After August left to handle work at his restaurant, the apartment felt quieter, almost too quiet. Celine sat on the couch, the blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders, the faint aroma of tea still lingering in the air. She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone on the coffee table.
Don't… don't go online, she reminded herself, thinking of August's words. Just focus on yourself. Just breathe.
But curiosity, that mix of worry and defiance, got the better of her. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she picked up the phone and unlocked it. Her thumb swiped to the notifications.
Her stomach dropped.
Gasping quietly, she scrolled through the messages and posts. The hateful comments she had hoped were gone were still there, and multiplying. People calling her a slut, a cheap whore. Demands for Chanel to cancel the collaboration. Screenshots of her private life, plastered across multiple accounts.
Her hands shook as she gripped the phone tighter, the warmth of the tea long gone, the room suddenly feeling smaller, heavier. How… how could they be so cruel?
A tight knot formed in her chest, her breath catching. She'd tried to stay strong, But reading the comments made the world outside crash back in, relentless and sharp.
Celine's phone buzzed again. Her stomach tightened as she saw the caller ID: Nolan. She stared at it for a moment, chest rising and falling, then pressed "accept."
"Hello, darling," Nolan's voice purred, smooth and mocking. "I see you're… having a hard time keeping your private life private. Isn't it fascinating how quickly the world can see everything?"
Celine gritted her teeth, anger sparking in her chest. "You think I don't know you did this?" she spat, voice sharp. "Trying to force me to back down and sign those transfer documents?"
There was a pause, and Nolan's laugh, low and satisfied, filled her ears. "Darling, that's a very… huge accusation. Are you sure you've cross-checked your facts?"
Celine's hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. "You think I'm crazy? Wait until I press charges. This, this is harassment!"
"Oh, careful what you wish for, darling," Nolan said, tone dripping with amusement. "Considering your… past marriages… I don't think the judge would exactly be on your side."
His laugh echoed through the line, cruel and victorious.
Celine's jaw tightened, her chest heaving with a mixture of rage and disbelief. She could feel her blood boil, the familiar sting of humiliation mixing with fury. "You… you will regret this," she hissed. "Mark my words, Nolan. You will regret this."
He chuckled again, as if her anger were the most entertaining thing in the world. "We'll see, darling. We'll see."
And with that, he hung up, leaving her gripping the phone, trembling, not from fear, but from anger, frustration, and the determination slowly building in her chest.
Celine didn't bother changing. She grabbed her coat, her phone, her hands still shaking, and stepped out into the street.
The city didn't pause for her breakdown.
As she walked, she felt it immediately. The looks. Some curious. Some knowing. A woman slowed her pace just enough to stare. A man whispered something to his friend, eyes flicking to his phone, then to her face.
They recognize me.
Her shoulders stiffened, chin lifting out of instinct more than confidence. By the time she reached the police station, her chest was tight, breath shallow, but she kept walking.
Inside, the air smelled of disinfectant and stale paper. Conversations dipped as she approached the counter.
"I want to report harassment," she said.
The officer looked up, blinked once, then recognition flickered across his face. Neutral, but not blind. "Online harassment?"
"Yes," Celine replied sharply. "Defamation. Threats. Coordinated posting of private material."
She was directed to sit. Plastic chair. Too bright lights. Too many eyes.
Another officer took her statement, typing as she spoke. "Do you suspect anyone in particular?"
Celine hesitated. Her jaw clenched. "Yes."
The officer looked up. "Names?"
She exhaled. "My ex-husband. Nolan. And… possibly people acting on his behalf."
There was a pause.
From the next desk, a voice cut in, too loud, too casual.
"Well," the other officer snorted, not even looking at her properly, "with your history, could be any one of your husbands, no?"
The words landed like a slap.
Celine's head snapped up. Her hands trembled, not with fear now, but fury. "Excuse me?"
The room went quiet. The officer taking her statement stiffened. "That's inappropriate," he muttered to his colleague.
But the damage was already done.
Celine stood slowly, spine straight, eyes burning. "My marriages are not an excuse for harassment," she said, voice tight but controlled. "And they are not your punchline."
Silence.
She sat back down, heart pounding, cheeks hot. The humiliation mixed with anger until it was almost unbearable.
She realized then, this place wouldn't protect her the way she'd hoped.
But at least it was on record now.
And Nolan?
He had pushed her too far.
***
August stepped out of his restaurant office into the cool evening air, the city humming quietly around him. He had wrapped up the last of the orders, double-checked the schedules, and now… he wanted to do something small but meaningful. Something for Celine.
A flower shop caught his eye, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. He walked in, the scent of fresh blooms washing over him, roses, lilies, sunflowers, orchids. He let his eyes wander across the vibrant colors, the gentle arrangements, feeling a rare calm settle over him.
"Excuse me," he said finally, approaching the counter, voice just above a murmur. "I'd like… some flowers."
The shop attendant smiled. "For your wife?"
August's face warmed instantly. He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "No… not my wife."
The attendant tilted their head, eyes twinkling. "Your girlfriend, then?"
"No…" August said, voice a little breathless now.
The attendant raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly. "Ah… then the person you're buying this for is very lucky."
August's lips curved into a small, self-conscious smile. He cleared his throat. "Yes… lucky," he murmured, glancing at the rows of flowers. He ran a hand along the stems, pausing at a delicate cluster of cream-colored peonies. "I want something… thoughtful. Gentle. Something to… brighten her day."
The shop attendant nodded, gathering a selection of flowers, carefully wrapping them with soft paper and twine. "I think these peonies will do nicely," they said, handing him the bouquet.
August took them, holding them carefully, as if even the weight of the stems mattered. "Thank you," he said quietly. His mind drifted to Celine, curled up on her couch at home, fragile but still strong. He hoped these would remind her, she wasn't facing anything alone.
As he walked back into the cool evening, flowers in hand, he allowed himself a small, private smile. A simple gesture, but maybe… it would make her feel a little lighter.