Chapter Three: Love at first sight

Celyne Pov

“Alexander…?”

The name leaves my lips before I can stop it.

For a moment, no one moves.

Alexander’s eyes lock onto mine, and the world seems to collapse into that single point of recognition. The same steel-gray gaze that once softened when he looked at me now stares back in disbelief.

His jaw tightens.

Elara’s fingers curl possessively around his arm.

“What did you just say?” she asks, her voice still smooth but also edged with recognition.

My heart begins to pound violently against my ribs.

Alexander opens his mouth—perhaps to speak, perhaps to ask a thousand questions—but the panic flooding my veins is louder than anything he might say.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t stay here.

Before either of them can move, I spin around.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out to no one in particular, my voice shaking.

Then I run.

The hallway stretches endlessly as I rush past nurses and patients, my pulse roaring in my ears. My hands tremble so badly I almost slam into the glass doors of the clinic.

Alexander Hale.

Of all the people in the world…

Him.

Outside, the cold air slams into my lungs. I stumble to the curb and wave down the first cab I see.

“Where to?” the driver asks.

“My apartment,” I say breathlessly, giving him the address.

The door shuts.

The car pulls away.

And the moment the clinic disappears from view, the memories come crashing back.

********

I never believed in love.

Not really.

When I was little, my parents loved each other so fiercely it felt like living inside a fairy tale.

They danced in the kitchen.

They laughed over burnt pancakes.

They kissed like the world outside our house didn’t exist.

But slowly, the magic began to crack.

At first it was small arguments.

A disagreement about money.

A late night at work.

Then the arguments came more often.

Voices raised behind closed doors.

Sharp words that cut through the walls like knives.

I remember sitting on the stairs, hugging my knees to my chest while listening to them fight.

“Please stop,” I used to whisper to myself.

Sometimes I prayed.

I prayed every night for the shouting to stop.

But the fights only grew worse.

Every day.

Every night.

Until the love that once filled our home turned into something ugly and suffocating.

Then one day… everything ended.

Rain hammered the windshield that night.

I remember the sound of tires screeching.

The violent spin of the car.

My mother’s scream.

And then—

Darkness.

When I woke up in the hospital, everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

A nurse stood beside my bed with pity in her eyes.

“You’re very lucky,” she told me softly.

Lucky.

That word echoed in my head as they explained that my parents had died instantly in the crash.

I was the only survivor.

Lucky.

*********

The taxi stops in front of my apartment building.

I don’t remember the ride.

I pay the driver and walk inside in a daze.

The moment I reach my apartment, I lock the door behind me and slide down against it.

My hands move to my stomach instinctively.

Alexander’s child.

The thought feels unreal.

My mind drifts back again.

********

After the accident, I was sent to live with my aunt, Mandy.

If luck had a cruel sense of humor, that was proof.

Aunt Mandy didn’t believe children should cry.

“Stop being dramatic,” she’d snap whenever I showed emotion.

Her house smelled like cigarette smoke and resentment.

From the moment I arrived, I stopped being a niece.

I became unpaid labor.

“Dishes,” she’d order.

“Laundry.”

“Scrub the floors.”

I cleaned until my fingers cracked.

Cooked meals I rarely got to eat.

Every mistake came with an insult.

“Your parents were reckless idiots,” she’d say casually while sipping her wine.

“If they weren’t so stupid, they’d still be alive.”

Each word carved deeper into the fragile pieces of my childhood.

By the time I turned eighteen, I didn’t believe in anything resembling love.

Love ended in screaming matches.

Love ended in car crashes.

Love destroyed everything it touched.

So I promised myself something simple.

I would never fall in love.

Then I met Alexander Hale.

I still remember the first moment I saw him.

Love at first sight sounded like something from a cheap romance novel.

But it was exactly how it happened.

He walked into the university courtyard like he owned the air itself.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hair falling carelessly over intense gray eyes.

Women stared.

Men stepped aside.

And somehow… his gaze landed on me.

I tried to ignore it.

Tried to keep walking.

But within seconds, he was standing in front of me.

“Hi,” he said simply.

Just one word.

Yet something inside my carefully built walls cracked.

Alexander had a way of seeing through people.

Through defenses.

Through lies.

Within weeks, he knew things about me I had never told anyone.

And somehow… he made the world feel lighter.

Safer.

For the first time in my life, I believed love might exist.

Our relationship burned fast and intense.

Late-night drives.

Stolen kisses.

Laughter that made my chest ache.

When he proposed two years later, I didn’t hesitate.

I said yes.

Even when the warning signs appeared.

Vivian Hale hated me from the beginning.

The first time I met her, she looked me up and down like I was something unpleasant stuck to her shoe.

“This is the girl?” she asked Alexander coldly.

Girl.

Not woman.

Not Celyne.

Just girl.

During family dinners, she would smile sweetly while delivering perfectly sharpened insults.

“Your dress is… simple,” she once said.

“You must not be used to high society.”

Or—

“I suppose charity cases need opportunities too.”

Alexander always told me to ignore her.

“She’ll come around,” he promised.

“She just needs time.”

I believed him.

I tried harder.

Cooked for her.

Bought thoughtful gifts.

Showed respect even when she gave none.

But Vivian never softened.

Not even after the wedding.

My hand trembles as I press it against my stomach again.

Because I remember the moment everything changed.

The moment I thought things might finally improve.

I remember holding the pregnancy test in my shaking hands.

Two pink lines.

I had stared at them for minutes, tears filling my eyes.

Alexander was going to be a father.

We were going to be a family.

I was so happy I could barely breathe.

I planned how to tell him.

I imagined his reaction.

His smile.

His arms wrapping around me.

I thought this baby would finally bring warmth into the cold spaces between our families.

But weeks later—

Everything began to unravel.

The memory slams into me so violently my stomach twists.

Because I remember standing in the bathroom one morning.

The cold tile beneath my feet.

The strange cramping in my abdomen.

And then—

A drop of red.

I frowned, confused.

Another drop followed.

Then another.

Blood.

Thick.

Dark.

Dripping slowly down my legs.

My breath catches as the memory tightens around my chest like a vise.

Because that moment—

That terrifying, silent moment—

Was when everything started falling apart.