The car ride stretched out like an endless silence.
Celine sat in the back seat beside Kael, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the window. The city lights blurred into streaks of amber and white as the sleek black car glided down the quiet streets.
Inside, the air was cool and still — too still.
Kael didn't speak. He sat upright, every movement precise, his eyes focused ahead as though the act of driving itself demanded complete attention. His jaw was tense, the faint muscle there tightening whenever the headlights of another car passed over his face.
The tension between them wasn't born of anger anymore. It had evolved into something heavier, quieter — the kind of silence that came from two people who had nothing left to say.
Celine turned her head slightly, studying his profile from the corner of her eye. He was handsome, in the kind of way that was more intimidating than comforting. Strong lines. Controlled expressions. Every inch of him spoke of restraint — a man who'd learned to bury emotion beneath layers of discipline.
But for all that control, there was a shadow in his eyes. Something he didn't show the world. Something she doubted anyone but her had seen — and even then, only in flashes, when he thought no one was watching.
The road curved gently as they passed through a district lined with trees and lanterns. Beyond the glass, the world looked soft — couples strolling, children laughing, the glow of restaurants spilling onto sidewalks. It was a world that felt impossibly far from hers.
When the car finally slowed, the lights of the Rhyne family estate came into view — a sprawling manor surrounded by ancient oak trees. The iron gates opened with quiet precision, and they drove through, tires whispering against the stone driveway.
Celine's heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
This was Kael's world — grand, gleaming, alive with everything that had never been hers.
The front doors opened before the car even came to a stop. A butler greeted them with a bow, and within moments, the warm hum of conversation and laughter spilled into the night air.
Kael's family was already gathered — his grandparents seated comfortably on the far end of the room, his parents surrounded by relatives, voices overlapping in easy rhythm. The scent of roasted herbs and wine hung thick in the air, and a low fire crackled in the hearth, throwing soft light across polished floors.
It was beautiful.
It was suffocating.
Celine stepped in behind Kael, her expression serene, her every movement carefully measured. Her dress brushed lightly against the floor as she followed him through the room.
A few heads turned. Smiles — polite and restrained — greeted her.
Kael's mother was the first to approach. She was a graceful woman with the same sharp features as her son, softened only by age and the warmth of practiced charm.
"Celine," she said with a gentle smile, taking her hand. "It's lovely to see you, dear. You look radiant tonight."
"Thank you, Mother Rhyne," Celine replied softly, her voice even, smooth.
Kael's mother squeezed her hand lightly, eyes gleaming with a sympathy that made Celine's chest ache.
"Don't worry, darling," she whispered, leaning in close so no one else could hear. "It's just a phase he's going through. This infatuation with Adrian Vale won't last forever. You'll be his princess soon enough."
Celine's smile didn't falter, though inside, her heart gave a painful twist.
Other relatives soon joined, offering kind smiles and reassuring murmurs. "He'll come around," one of the aunts said softly. "Men can be foolish. But they always realize what matters in the end."
Each word was meant to comfort, but every sentence felt like a quiet reminder of her place — the loyal wife waiting patiently for affection that might never return.
She thanked them all politely, nodding and smiling as expected, the perfect image of grace and composure. But inside, her mind was spinning.
She had already seen the truth.
She had found the messages, the glances, the unspoken yearning in Kael's eyes whenever the name Adrian Vale came up.
It was more than a rumor. It was devotion — the kind that burned quietly, dangerously, beneath the surface.
And everyone here knew.
The entire family had chosen to pretend otherwise, as if repeating the same empty reassurance might make it true.
For them, love was secondary to duty. Marriage was about alliance, status, image. And she — Celine Arden — was the wife who represented all three.
But she wasn't blind.
She saw the way Kael avoided her gaze across the dinner table, how his attention drifted whenever laughter filled the room. He spoke when spoken to, answered, when necessary, but there was no spark — no warmth that bridged the polite distance between them.
And yet, oddly, she didn't hate him for it.
As the dinner unfolded, she found herself studying him the way one studies a stranger — curious, detached, almost analytical. He played his role perfectly. A dutiful son, a composed heir, a husband in name.
But beneath it all, she caught glimpses of the truth — the same hollowness she felt inside. Two souls trapped in a play neither had chosen to perform.
When the evening finally ended and farewells were exchanged, Celine felt an odd calm settle over her.
Kael led her back to the car in silence. The night air was cool against her skin, scented faintly with roses from the garden.
As the car doors shut, enclosing them in quiet once more, she turned to the window, watching the lights of the estate grow smaller and smaller until they vanished entirely.
The rhythm of the tires against the road was the only sound between them.
And then, like an echo from another lifetime, memories stirred — flashes of another night, another dinner, when she had still been naïve enough to hope.
She remembered the confrontation.
The look in his eyes when she'd found the gifts meant for someone else.
The silence that followed her questions.
And the cold, cutting words that had shattered the illusion she'd been clinging to:
"You should know your place. You're never going to be the one I love."
That moment had ended something inside her — a quiet breaking, like the soft snap of glass underfoot.
Now, sitting beside him once more, that same man who had built his walls higher than she could ever reach, she felt no anger. No desperation. Only a quiet, resolute acceptance.
She looked out into the dark, her reflection faint in the glass.
"It's okay," she whispered softly, more to herself than to him. "He can live his life the way he wants. I won't get in his way."
The words carried no bitterness — only peace.
She was not the woman who had begged to be seen. She was not the fragile wife left waiting for a love that would never return.
She was Celine Arden — reborn in silence, tempered by pain, steady as stone.
The reflection in the window smiled back at her, faint but sure. Her eyes no longer looked lost. They gleamed with quiet fire.
This life might not have been the one she chose, but it was hers now.