Chapter 232 <fn3e2e> ?? ??? ???? ?? ???? ???? ???????s, ????s? ??s?? find·novel</fn3e2e>
-CELINE POV-
89
55 vouchers
The morning began soft, the kind of soft that always tricked me into thinking life could be normal. Hunter’s car was already purring in the driveway, his driver waiting, his phone buzzing endlessly from the backseat.
And yet, instead of leaving, he remained on the front steps like a sulking child refusing to <i>go </i>to school.
I walked him out, his hand heavy around my waist, his face far too sweet for a man who had destroyed empires with the twitch of a brow.
“You should not keep people waiting, Mr. Reid,” I teased, straightening thepel of his jacket as if he could not manage it himself.
He leaned down, brushing his lips against mine slowly, unhurriedly, until my knees softened. “What are you going to do with yourself all day, hm? Caesar’s at school. You will be lonely without me.”
I gave him a push, though my heart fluttered at how unwilling he was to leave. “I will paint. Then maybe go shopping. I need new things.”
“New things,” he repeated, his grin boyish. “Things to drive me insane when you wear them?”
“Exactly those.”
His mouth curved wickedly before he captured mine in another kiss, this one deep enough to make me momentarily forget he had a world waiting for him.
When he finally pulled away, he murmured against my lips, “Have fun, Mrs. Reid. But not too much.”
Byte morning, my hands were smudged with streaks of paint, the canvas in front of me bursting with colors I hadn’t dared to use before. For weeks, my strokes had been heavy, weighed with grief and memories I wanted to bury. But today felt different. My brush danced lighter. Shapes bloomed without struggle.
When I finally stepped back, my chest swelled with something I could not name. Maybe hope. Maybe fear. Maybe both.
After washing up, I sat at my desk, scrolling through listings for apartments in Paris. Sleek little ces tucked in cobblestone streets, tiny balconies overlooking gardens or the Seine. I imagined myself there…..alone, painting, studying, learning a city that wasn’t mine. Three months. Just three months, I reminded myself. But the thought of being away from Hunter and Caesar twisted at my stomach.
Excitement and dread warred inside me.
The French lessons I had been sneaking in were going well; my tutor swore my ent was improving. I had even caught Hunter eavesdropping once, his grin smug as he demanded a trantion every other sentence. But speaking in french, living in Paris, breathing Paris….. that was another story.
I shut theptop before the spiral swallowed me whole. Shopping. I decided. Shopping would quiet my head.
11:04 <b>Sun</b><b>, </b><b>Oct </b><b>5 </b>
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The mall was crowded butfortable. I tried on dresses, soft knits, shoes I didn’t need but told myself I did. Bags of glossy paper hung from my arms as I finally headed toward the exit–And then I froze.
“Celine.”
The voice was raspy, too familiar, too hated. When I turned, my breath caught.
Jesse.
My perfect sister. Except she wasn’t perfect anymore. She looked like hell…pale skin, hollow eyes, hair <b>limp </b>and unwashed. And her stomach… round. Pregnant. My chest tightened.
Before I could speak, a man with tattoos snaking down his arms appeared beside her, a stic bag dangling from his fist. His eyes raked over me with something between curiosity and disgust.
“She your sister?” he asked Jesse.
“She’s my bitch of a sister who abandoned her family,” Jesse snapped.
I rolled my eyes. “Still breathing. Still loud. And heavier thanst time. Congrattions. My voice was calm,ced with the kind of unconcern that made her flinch.
Her scoff was harsh. “Thanks to you and your shitty husband, my life became hell.
“Correction,” I said, walking past her, “your life is hell because of your own doing.” I thought that would be the end of it. But then her voiceshed out, striking me still.
“Mother’s dead.”
I stopped. Turned.
“What?”
“Cancer finally took her.” Jesse’s smile was bitter, her hand curling over her stomach. And then she turned, walking away with the tattooed man at her side, leaving me in the middle of the mall, surrounded by strangers and silence.
My throat closed. I walked numbly to my car, hands trembling as I gripped the wheel. ‘Dead.’ The woman I had once called mother. The woman I had chased for approval my entire life, even while she sliced me open with cruelty.
Gone.
***
That evening, after Caesar was asleep, the house felt huge. I curled on the couch with a ss of wine, the city glittering through the floor–to–ceiling windows. New York stretched endlessly before me, alive, pulsing, while my insides crumbled with memory.
The past came back in shes.
65 vouchers
‘High school. My junior year. The fight in the hallway with a girl who had cornered me for weeks. Her nails across my skin, my fists finally striking back. Blood. The school office. My mother’s sharp perfume fills the
room.‘
She had not looked at me. Not once. She had folded her arms and called me dramatic, attention–seeking. She hadforted the other girl, brushing her hair tenderly, as if she were the victim.
And my father? He’d sat beside her, lips pressed tight, eyes darting anywhere but me. He’d been too scared to defend me.
That night, I’d screamed, demanded to know why she hated me, why nothing I did was ever enough. Jesse had stayed on the couch, watching some movie, unmoved. My father pretended to read a book he’d read a hundred times, his quietness more damaging than any p.
“Attention,” my mother had spat. “That’s all you want. That’s why you fought. To steal pity you don’t deserve.”
Later, my father had slipped into my room, whispering apologies, flimsy excuses. But they hadn’t mattered. I had cried myself to sleep, hollowed by the realization that the woman who was supposed to love me never would.
******
The clink of my ss on the coffee table pulled me back.
“You’re drinking too much.”
I startled, head whipping to the doorway. Hunter leaned there, dressed in sweatpants and a tee, his hair mussed, his eyes sharper than they should’ve been after a long day.
I stretched a hand toward him wordlessly. He came, as he always did, sitting beside me and taking my hand
into his.
“When did you get home?”
“Half an hour ago,” he said quietly. “You didn’t hear me.”
“I was… distracted.”
His thumb traced over my knuckles. “Tell me.”
I hesitated, then whispered, “I saw Jesse today.” His expression soured instantly, but before he could speak, I added, “It was just a run–in. She looked awful. Pregnant. With some man covered in tattoos.”
His brow arched. “Pregnant?”
I nodded. “It was unexpected.”
“Are you worried for her? Or the baby?” he asked, his tone cautious.
“No.” My voice cracked. I shook my head.
<b>11:04 </b><b>Sun</b><b>, </b><b>Oct </b><b>5 </b>
“Then what’s wrong<b>?</b><b>” </b>
Z (89]
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I swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “Mother’s dead. Cancer took her.”
Hunter’s jaw clenched. He didn’t speak. Iughed, brittle, hollow. Taking another sip, I muttered, “I am Relieved. Sad. Happy. All at once. Does that make me a bad person?”
He plucked the ss from my hand, setting it aside. “No. It makes you human. Those feelings are normal.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “I needed her love so badly, Hunter. I was blind to her abuse because I kept hoping one day she would wake up and see me. Just… see me.”
He pulled me onto hisp, his hand warm at my waist, his gaze locking mine. My fingers threaded into his hair, clinging like I might drown without him. “Do you regret not visiting her in the hospital?” he asked softly.
I bit my lower lip, the answer heavy, shameful. Slowly, I shook my head. His hand slid to the back of my neck, firm, grounding. He pulled me closer, his voice low. “Then stop torturing yourself. You don’t owe her anything anymore.”
My chest cracked open. I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder. He smelled like soap and home. His lips found mine, gentle at first, then deeper, promising me he would hold every broken piece together.
For the first time that day, I let myself believe him.