The quiet town became my test. Every morning, I woke up not to a fresh start, but to the plain truth of how broken I was. Here, no one looked at me with pity, no one knows what I am going through, or rather, whispered about my past shame. There was only my own deep pain. I took any small job I could find – cleaning floors, serving food – anything to stop my mind from thinking about him. Each hard hour was like a punishment, a desperate try to get the thought of Damian out of my head.
But being tired didn't truly help. Not at all. In my quiet rented room, the memories would rush back: the sharp sting of Bianca's happy, mean smile, Damian's eyes looking away as he said those terrible words, the public show of my life falling apart. These weren't just memories; they were like fuel to a fire. A cold, strong decision started to grow inside me. I was not a victim. I was not a failure. I would not stay broken. I would not, ever, be weak again.
The change wasn't sudden; it was slow and hard, like a growth. I started with small things. Learning. I read every business book I could find. I read articles online about what was new in markets, how to invest, anything that promised knowledge and, more importantly, power. My days became a constant search for information. My nights were filled with numbers and plans drawn on scrap paper. Sleep was something I couldn't afford, a distraction from moving forward, always forward.
I saved every penny, living on cheap noodles and old bread. My first business was small, almost funny – a tiny online shop selling handmade jewelry I taught myself to make. Every sale, even a small one, was a quiet act of going against the man who had said I was worthless. It was real proof that I could create, I could earn money, and I could succeed on my own.
As the shop grew, so did my big plans. I put all the money I earned back into the business, started selling new things, learned about sending products, advertising, and getting customers. The work was very hard and lonely. Some days, I felt the heavy weight of my loneliness crush me. Some days, the old sting of betrayal almost broke my strong will. It is not really easy for me to forget. I'd see a happy couple, or hear a bit of a love song, and for a short moment, the old wound would hurt. He's probably living a fancy life, I'd think, while I'm here, fighting for every little bit. That thought, that bitter echo of the past, was like a whip pushing me harder. It fed the hardness that started to shape my business choices. There was no room for feelings, no space for weakness. Business was a fight, and I was going to win.
I rarely talked to anyone unless I had to for work. My heart, which used to be so open and trusting, had become a hard, protective shell. Friendships felt like dangers, and connecting with people felt like a weakness waiting to be used against me. I became Celeste Hilly, a name people whispered in online groups and business reports, a person to be respected. But in the quiet moments, late at night, the past still echoed. I'd remember Damian's dismissive look, the proud, looking-down way Bianca used to tilt her head when she "felt sorry" for me before the proposal. Those moments when they looked down on me, small but painful, were burned into my memory. They made me even more determined to prove them wrong, not just for him, but for myself. I was showing them all they were wrong, with every tough choice, every growing profit. The broken girl was gone, replaced by a woman made strong in a fire, completely and bravely self-sufficient.