All Chapters of No Way to Win Me Back: Chapter 251 - Chapter 260

Celeste’s POVThe morning light slanted through the studio windows.The Paraiba tourmaline sat in its final setting, the culmination of six weeks of sleepless nights, endless trials, and small victories no one else would ever see.I’d left Molly with my mother for the day. She had been thrilled to have her, and I knew the girl needed the gentle normalcy, a calm reprieve from the chaos of Rosemary Atelier.By noon, Rachel was putting the finishing touches on the display board, documenting every step of the gemstone’s story: from the old Portuguese mine to the fragile brilliance that had inspired every cut and curve.Grace was coordinating the shipping labels for the prototypes, ensuring nothing went astray, while Jenny double-checked press materials and layouts.Gideon, who had been quiet today, moved with that measured efficiency of his, anticipating every need without a word.I stood over the stone one last time, hands brushing its edges lightly, feeling its subtle warmth.It wasn’t p

Celeste’s POVThe first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was soft, golden light filtering through the half-closed blinds of my studio.Then, a breath later, I saw him.Ryan was still asleep beside me, one arm draped loosely around my waist, his face turned slightly toward mine.The faint rise and fall of his chest was steady, peaceful, maddeningly beautiful.His hair was tousled, shoulders partially covered by the throw blanket of the couch.We’d fallen asleep like this.For a long moment, I just watched him.The way the sunlight caught on his lashes, how his lips parted slightly as he exhaled.I told myself I wasn’t staring. I was just... appreciating art.“Are you cataloguing my flaws again?” he murmured suddenly, voice low and thick with sleep.I startled, then laughed quietly. “You were supposed to be asleep.”He cracked one eye open, lazy and teasing.“Hard to sleep when someone’s looking at me like they’re sketching me in their head.”“I wasn’t-”“You were.” He smiled, slow, kno

Celeste’s POVThe door clicked softly behind me as I stepped into my mother’s house.The smell of cardamom tea and buttered toast filled the hallway.It was like a balm to my overthinking soul.I had that familiar ache again, the one that came every time I realized how late it was and how Molly had spent another evening without me.Claire looked up from the sofa when she saw me.“Finally,” she said, setting down her cup. “You work like the world’s ending tomorrow.”“I know. Sorry, Mom,” I sighed, slipping off my heels. “We were finalizing the Paraiba piece. I didn’t mean to keep her this long.”“You never do,” she replied softly, but her tone held no anger. Only weariness. “She’s in the playroom.”I nodded and headed toward the small room down the hall.The door was half open, spilling warm light into the corridor.Molly was sitting cross-legged on the floor, coloring something intently.Her tiny fingers gripped the crayon too tightly, her brow furrowed in concentration.“Hey, sweethea

Celeste’s POVIt was Saturday morning.The kind that made me wish time would slow down.Ryan had shown up right after breakfast, toolbox in hand and a teasing grin on his face.“Alright, Sinclair,” he said, kicking off his shoes by the door. “Where do you want me?”I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a dangerous question.”He smirked. “You know what I meant.”“Mm-hm,” I said, pretending to examine a pile of unopened IKEA boxes in the spare room. “Bed frame first. Grace’s old room needs to stop looking like a crime scene.”He stepped in beside me, sleeves rolled up, veins visible under tanned forearms. “You mean this mess of bolts and confusion?”“Exactly that.”“Should be a walk in the park,” he said, amusement flashing in his eyes.“Really?” I was surprised because assembling a bed took a lot.“Yes,” Ryan nodded simply, “I only need one thing to make it all easy.”I raised my brows, “Is there a tool missing? Should I have gotten more-”I couldn’t quite finish my sentence because Ryan’s mouth

Ryan’s POVThe ambulance doors slammed shut before I even realized I was inside.My father’s body was on the stretcher, pale and motionless except for the weak rise and fall of his chest.His fingers twitched once, and that tiny movement broke something in me I didn’t know was breakable.“Mr. Edwards, stay with us,” one paramedic shouted as they placed an oxygen mask over his face.I could barely breathe.I sat beside him, gripping the metal rail, knuckles white.“Father,” I said, my voice low, controlled, but shaking underneath. “You don’t get to do this. Not like this.”His eyes didn’t open.The ambulance wailed through the city, and I felt the vibration of every turn in my bones.It was ridiculous. I wasn’t ten, I wasn’t helpless, but the fear felt exactly like childhood.Exactly like the night we lost my mother.No. Not again.When they wheeled him into the emergency ward, I tried to follow, but a nurse blocked my path.“You need to wait outside.”“I’m not leaving him.”“Sir—”“He’