LOGINCeleste’s POVAs the soft launch wound down and the shop grew quieter, the warmth that lingered felt earned rather than performative. The easy laughter faded into softer conversations, chairs were nudged back into place, and the space exhaled with me, as if it, too, had been holding its breath all afternoon.My mother lingered.She moved from rack to rack with unhurried intent, selecting a few pieces and holding them up thoughtfully before nodding to herself. There was no hesitation in her movements, no shadow crossing her face—just calm certainty.“These,” she said, gathering them into her arms. “To mark the beginning.”I smiled, touched by the gesture. “You don’t have to—”“I want to,” she interrupted gently. “And I’m telling everyone about this place.”She was already pulling out her phone, enthusiasm brightening her eyes. “I’m wearing one of these to a party next week. People will surely ask. I’ll make sure they know where it’s from— my talented fashion designer daughter.”“You’r
Celeste’s POVThe shop felt even more alive once people were inside it.It was a soft launch by design—no banners, no speeches, no spectacle—but the warmth settled into the space almost immediately, carried in by familiar voices and excited conversations. My mother stood near the first display rack, fingers brushing over the fabric with a reverence that made my chest tighten. She didn’t say much, just nodded to herself, pride radiating from her in a way that was quiet and unwavering.My father wasn’t there. He was in the U.S., attending to things he insisted were temporary but necessary. But he’d sent me a message of congratulations earlier, and that was enough for me. Michael lingered near the back of the shop, watchful as ever, his presence steady without being intrusive. Auntie Eleanor moved slowly through the space, taking her time with each piece, her fingers brushing fabric as if she were afraid to rush the moment, her hand occasionally coming to rest against her chest.“This
Nico’s POVThe morning after the ranch’s opening dawned deceptively peaceful.Sunlight rolled over the hills in slow, honeyed waves, catching on the fences and the dew-heavy grass like nothing in the world had ever gone wrong here. Families were already filtering back in—kids tugging at their parents’ hands, asking about the horses, the games, the food stalls that had been such a hit the day before. Laughter carried easily in the air, light and unguarded.If you hadn’t been here yesterday, you would’ve thought this place had always been like this.Successful. Settled. Safe.On paper, everything had gone exactly as planned. The events ran smoothly, the staff handled the crowd like pros, and even the weather cooperated. No accidents. No scenes. No disruptions. Harry Jones—of all people—kept his head down, stayed just long enough to be seen and to rattle Sage for a while. But that was it. That alone should’ve reassured me.I stood near the main barn, coffee cooling in my hand, watching
Harper’s POVIt started as a thought I tried to brush away.Late. Just… late.I stood in the bathroom staring at my reflection, fingers gripping the edge of the sink a little too tightly. The house was very quiet—afternoon light slanting through the window like it was minding its own business while my heart continued to race. “It’s nothing,” I told myself out loud. My voice sounded normal. Convincing. “Travel. Stress. Different food. A hundred reasons.”I laughed weakly. “Relax.”But the calendar in my head refused to cooperate.Late enough that curiosity had turned into dread.The pharmacy trip was a blur. I don’t even remember paying. I remember the cashier wishing me a nice day and me nodding absent-mindedly. Back in the bathroom, I locked the door.Just in case.“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, ripping open the box with shaking fingers. “You’re being dramatic.”The test felt heavier than it should have in my hand.I sat on the edge of the tub, staring at it like it might bite m
Celeste’s POV“You hung that crooked.”I glanced over my shoulder. “It’s intentional.”Damien lifted a brow. “Intentional asymmetry?”“Very avant-garde,” I said solemnly, nudging the frame a fraction to the left. It tilted again.He stepped closer. “You realize the customers will think it fell.”“Only the ones without vision.”He laughed under his breath and reached past me, fingers brushing my wrist as he straightened it. The contact was brief. Accidental. Harmless.My heart disagreed.“There,” he said. “Now it’s intentional and straight.”I swallowed. “Show-off.”The shop was nearly ready—walls painted, racks installed. Sunlight spilled through the front window, catching on glass shelves and metal rails, making everything glow like it already believed in itself.So did Damien.That was the problem.We moved around each other with an ease that felt dangerous—two people who knew each other’s rhythms too well, pretending we didn’t. Every time he got close, every time our shoulders brus
Genevieve’s POVDays passed.I went to work. I shelved books. I smiled when spoken to. I slept in short, fractured stretches and woke with the same burden pressing on my chest every morning.But I didn’t recover.Well, okay. That was an understatement. Because in reality, I was a wreck. Guilt clung to me like a second skin—itchy, inescapable, settling deeper every time I tried to shake it off. Shame followed close behind, coiling into my bones in a way I had never known before. I had lived with regret. I had lived with anger. I had even lived with cruelty.This was different.Knowing that the parents I had once rejected—because they were poor—had never stopped looking for me shattered something inside me. They had lost everything in the search. Every resource. Every comfort. And my siblings had grown up carrying that loss, living a life shaped by the absence I left behind.The pain lodged in my chest, sharp and suffocating, unlike anything I had ever felt.I didn’t know how to exist
Celeste’s POVI practically flew down the stairs, heart still racing from everything that had just happened. As I reached the foyer, I was already dialing Michael’s number. It rang and rang, but he didn’t answer. I frowned, trying again. Still nothing.“Where did you go off to so early?” I muttere
Celeste’s POVLe Jardin Bleu smelled like roasted coffee and peonies.The whole café was drenched in sunlight and charm — pale blue walls, mismatched chairs, vases filled with wildflowers on every table. Colette’s place had always been a haven for artists, writers, and dreamers. Today, it was my tu
Genevieve’s POV“Rose, darling, you absolutely must be at the Paris gala.”Isadora Vaughn’s voice filled the sunlit room like champagne—smooth, effervescent, just faintly intoxicating. On my screen, her perfect smile glittered between two other faces: Nicole Carnegie, wife of an American billionair
Celeste’s POVAuntie Eleanor’s new room was bathed in late-afternoon light, the curtains drawn halfway so the sunlight spilled in gently across the pale linens. Beyond the French windows, the garden stretched wide and green, the lavender swaying softly in the breeze.We’d spent the past hour settli







