Celine locked herself in her room for an entire day.
She shut out the outside world — no calls, no messages, no sunlight. All she had were her pillows, the lump in her throat, and the ache in her chest.
She cried until she fell asleep.
Woke up, cried again.
She tore apart drawers, yanked open boxes, and threw away everything Dean had given her — cards, gifts, framed photos.
On the balcony, a small metal bin held the charred remains of old letters and printed photos, edges still blackened from the fire she'd started the night before.
She screamed into her pillow until her throat hurt. Took a long, hot bath. Cry. Sleep. Repeat.
Letty knocked softly from time to time, asking if she needed anything. The only request Celine made was for rocky road ice cream — something sweet to dull the bitterness.
Her father and Carl hadn't spoken to her since the day of the tea party. Not because they didn't care — but because every time they left the house, she was asleep, and every time they came home, she still was. They decided to wait. To let her breathe. To let her break in private.
Lauren, however, had a different timeline.
She knew her daughter. Knew that Celine would allow herself exactly one day to fall apart before the shame and stubbornness kicked in. And if that one day stretched into two, into three, into weeks… it would root into something much darker.
Lauren Rosenfield would not allow that.
She knocked once. When Celine didn't answer, she opened the door herself.
Light flooded the room as Lauren swept open the grand silk curtains.
"Oh my goodness, Celine."
The place looked like a storm had passed through. Clothes scattered across the floor. Pillows tossed, dresser drawers half-open. Burnt paper in a metal bin on the balcony.
"Did a tornado hit your room?" Lauren demanded, then pointed to the balcony. "And what is this? Are you trying to burn the house down now?"
Celine didn't answer. She was curled on the bed in an oversized hoodie, half-buried under a pile of pillows like she wanted to disappear into the mattress.
Lauren marched over and began yanking the pillows away. "Alright, that's enough."
"Mom, stop…" Celine mumbled, weakly tugging one back.
"No. This is getting out of hand." Lauren's voice was firm but not unkind. "Get up. Get in the shower. Your father is at the office — you're going to see him."
"I don't want to," Celine protested, eyes glassy and puffy, voice small.
Lauren ignored her, pulling back the covers. "We talked about this. Letting yourself fall apart like this won't help you. It won't make him regret anything. It won't make anything better."
Something in those words pierced through Celine's haze.
If she had to act… she had to act now.
She forced herself out of bed and into the bathroom. The hot water washed over her, rinsing away the dried tears and the lingering smell of alcohol and smoke. When she stepped out, she felt lighter — not healed, but steadier.
She chose a one-shoulder black blouse and high-waisted cigarette pants, pairing them with sleek stilettos. The look elongated her frame, accentuating her curves while still appearing polished and composed. She straightened her long dark hair until it fell smooth down her back.
When she stepped out, Lauren's eyes softened with pride. "That's my girl," she said, kissing her cheek. "Tell me later how your talk with your father goes."
They called Letty and asked her to coordinate a lunch with Ben and Carl at HUB.
A few minutes later, Letty returned with the answer. "Miss Celine, your father's secretary said to let them know the time, and they'll be there."
"Now," Celine replied, checking her reflection again and pressing her fingers under her eyes to minimize the puffiness.
"Yes, miss," Letty confirmed.
Downstairs, Celine worked with the kitchen staff to prepare a home-cooked meal — comfort food, beautifully plated. It gave her hands something to do, and her mind something to focus on.
Then she, Letty, and two staff members loaded the food and headed out to HUB.
⸻
HUB's main lobby hummed with quiet energy — people walking briskly across polished floors, screens displaying development plans, scale models of residential communities and landmark buildings arranged like a miniature city.
The walls were lined with framed blueprints and photographs of finished projects. This wasn't just an office; it was a gallery of everything HUB had built.
On the top floor, in the waiting area outside the president's office, a man in a tailored suit sat calmly, as if he belonged there.
Nathan Park.
His posture was relaxed, but he radiated a quiet focus — the kind of presence that drew attention without effort. His suit fit him impeccably, the fabric molding perfectly to his broad shoulders and lean frame.
He checked his watch, then glanced back down at his phone, firing off emails, reviewing project schedules, and looking up suppliers for specific materials.
The secretary had already offered him coffee, water, anything he needed. He declined with a polite smile.
What's the holdup? he wondered, though his face remained unreadable.
Finally, the secretary walked back toward him with an apologetic look.
"Mr. Park," she said gently.
Nathan stood, buttoning his jacket.
"I'm very sorry for the inconvenience," she began, bowing slightly, "but we may need to reschedule your meeting. The president has urgent personal matters to attend to."
Nathan's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, but he masked his disappointment quickly. Emergencies happened. Still, three days of preparation and anticipation made the delay sting.
"I understand," he replied evenly. "I'll need to check my schedule."
"This isn't how we normally conduct business," she assured him. "We truly value your time, Mr. Park. We'll do our best to accommodate you as soon as possible. On behalf of HUB, we sincerely apologize."
Her tone was genuine. Nathan nodded. "Thank you. Let's see what we can arrange."
She checked the president's calendar. "The earliest availability is in three to four weeks, I'm afraid."
Three to four weeks.
Nathan inwardly grimaced. He had projects lined up, deadlines, site visits. He couldn't just sit around for a month.
"Let me discuss it with my partner and get back to you," he said.
He stepped away to make the call.
⸻
On another floor, in one of the conference rooms, Celine was carefully setting dishes on the table with the staff's help. The room was simple but elegant — floor-to-ceiling windows, a long polished table, and a view of the city she'd grown up watching from afar.
Ben and Carl entered a few minutes later.
Carl didn't hesitate. He went straight to her and wrapped her in a tight hug. "How are you? Feeling any better?" he asked, guilt clouding his features. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to defend you, sis."
Celine hugged him back, her eyes misting. "It's okay. I know you always have my back."
Carl stepped aside and let Ben approach.
"Oh, honey. Come here," her father said, opening his arms.
She moved into his embrace, and the moment his arms wrapped around her, the tears she'd tried to hold back spilled over.
"Daddy…" was all she managed before her voice broke.
"That damn brat," Ben muttered, holding her tightly. "He has no idea what he just threw away. Once I get a hold of Roy, I'll—"
"Dad," Celine cut in gently, pulling back to look at him. "Thank you… for being angry for me. But you don't have to do anything. I can't force someone to love me. Or stay."
Her voice quivered, but she straightened, wiping her tears and attempting a small smile.
"You know we could've just gone out to eat," Carl said, trying to lighten the mood. "You didn't have to bring all of this."
"I wanted to," Celine replied. "It helps. Keeps my mind busy."
"Then do it more often," Ben said with a faint smile. "We'd love that."
They laughed softly together and sat down to eat, the warmth of family slowly pushing against the coldness of the last few days.
⸻
Meanwhile, out in the hallway, Nathan was on the phone with Marv.
"Nate, chill," Marv said. "You're already there. Just stay. I'll handle everything on our end and keep you updated on the other projects."
"I can't afford to be stuck here for a month," Nathan replied quietly. "And it's not my fault they're this unreliable."
"Bro," Marv groaned, "you are literally the only person who can land this partnership. It's the last major region we haven't broken into. Please. Just get it done."
Nathan closed his eyes briefly, exhaling. "Fine. I'll stay. But you owe me. Big time."
"No backsies," Marv rushed. "I heard you. It's recorded in my brain now. Thank you!"
Nathan hung up and walked back to the secretary.
"Let's schedule it for three weeks from now," he said. "But if an earlier slot opens, I'd appreciate being moved up."
"Of course, Mr. Park. Thank you for being so understanding," she replied with a grateful smile.
He nodded politely and headed toward the elevator.
Just as the doors opened, two women stepped in from the other side, accompanied by a couple of staff members carrying containers and folders. One woman wore a fitted black top with oversized sunglasses covering half her face; the other kept glancing his way, as if working up the courage to say something.
They rode down in silence, the air oddly charged.
When they reached the lobby floor and stepped out, the bolder of the two women hurried after him.
"Sir! Wait!"
Nathan turned.
It was Letty.
"Don't you recognize us? I mean… me," she said, slightly out of breath. "From The Black Tie Society?"
Nathan studied her face, then nodded in recognition. "You're… Letty, right?"
"Yes," she beamed. "And this is Miss Celine."
At her name, the woman in the black top removed her sunglasses.
Celine.
Nathan froze for a heartbeat. She was even more striking in daylight — clear skin, defined features, composed posture. The sadness in her eyes was still there, faint like a shadow, but today she looked steady. Collected.
"Miss Celine, he's the gentleman who helped you at the club," Letty said happily.
Celine's cheeks flushed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes flickering to his face then down again. "I… I'm so embarrassed," she said softly. "Hello."
Nathan offered a gentle smile. "Nathan," he said with a small wave. "Good to see you sober."
Celine let out a shy laugh. "Thank you. For that night. For staying with me. I don't remember much, but Letty told me everything. If it's alright… maybe I could buy you coffee? To thank you properly."
"Right now?" Nathan asked, amused.
"If you're busy, another time is fine," she replied quickly, nerves peeking through.
"Right now's okay," he said. "I've got nothing else to do."
Her face lit up, a soft glow replacing the heaviness she'd worn the last few days.
⸻
They went to a nearby vintage-style café — warm lighting, brick walls, indie music humming softly in the background. Old framed posters lined the walls. The smell of espresso and freshly baked pastries wrapped around them as they took a small table by the window.
For the first few moments, Nathan just watched her — memorizing the details he hadn't been able to see in the dim club. The softness of her expression. The way she held her cup with both hands. The quiet strength beneath her delicate exterior.
"You probably don't remember much from that night," he said lightly.
"I remember… feelings," she admitted. "But not the details. Just that I was a mess, and you weren't scared away."
"I've seen worse," he teased softly. "You were honest. That's rare."
She smiled faintly. "Why were you at HUB?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Business," he replied. "I was supposed to have a meeting with the president, but it got cancelled. They pushed it out three weeks."
"That's a long time," she said.
"Tell me about it."
As he spoke, an idea began to form in her mind — slow at first, then clearer.
If she wanted Dean to regret what he'd done…
If she wanted him to see exactly what he'd lost…
Maybe jealousy would do what patience never could.
And sitting across from her was a man who seemed perfect for the part. Handsome. Composed. Kind.
"I can help you," she said suddenly.
Nathan blinked. "Come again?"
"I can help you get that meeting sooner," she clarified. "With HUB. With my father."
He frowned, trying to connect the dots.
"My dad is the president of HUB," she explained softly. "And my brother's on the executive board. If I speak to them, I might be able to convince them to meet you earlier. At least give your proposal a fair chance."
Nathan studied her, cautious. "And what would you want in return?"
She took a breath. "I want your help making my ex-fiancé regret what he did. I want him to see what he threw away. To realize it — really feel it."
Nathan leaned back, taken aback by the directness. He thought of her that night, crying over Dean with such raw love. He thought of the way she'd said his name like a prayer.
"Sorry," he said after a moment, his voice steady. "I can't do that."
She blinked, surprised. "Why not?"
"Because I told you he's not worth your time," Nathan said, eyes locked on hers. "And I meant it. You don't need to twist yourself into something just to get a reaction out of him. You're already enough."
The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard. She didn't understand how a stranger could see her so clearly when someone she'd loved for years never had.
She looked down at her hands. "Just… think about it?" she asked quietly.
He hesitated, then nodded once. "I'll think about it," he said, though the reluctance in his eyes remained.
She handed him her business card. "In case you decide to take me up on the offer. Or even if you just need a contact at HUB," she added, attempting a small smile.
Her phone buzzed. Letty leaned over to whisper that Lauren was calling and they needed to return.
Celine stood and bowed her head slightly. "Thank you again, for that night. And for today."
Nathan gave a small nod. "Take care, Celine."
She turned to leave with Letty, her heels clicking softly against the floor as they walked out of the café.
Nathan watched her go, then glanced down at the card she'd left behind.
Celine Rosenfield
He said her name under his breath, testing the weight of it.
Somehow, he knew this wouldn't be the last time he said it.