned to look at me, brows lifting. “All the <i>way </i>where?”
<b>8:27 </b><b>Thu</b><b>, </b><b>Oct </b><b>2 </b>
I tapped the envelope sitting by my cup. “France. Paris. That school,”
Her eyes softened, but her smile faltered. “Hunter…”
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I hated the way she said my name, like she already knew where this was going. Like she was preparing to
argue.
“I just don’t see why it has to be across the ocean,” I said, my voice sharper than intended. “There are schools here. Galleries here. Hell, I could open five of them tomorrow.”
“You mean ‘you‘ could,” she replied gently, wiping Caesar’s face with a napkin. “But this… this is me. It’s my dream. And I can’t live it if I’m only living under your shadow.”
The words cut deeper than I expected.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself not to snap. Caesar climbed off his chair and tugged her hand, asking about ying outside, and just like that the tension broke. Sheughed, letting him drag her toward the garden.
I sat there alone, coffee gone cold, the letter burning a hole in my chest.
At the office, I was useless.
Vincent leaned against my desk, tossing a stress ball up and down while I stared at the same spreadsheet for fifteen minutes. Finally, he groaned.
“Alright, out with it. You’ve been chewing on your lip like a guilty husband all day. Spill, Reid.”
I rubbed my temples. “Celine got into an art school in Paris.”
“Congrattions to her,” Vincent said dryly. “And condolences to you. What’s the problem?”
“She’d be gone for months. Maybe years. Away from me. Away from Caesar.”
Vincent arched a brow. “So you’re afraid she’ll find a tall, brooding Frenchman who paints with his shirt off and whispers poetry while serving her baguettes?”
I shot him a re. “Vincent.”
Heughed, dropping the stress ball onto my desk. “Rx, Reid. She loves you. You think after everything she would trade you for some starving artist who can’t even afford proper cologne?”
My hands clenched into fists. “You don’t get it. If I let her go, I risk losing her. If I hold her back, I lose her anyway.”
For once, Vincent’s smirk faded. He straightened, his voice low and serious. “Then you already know the answer. If you love her, you don’t cage her. You let her fly, because otherwise, one day she’ll look at you and see a prison instead of a husband.”
His words hit harder than any investor’s pitch ever could.
<b>8:27 </b><b>Thu</b><b>, </b><b>Oct </b><b>2 </b>
That evening, I came home early.
I found her on the balcony, sketchbook bnced on her knees, pencil smudges on her fingers. She looked <b>up </b>when I stepped outside, the wind tugging at her hair.
“Rough day?” she asked softly.
I sat beside her, the chair creaking under my weight. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I just watched her pencil trace lines, watched the way her brow furrowed in concentration.
Finally, I said, “I don’t want to lose you, Celine. Not to grief. Not to distance. Not to anything.” My throat tightened, but I forced the words out.
“But I know I’ll lose you faster if I stop you from chasing what you love.”
Her pencil stilled. Slowly, she set it aside and turned to me, her eyes wide and shimmering.
“You’re not going to lose me, Hunter,” she whispered. “Not to Paris, not to anything. I’ll alwayse back to you. To us.”
I swallowed, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. “You promise?”
She smiled, leaning in until her forehead pressed against mine. “I promise.”
I let out a shakyugh, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “Paris better know you’re Mrs. Reid. Because if some painter so much as looks at you…..”
She cut me off with augh, shoving my shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
“Obsessive,” I corrected, kissing the corner of her mouth. “There’s a difference.”
***
Just then, Caesar came barreling onto the balcony, his new nanny trailing after him, breathless. He was dragging a nket, shouting, “Papa! Mama! We’re building a fort!”
Celine burst intoughter. I stood, scooping him into my arms despite his squirming.
The nanny muttered apologies, but I waved her off.
The weight of him in my arms, Celine’sughter filling the air, the scent of pencil shavings and summer wind…..it all pressed into me like a trademark.
For years, I had chased power. Built empires. Crushed enemies. None of it mattered. This…her, Caesar, the chaos of our little family…this was everything.
And I would burn the whole damn world before I let it slip through my fingers.