As soon as the penthouse door clicked shut behind her, Celine exhaled, sharp, shaky, like she'd been holding her breath all day.
She didn't bother with the lights. The dim evening glow from the city spilled in through the massive windows, painting her sleek living room in shades of melancholy gold. Her heels were off before she even made it to the bar. One in the hallway. One halfway across the rug.
She yanked open the liquor cabinet, bypassing the wine. Tonight called for something stronger.
Aged whiskey. No glass.
She unscrewed the cap, tipped it to her lips, and let the burn sear her throat. Just enough to quiet the ache. Just enough to numb the thoughts screaming behind her calm mask.
The bottle thudded softly against the marble counter as she leaned on it with both hands, her reflection caught in the dark glass.
"Heartless," she whispered to herself, echoing Nolan's words. "No wonder no man stays."
The laughter that followed was hollow. Ugly.
She took another long swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before dragging herself to the couch. The city blinked at her through the glass. Cars, lights, lives that didn't involve court battles, greedy exes, or being publicly dissected for not fitting into a fairytale.
Her gown slipped off her shoulders as she curled into herself. Alone. Always alone.
And yet… her mind, traitorous and unwanted, brought back a flash of flour-dusted arms and a child's pout.
She scoffed and reached for the bottle again.
Love was a myth. But pain? Pain was real.
Celine was halfway through her third swig when her phone buzzed. She considered ignoring it, maybe even tossing it across the room. But the name flashing across the screen made her pause.
Iris.
Of course.
With a resigned sigh, she answered, already bracing herself.
"Iris," she said flatly.
"Well, well, the queen of failed marriages speaks." Her sister's voice oozed fake cheer, the sound of children giggling faintly in the background. "Tell me, how does it feel to be the only one spending Thanksgiving alone, again?"
Celine's jaw tensed. She glanced at the bottle in her hand. "What do you want?"
"Oh, come on. No need to sound so bitter. I just thought I'd check on my big sister. You know, the one our parents pretend doesn't exist unless the tabloids mention her."
Celine said nothing.
"Mom gave me the biggest piece of turkey, by the way. Said I deserved it. Something about staying married and giving her grandkids." Iris chuckled. "Must sting, huh?"
Celine closed her eyes, holding back the wave rising in her chest. "You called to brag or to say something useful?"
Iris paused, then sighed dramatically. "I called to remind you… you're not getting younger. Maybe next year, don't scare your husbands off. Or who knows, maybe try staying married for once."
That did it.
Celine stood from the couch, her voice like ice. "When you're done playing the perfect daughter and your husband stops pretending he's faithful, maybe then we can talk like adults."
She ended the call.
Silence returned.
But the pain didn't. It just curled deeper inside her, feeding on the emptiness.
She wasn't always like this, hardened, sarcastic, unreachable.
Celine once believed in love. In happiness. In forever.
Her first husband, Daniel, was her high school sweetheart. They were young, naïve, full of bright plans and reckless dreams. He wanted to become a doctor. She, a fashion designer. They talked about opening clinics and boutiques side by side, building an empire together with passion as its foundation.
Before he left for college, he slipped a modest silver ring on her finger under a sunset sky and promised to return for her. And he did. They got married before she turned twenty. It was rushed, impulsive, foolish, but it was theirs. Their love was the talk of the town. People envied her.
She thought she had it all.
Until she came home early one night from a design class, bouquet in hand, only to find him entangled with another woman in their marital bed. The sheets hadn't even cooled from the morning they'd made love.
Her world shattered in one breath.
That was the beginning.
Of the woman she became.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry, not at first.
Celine had just stood there, the bouquet slipping from her fingers like the last piece of her innocence. The room smelled like perfume that wasn't hers, the laughter between them still echoing in her ears, mocking her.
Daniel had the nerve to look startled. Then guilty. Then defensive.
"It didn't mean anything," he had said, as if that could stitch her heart back together. As if betrayal wasn't betrayal unless it came with intention.
That night, Celine learned something no fairytale had ever warned her about, love didn't always win. Sometimes, it walked out, dragging your trust behind it.
She filed for divorce two weeks later.
She buried her sketchbooks, her dreams, and the foolish girl who once believed in happily ever after.
From then on, every man after Daniel was a lesson. And with each marriage, she built walls, taller, colder, sharper.
Now, years later, seven failed marriages behind her, all people saw was the woman who walked away with money and nothing else. But none of them ever asked what she lost. What she gave. How much of herself she poured in before realizing some things don't bloom, no matter how much you water them.
Celine poured herself another drink.
She wasn't heartless.
She was just tired.
***
Celine lay curled under the heavy silk sheets, the weight of another sleepless night pressing down on her. Suddenly, the door creaked open and a familiar voice cut through the quiet.
"Celine, rise and shine. The empire won't run itself," Stacy said with a gentle but firm tone.
The assistant stepped inside, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the life Celine had fought to build. Stacy had been with her since those early days, when Celine was just a bright-eyed teenager with dreams bigger than the city skyline. She had seen Celine's raw talent before anyone else, believed in her when no one else did.
"Stacy," Celine murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion.
"Coffee's brewing, emails are piling, and there's an important customer coming in today, Chanel's top dealer. This meeting could change everything " Stacy added, moving closer, "I didn't come to ask, I came to drag you out."
There was a softness behind Stacy's usual straightforward manner, like she knew the battles Celine fought every morning to put on that mask. But today, the assistant wouldn't let her hide.
"Time to face the day, boss. The world's waiting."
She sat up slowly, the weight of the day settling on her shoulders. Stacy's words were a sharp reminder: the empire demanded her focus, no matter how heavy the past.
Celine stepped into the steaming shower, the hot water washing over her like a fleeting balm against the cold ache nestled deep in her chest. The warmth seeped into her skin, softening the tension clenched in her muscles, if only for a moment.
Minutes later, she emerged, wrapping herself in a plush robe that felt like a gentle embrace. Her eyes, still heavy with fatigue, sparked faintly with the embers of determination, quiet but unyielding.
Turning to her wardrobe, she reached for a pair of Hermes silk trousers, effortlessly chic, tailored to perfection with a subtle sheen that caught the light just right. She paired it with a sleek silk blouse, its clean lines and delicate drape balancing the luxurious texture of the trousers.
Next, she moved to her collection of bags, fingers grazing over the rich leather and fine craftsmanship until she selected a structured red leather bag, a statement piece that complemented the warmth of her fiery hair. The bag's clean silhouette and bold color didn't just accessorize; it announced her presence with confidence, blending power and elegance in a way only a true fashion mogul could command.
Dressed and ready, Celine was no longer just the woman weighed down by past wounds, she was poised to reclaim her narrative, one impeccable outfit at a time.