Chapter 2: The Morning After

"Celine’s POV"

Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably as I fled into the night, hailing a taxi with trembling hands, desperate to escape the glittering prison of the gala.

Xavier’s venomous words carved through my mind on an endless loop, each syllable a fresh blade twisting deeper. I was drowning in a sea of despair. What had I ever done to deserve such calculated cruelty from my lover and my own blood?

The next morning

I had fallen asleep still wrapped in the emerald gown, its fabric now creased and heavy with the scent of yesterday’s shame.

Sunlight pierced the curtains with merciless cheer, indifferent to the wreckage it illuminated.

I sat motionless on the edge of my bed, knees drawn to my chest, staring at the faint pale circle on my finger where Xavier’s ring used to sit. The skin there felt raw, exposed, like someone had peeled away the last fragile layer of me that still dared to believe in forever.

Yesterday’s humiliation continued to replay in my head without mercy: Xavier’s voice slicing me open in front of the entire elite world, branding me boring, predictable, a lifeless doll. Mother and Father had rushed to Clara as though she were the only daughter worth saving.

No one had come to check on me. Not Mother with her hollow half-promises. Not Father with his usual brusque dismissal. Not even a maid with a tray of breakfast or a single word of comfort. The house had simply continued its rhythm, erasing me as though I had never existed.

What had I ever done to deserve this? The question burned behind my eyes, hot and futile. I had been the obedient one. The quiet one. The flawless one on paper. I had smiled through every spotlight stolen by Clara, every dream I buried so the family could remain “united.” And still, they chose her tears every single time.

A sharp knock rattled the door. Before I could answer, it swung open.

Clara sauntered in without invitation, still in her silk robe, hair perfect even after last night’s drama. Her smile was all teeth sharp, mocking, victorious.

“Sister,” she drawled, the word dripping with fake sweetness. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying me like I was something mildly entertaining. “Still sulking? You heard Xavier loud and clear. He prefers "me" Said you’re boring. Always looking like a pretty porcelain doll nice to look at, but no spark. Don’t worry, though. I’ll take very good care of him.”

My stomach twisted violently. Fresh pain slammed into the old wound, reopening it wider. I forced myself to meet her eyes, voice barely steady. “Get out.”

She laughed lightly, cruelly, the sound slicing straight through whatever was left of my heart. “Oh, but I’m just getting started. Mom’s already found your perfect match. She’s been working on it for weeks, apparently. Just in case.”

The air left my lungs in a rush. “What… what are you talking about?”

Clara stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that felt like poison sliding under my skin. “He’s filthy rich. Old money. Power. The kind of man who could buy this entire city twice over.” She paused for effect, eyes gleaming with pure delight. “But he has the mind of a child. Literally. Spoiled, tantrums, needs constant attention. You’re going to be his nanny for the rest of your life, Celine. Wiping drool, soothing meltdowns, smiling through it all while he throws toys or maybe millions at whatever whim strikes him.”

Each word landed like a fresh punch to the ribs.

My vision blurred at the edges. Rage and disbelief collided so violently in my chest that I couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t rejection anymore. This was exile wrapped in silk and pity. They weren’t even pretending to love me. They were trading me like livestock to keep Clara happy, to secure alliances, to tie up the loose end that was me.

“You’re lying,” I whispered, voice cracking.

“Oh, am I?” She tilted her head, smile widening like a predator who knew it had already won. “Mom thinks it’s a brilliant compromise. You get security, status, and a husband who won’t cheat because he’s too busy playing video games and collecting cars. And best of all no competition. No real threat to my spotlight." She straightened, eyes sparkling with triumph. “Good luck with your wedding, by the way. Try not to cry too much at the altar. It’ll ruin the photos.”

She turned on her heel and glided out, the door clicking shut behind her like a guillotine blade.

Silence crashed back in, heavier than before.

My hands shook first. Then my whole body. A sob tore out of me raw, ugly, uncontrollable. I doubled over on the bed, clutching my stomach as wave after wave of humiliation, rage, and bone-deep heartbreak slammed through me.

Why do they hate me this much?

What did I ever do except love them?

How many times do I have to disappear before they finally see me?

The questions ripped through my mind like knives. I had spent my entire life shrinking so Clara could shine. Skipping parties. Burying myself in books. Sacrificing every dream just to keep the peace. And this was the reward: a husband with the mind of a child. A future as a glorified babysitter. A family that had already written me out of their story.

I stood abruptly, legs unsteady, the room spinning. The mirror across the room caught my reflection pale, hollow-eyed, cheeks wet with tears. But behind the pain, something fierce flickered to life.

They thought they could hand me off to a man-child and call it mercy.

They were wrong.

I wasn’t going to be anyone’s nanny. I wasn’t going to smile and nod while they rewrote my entire life.

Not anymore.

I crossed to the closet on shaking legs, pulled out the suitcase.

I’m leaving.

The suitcase was half-packed when the bedroom door flew open again.

Father stood there, flanked by two of our private security guards. His face was stone. Mother hovered behind him, arms crossed, eyes glittering with cold satisfaction.

“Going somewhere?” Father asked, voice low and final.

I froze, suitcase zipper halfway closed. “Yes. I’m done. I’m leaving this house, this family tonight."

Mother’s laugh was soft, almost pitying. “Oh, Celine. Sweet, naïve Celine. You still think you have a choice?”

Father stepped inside, the guards blocking the doorway behind him. He held up a single sheet of paper. “This is the preliminary marriage contract with the Thornharts. It was signed this morning. By us. In your name.”

My blood turned to ice. “You… forged my signature?”

“No need,” he said calmly. “As your legal guardians, we have full authority until you turn twenty-five. One signature from us, and the courts will see it as binding. Refuse the wedding, and we’ll have you declared mentally unfit just like the Thornhart heir’s mother, rotting in that facility. The papers are already prepared. One call, and you’ll be committed before sunrise. No money. No passport. No future.”

The room tilted. I clutched the suitcase handle so tightly my knuckles bleached white. Shock slammed into me like a physical blow. They weren’t just trading me; they had built a cage around every exit I could take. Run, and they would lock me away forever. Stay silent, and I would become Lucien Thornhart’s nursemaid for life.

Tears burned hot down my cheeks again, but this time they were born of pure, crushing defeat. Rage, despair, and a bone-deep exhaustion collided inside my chest until I could barely draw breath. I had nothing left. No money of my own. No allies. No escape route that wouldn’t end with me drugged and forgotten in some private institution.

I looked at the suitcase, then at the two guards blocking the only door.

There was no leaving.

There was only the marriage.

My voice came out small, broken, barely audible. “Fine. I’ll marry him.”

Father nodded once, satisfied. Mother’s smile was thin and victorious. The guards stepped aside without a word.

I sank onto the bed as the door clicked shut behind them, the suitcase slipping from my numb fingers to the floor.

One humiliation ended last night.

Another far colder and far more dangerous had just sealed itself around my throat.

What do I do now?