CHAPTER 7:A WHISPER FROM THE PAST
The morning sun streamed lazily through the grand windows of the Wylder mansion, bathing the sitting room in a warm, forgiving light.
Celine sat curled up in one of the armchairs, a soft novel in her lap —
something light and simple, nothing like the sharp, cynical books she used to parade around with for show.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a cup of chamomile tea cooling on the side table.
For the first time in what felt like years, there was a quietness inside her.
A peace she hadn't even realized she was craving.
---
The sound of a sleek sports car engine tearing up the driveway shattered that peace like a rock through a stained-glass window.
Celine frowned slightly, setting her book aside.
Before she could rise, the front doors swung open without so much as a knock.
"Darling!"
Vivienne Lancaster strode into the house like a conquering queen.
She was a vision —
a whirlwind of glossy hair, designer sunglasses perched on her head, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
Draped in the latest fashion, carrying a small designer bag worth more than most people's cars.
She pulled off her sunglasses dramatically, revealing eyes sparkling with mischief and calculation.
"I was just dying to see you," Vivienne purred, sweeping forward to kiss the air near Celine's cheeks.
"You've been hiding like a nun. What is going on with you?"
---
Celine forced a small smile, her body stiff under the assault of perfume and high energy.
"I've been... resting," she said gently. "Taking some time for myself."
Vivienne let out a throaty laugh, tossing her bag onto the couch with casual disrespect.
"Resting? Oh, please. Since when do you play housewife?"
She wrinkled her nose, glancing pointedly around the modestly cozy room, noticing the absence of lavish party remnants or chaotic mess.
"Don't tell me the brooding Mr. Wylder finally tamed you."
Her words were light, teasing — but underneath, there was a sharpness.
A mocking edge Celine remembered all too well.
The kind that once made her laugh too loudly.
Mock too cruelly.
Drink too deeply.
---
"I'm just... trying something different," Celine said quietly, smoothing the blanket over her lap.
Vivienne flopped onto the opposite couch, crossing her long legs elegantly.
"Different?" she echoed, arching a perfectly plucked brow.
"Darling, you were born for more than knitting socks and baking pies for a cripple. Come out with me tonight. The others are dying to see you. There's a new club opening — exclusive, scandalous, our kind of place."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper:
"Come on. One night. You can leave him nursing his sad little leg at home. What's the worst that could happen?"
---
Celine's heart twisted painfully.
The old her would have jumped at the offer.
Wild nights.
Flashing cameras.
Mocking smiles.
The easy, glittering cruelty of it.
She looked at Vivienne —
her old reflection.
The life she had once chosen without thinking.
And suddenly...
it all felt so small.
So empty.
So meaningless.
---
She smiled gently — not mockingly, not condescendingly — just sadly.
"Thank you, Viv," she said softly. "But... I already have plans tonight."
Vivienne's eyes narrowed slightly.
"With him?" she said, a faint sneer curling her lips.
Celine nodded.
"Yes. With Damian."
---
For a moment, the air between them crackled.
Vivienne leaned back, studying her like a scientist observing a strange new creature.
"You're serious," she said at last, laughing a little — but there was no real amusement in it.
"You're really going to waste yourself playing nursemaid to a man who can barely walk straight?"
Celine stood up slowly, smoothing down her soft dress.
Her heart pounded — but not with anger.
With clarity.
"I'm not wasting anything," she said, voice quiet but unwavering.
"For the first time, I'm exactly where I want to be."
---
Vivienne stared at her for a moment longer, then rose gracefully, brushing imaginary dust from her designer jacket.
"Suit yourself, darling," she said with a careless shrug.
"But when you're tired of playing house with the broken king, call me. I'll show you what real life looks like."
She slipped her sunglasses back on, tossed her hair, and stalked toward the door.
---
Celine watched her go —
watched her old life walk out of the house in six-inch heels and thousand-dollar perfume.
And felt no pull to follow.
Only relief.
---
She turned back to the sitting room, breathing in the warm, vanilla-scented air.
Tonight, she would cook again.
Tonight, she would wait for Damian again.
Tonight, she would choose him.
Not because she had to.
But because she loved him.
And for the first time in her spoiled, reckless life...
that was enough.