บททั้งหมดของ No Way to Win Me Back: บทที่ 471 - บทที่ 480

Celeste’s POVI woke up every morning expecting the noise to return. Not the shouting kind, the cameras, the microphones, the questions hurled like stones, but the quieter noise. The one that settled behind my eyes. The one that hummed through my bones even when the world seemed to have moved on.The headlines had slowed. Rosemary Atelier was no longer trending every hour. My name isn’t screaming from every screen because it was being taken up by bigger news. Crown Luxe finally had an official heir. The problematic younger son was being welcomed with open arms.The damage hadn’t receded with the attention, though. It had lodged itself deeper, in places no press conference could touch.At the office, everything looked the same. The light still spilled through the tall windows at the same angle in the morning. The smell of metal and polishing compound still clung to the air. Tools sat where they always had. Sketches were pinned, half-finished designs whispering possibilities. And yet, I

Celeste’s POVThe first thing I noticed was the silence.Not the peaceful kind, the hollow, ringing kind that settles in after a storm has already torn everything apart. Rosemary Atelier was still full, still moving, still humming with work, but the noise had shifted. It wasn’t about me anymore.And that somehow felt worse.I stood in my office, arms crossed, watching the muted television mounted on the wall. The crawl at the bottom of the screen no longer carried my name in bold, scandalized letters. Instead, it read:MAXIMILIAN EDWARDS UNDER SCRUTINY: POWER, POLITICS, AND THE INTERNATIONAL JEWELRY ASSOCIATIONGrace had been right when she said the media didn’t move on, they redirected.Rachel leaned against the table, flipping through her tablet. Jenny sat on the arm of the sofa, phone buzzing nonstop in her hand. I could feel their attention split between the screen and me, like they were afraid I might shatter if someone breathed too loudly.“I don’t like this,” I said finally, bre

Vivian’s POVI read the message three times before it sank in.One sentence. No greeting. No explanation.I’ve made a decision. I’ll explain when I can.Steven was standing at the window of our apartment in Antwerp, the city stretched out beneath him in neat, quiet lines, all steel and water and winter light. He didn’t turn when my phone buzzed. He didn’t need to. Somehow, he already knew.“Ryan?” he asked.“Yes.”That was all it took. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass, shoulders tight. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The hum of traffic below felt too loud, like the world was continuing without permission.Hours later, the news broke.Ryan Edwards. Official heir of Crown Luxe.The headline felt unreal, like someone else’s life had been misfiled under our names. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering uselessly, scrolling through photos of him stepping out of Crown Luxe headquarters, suit immaculate, expression carefully neutral. He looked exactly like Ma

Ryan’s POVI knew it was a mistake the moment the door opened.Vivian had just reached for her glass, relaxed for the first time all evening, when the room shifted. It wasn’t dramatic, no gasp, no hush, but there are certain presences that bend the air when they enter. Maximilian Edwards didn’t announce himself. He never had to.He walked in like he owned the walls, the table, the future.“Ryan,” he said, voice calm, precise. “Vivian.”Vivian’s spine went rigid. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, then she set it down slowly, deliberately, as if reminding herself she was still in control of her body even if the situation wasn’t.“Maximilian,” she replied evenly.I stood, instinctively. Old habits die hard. He gave me a look that suggested standing wasn’t necessary, that I was already exactly where he wanted me.“Sit,” he said mildly.I did.The private dining room no longer felt private. The low lighting, the muted art, the discreet distance of the staff, it all suddenl

Ryan’s POVI hadn’t planned to come back like this.Three days felt like a lifetime and a blink at the same time. Long enough for headlines to calcify into truth. Short enough that my body still expected hers beside me when I slept.Rosemary Atelier looked the same from the outside, clean glass, quiet confidence, but my chest tightened as soon as I stepped through the doors, like the building itself knew I didn’t belong here anymore.I had the envelope in my hand the entire time.Resignation letters are strange things. A single page that pretends choices are neat, that sacrifice can be folded into a paragraph and signed at the bottom. Mine was addressed properly, worded professionally. I’d rewritten it four times and hated every version.Grace nodded at me from across the floor, surprise flickering across her face before she smoothed it away. She didn’t stop me. No one did. They all knew where I was going.Celeste’s studio door was half open.She was standing by her desk, sleeves rolle