CHAPTER 1

Damian's Public Proposal

The golden chandeliers above cast a warm glow over the extravagant ballroom, making everything shimmer—the champagne, the silk dresses, the diamonds on delicate wrists. The air was thick with perfume and wealth, a world I had slowly learned to navigate beside Damian. My Damian.

Or so I thought.

I stood in the center of it all, my heart hammering against my ribs, my fingers nervously tracing the edge of my wine glass. I knew what was coming. I had dreamed of it and rehearsed my reaction in the mirror. He had been acting strange for weeks—secretive, distracted—but I convinced myself it was nerves. He was going to propose tonight. He had to.

Damian turned towards me, and for a moment, our eyes met. That familiar smirk tugged at his lips, the one that had charmed me into falling so recklessly in love. But then he stepped away.

Not towards me.

Towards Bianca.

My breath hitched, and my stomach clenched so tightly I thought I might collapse. No, no, this wasn't right. My ears started ringing as he pulled something from his pocket, and the world around me slowed to a cruel, mocking crawl.

I heard gasps, the clinking of glasses stopping abruptly. Bianca's hands flew to her mouth in theatrical shock, her dark eyes glistening as she feigned disbelief.

"Bianca," Damian said, his voice steady, sure. The voice I once believed belonged only to me. "From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one."

The walls of the ballroom closed in. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck.

"What?" The word escaped my lips, barely above a whisper.

I waited for him to look at me, to laugh and tell me this was a joke. Any second now, he'd turn back, and this nightmare would end. But he didn't.

"Will you marry me?"

I felt my chest cave in as he opened the velvet box. The diamond inside was blinding, larger than life, just like the betrayal suffocating me. Bianca gave a dramatic pause—enjoying this, savoring it—before nodding, her voice sweet and triumphant.

"Yes, Damian. Yes!"

The crowd erupted into applause, champagne glasses raised in celebration, voices around me gushing about how perfect they were together, how stunning, how meant to be.

Meant to be.

I was drowning. My body was frozen, but my mind screamed at me to move, to do something. My hands trembled, the glass slipping from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor. The sound was swallowed by the cheers, by the laughter that seemed to echo and grow until it was all I could hear.

Then Damian turned. Finally.

His eyes met mine, but there was no regret, no hesitation. Only cold indifference. As if I was no one. As if I had never been anything at all.

Something inside me snapped.

The humiliation burned through me like wildfire, scorching away every ounce of dignity I had left. My lips parted, but no words came. What could I say? What could possibly fix this?

Bianca's gaze flickered toward me, and I saw it—the smug satisfaction behind her perfectly painted expression. She knew. She had known all along. She wanted me to break, to shatter like the glass at my feet.

I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

With shaking hands, I smoothed my dress, forcing myself to stand tall even as my knees threatened to buckle. I turned on my heel and walked—no, I strode—through the crowd. My pulse pounded in my ears, and my vision blurred, but I refused to let a single tear fall until I was far, far away from this hell.

But fate wasn't done punishing me yet.

As I pushed through the exit doors, a familiar voice called out. "Celeste."

Damian.

I stopped. My nails dug into my palms. Every cell in my body screamed for me to keep walking, to never look back. But against my better judgment, I turned.

He approached me, hands in his pockets, still wearing that damn suit, still looking every bit the man I had loved. "You're making a scene."

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "I'm making a scene?" My voice wavered, but the anger was steady now, rising, solidifying. "What was that in there?"

His expression remained unreadable. "You knew this wasn't going to last, Celeste."

The words cut deeper than I expected. I swallowed, blinking rapidly. "I didn't know I was just some placeholder until you found someone more... suitable."

His jaw tightened. "Don't do this here."

I let out a shaky breath, forcing the lump in my throat down. "Then when, Damian? When were you going to tell me?"

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like I was an inconvenience. Like I was some naive fool who should've figured it out on my own. "We had fun, Celeste. But that's all it was."

I felt something inside me crack open. I had spent years believing in him, believing in us. And now, all he had to say was that we had fun?

"You're a coward," I whispered, and for the first time that night, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Guilt? No. Annoyance.

He leaned in slightly, his voice a low warning. "Don't make me regret coming after you."

A hollow laugh bubbled from my chest. "You never came after me, Damian. You never would have."

I didn't wait for his response. I turned and walked away, my heart breaking with every step. But I refused to let him see it. Refused to give him that power.

As I reached the exit, Bianca's voice echoed from inside the ballroom. "Oh, darling, let's not waste the moment—kiss me."

More cheers, more applause.

I stepped into the cold night, the sharp wind biting at my skin. My breath came fast and shallow as reality crashed down around me.

I had lost everything. My love, my dignity, my future.

But as I stood there, trembling, something new stirred beneath the pain.

Not just heartbreak. Not just betrayal.

Something deeper.

Something dangerous.

And as I wiped away the lone tear that had slipped free, I made a silent vow.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.