Celestine frowned, glancing back at the woman behind her. “It’s not what you think.”
Serena gave a cold, dismissive laugh.
Her gaze slid from Celestine to the man in the car, her voice dripping with insinuation. “So this is what’s keeping you busy these days? Since you left my brother, your standards have gone downhill.”
Back then, Celestine had drugged her brother and crawled into his bed–scandalous,
underhanded. Yet her brother still tried to protect her reputation, married her in haste because of the baby, and left Joanna suffering in silence.
And now, after just a few years, was Celestine already cozying up to another man the moment she got the chance? The very thought of it made Serena sick.
She looked at Celestine with open disgust. “Don’t forget who you are, Celestine. If Celia and Raymond find out what you’ve been up to, do you really think they’ll still want you as their mother? If you want to chase after other men, I suggest you divorce my brother sooner rather
than later!”
Celestine’s lashes trembled, bitterness spreading through her chest.
All these years as part of the Fordham family, she’d been labeled promiscuous, forced to cut off her entire social circle. But that night… she’d been the one drugged, a victim herself.
When she tried to call the police, Chester had pulled her into his arms, his body feverishly warm. “I’ll take responsibility,” he’d said–just one sentence that led to that reckless night, and to six years of marriage that felt more like a sentence than a sanctuary.
His idea of ‘taking responsibility‘ was a marriage contract, trapping her behind the locked doors of the Fordham estate. Yet, pathetically, she’d told herself this was enough.
A hollow smile flickered on Celestine’s lips, self–mockery twisting her thoughts. She spoke quietly, “As you wish. I’ve already filed for divorce.”
Serena’s eyes widened for a split second, then she scoffed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Celestine, that spineless little vine of a woman, daring to ask for a divorce? What a joke. If that ever actually happened, Serena would dance naked down Main Street all night long.
Without another word, Serena stalked off and climbed into her car.
Celestine turned away, forcing a polite smile for Linden. “Sorry you had to witness that, Mr.
Lane.”
“Clearly this is all a misunderstanding, Miss Selwyn. You have nothing to apologize for.” Linden nodded, his tone reassuring and gentlemanly.
He didn’t press for more details. Only when Celestine’s ride arrived did he drive off.
1/2
14:00
Chapter
The wind was biting, the rain relentless. By the time Celestine slid into the back seat, her head was throbbing. She was still recovering from the flu, and now her whole body felt icy cold, her face drained of color.
“Miss, are you alright? Should I take you to the hospital?” The driver glanced at her anxiously, his foot pressing harder on the gas.
Celestine barely heard him. She was staring down at her phone, lost in thought.
Somehow, her daughter had removed her from the blocked contacts list and even posted a rare photo on social media. In the picture, Joanna held–Raymond and Celia, all three smiling, while Chester stood behind them, his eyes soft and affectionate–though all that tenderness was directed at someone else.
It was impossible to miss: all four of them were wearing matching bear–print pajamas.
Those pajamas were the last thing Celestine had designed after leaving the fashion world–the only time she’d ever created something just for their little family. She’d agonized over every stitch, redoing them a hundred times.
When she finally showed them to the children, hoping to see their excitement, they’d recoiled in horror.
Celia had refused outright. “Mom, this is so childish. I’m not wearing that.”
Even Raymond, usually the well–behaved one, had burst into tears. “It’s ugly, Mommy! I don’t want to wear it!”
Celestine had tried to coax them, gently urging them to just try it on, but Celia had thrown a tantrum. When Chester came home, Celia ran to him, sniffling, and complained.
Chester shot a cold look at the pajamas hanging on the rack and snapped at her, “Celestine, how old are you, exactly?”
And now, the pajamas everyone had hated–those matching family pajamas–were being worn with pride, but with another woman.
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