บททั้งหมดของ No Way to Win Me Back: บทที่ 511 - บทที่ 520

Celeste’s POVI brought Molly home three days later, and my hands were shaking the entire drive, even though she was stable now, even though the doctors had smiled and said words like responding well and no lasting damage.Vivian sat in the passenger seat, quiet, her hands folded so tightly in her lap her knuckles had gone white. Molly was in the back, smaller somehow, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like hospital detergent and antiseptic, her curls flattened against her forehead. She looked tired, but when we pulled up in front of my apartment building, her head lifted.“Home?” she asked softly.The word hit me straight in the chest.“Yes,” I said, my voice catching before I could stop it. “Home.”The elevator ride felt endless. I kept glancing at her reflection in the mirror panels, half-expecting her to disappear again, to be taken somewhere else by circumstance or paperwork or adult mistakes.When the doors finally opened and I unlocked my front door, the familiar creak sounded a

Ryan’s POVI had learned, over the past few weeks, that Crown Luxe did not ask, it summoned.The meeting was scheduled for nine sharp, labeled vaguely as Strategic Alignment: Q4 Global Expansion. That alone should have warned me. Maximilian never hid power plays behind creativity. He hid them behind bureaucracy.The boardroom was already half full when I walked in. Polished walnut table, leather chairs that looked too comfortable for the kind of conversations that happened in them, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city like it was something we owned rather than inhabited. Heads turned when I entered. Not curious. Assessing.The heir.That word clung to me now, whether I wanted it to or not.Maximilian sat at the head of the table, immaculate as always, silver hair perfectly combed, expression unreadable. Mr. Davis stood a little to his right, tablet tucked under his arm, eyes flicking to me for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Encouragement. Or warning. Possibly bo

Celeste’s POVI went to the Imperial Aurium Group on a Tuesday afternoon with exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin. The building was all glass, steel, and quiet power, Damien’s territory now, reclaimed and polished. I hadn’t been here since before everything fell apart, and even then, I’d walked these halls as his wife, not as a guest asking for grace.Miss Wilson recognized me immediately. Her posture, usually as stiff as a starched collar, softened just a fraction.“He’s in a meeting,” she said. “But I’ll let him know you’re here.”“Please,” I said, my voice sounding thinner than I liked. “I can wait.”I sat in one of the leather chairs outside Damien’s office, my hands folded tightly in my lap. My mind kept replaying the image of Bonnie’s birthday cake I’d seen on social media, pink frosting, gold lettering, seven candles standing straight and proud.I hadn’t been there.I’d been in a sterile hospital room watching Molly’s chest rise and fall, counting the seconds between br

Celeste’s POVThe office had been quiet in that particular way only early mornings ever were, machines humming softly, lights still warming up, the scent of metal polish and coffee clinging to the air. I liked getting in before everyone else. It gave me the illusion of control. Of calm. Of being ahead of whatever disaster the day was going to bring.I was sketching variations for the Beaumont winter collection when Jenny appeared at my door, tablet hugged to her chest, eyes already apologetic.“Celeste,” she said carefully, as if testing the temperature of my mood. “There’s a private appointment that just came in. High priority. They insisted on seeing you specifically.”I looked up, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. “This morning?”She nodded. “They’re already downstairs.”Of course they were.“Give me ten minutes,” I said. “And ask Grace to sit in. Beaumont’s people were supposed to be here today anyway, weren’t they?”“Yes,” Jenny said quickly. “They’re… early too.”I exhaled, a thi

Ryan’s POVI had learned to measure my days by the pressure behind my eyes.That morning, it felt like a tight band cinched around my skull, a reminder that even breathing at Crown Luxe had started to feel like an act of defiance.Maximilian didn’t knock. He never did.He walked in as if the space belonged to him, which, in every practical sense, it did, and placed a slim folder on my desk. His expression was calm, pleased even, the way a man looks when he believes he’s about to make a reasonable demand.“We need to talk about optics,” he said.I didn’t look at the folder. I already knew what it was. My days had been nothing but optics lately. Optics over truth. Optics over loyalty. Optics over love.“I’m late for a production review,” I replied.“You’ll reschedule,” he said mildly. “This is more important.”That word, important, had been weaponized in my childhood. Important means unavoidable. Important meant obedience dressed as necessity.He opened the folder himself. A photo slid i