Chapter 8
Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.
He returned to the estate. Everything was exactly as it had always been.
My books still lined the shelves. My favorite mug sat on the kitchen counter. The faint trace of my perfume lingered in their bedroom.
It was as if I had never left. As if the past twenty–four hours hadn’t shattered everything.
He sank onto the leather couch, his gaze locking onto the enormous wedding portrait that hung in the center of the living room.
The image had always been there, but tonight, for the first time, he really saw it.
The bride and groom stood side by side, facing each other, their hands entwined.
To an outsider, they looked like the perfect couple. But if one looked close–there was something else.
A quiet sorrow lingering in both of their eyes. I hadn’t understood it before. But now, I did.
The sadness in his gaze? It was because he had married a woman he believed he didn’t love.
In the beginning, we had treated each other like old friends. Polite. Respectful. But always with an invisible wall
‘between us.
Until that night.
That night when Atlas had come home reeking of whiskey, his composure undone, his defenses lowered.
He had pinned me beneath him, his breath uneven, his voice raw as he murmured my name over and over again
like a prayer.
Celeste.
Celeste.
Celeste.
I hadn’t pushed him away. Instead, I had kissed him first.
A hesitant touch that quickly turned desperate. That night, something between us had snapped.
There was no more distance.
Only tangled sheets, whispered names, and two hearts pressed so close together it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
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Chapter 8
From that night on, we had become what the world believed them to be–an inseparable couple.
A husband and wife who belonged together.
And Atlas had convinced himself that what he felt for me was just guilt.
That every birthday surprise he planned, every moment he spent by my side, every time he looked at me and felt something tighten in his chest-
It was all guilt. Nothing more.
But now, he finally realized the truth. Atlas clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists.
In the day–to–day moments of our life together, in the small intimacies we had shared, he had fallen in love with me.
And he hadn’t even noticed.
His eyes squeezed shut, his mind flooding with images of me. The way I laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. The way I looked in the mornings, hair messy, skin warm from sleep.
Then–another image surfaced–my face, pale with pain.
His eyes flew open, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands trembled as he looked down at the medical report still clutched between his fingers.
A sharp, unbearable pain tore through his chest, unlike anything he had ever felt before.
“Atlas, don’t be sad,” a soft voice cooed from behind him. Slender arms wrapped around his shoulders, a familiar
floral scent filling the air.
Atlas stiffened. For a brief, wild moment, his heart leaped with hope—Celeste, she had come back.
He turned abruptly, pulling the figure into a desperate embrace, his voice rough and frantic.
“Celeste, you’re back,” he murmured against her hair. “Don’t leave me. I won’t divorce you. I’ll fix everything–just let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you, please-”
A long pause. The body in his arms remained unnaturally still.
Then–a quiet, tremulous inhale.
And a voice that wasn’t hers. “Atlas… it’s me,” Ivy whispered.
A suffocating silence filled the space between them.
For one long, agonizing moment, Atlas remained still. Then, realization crashed into him like a tidal wave.
He pushed her away. Ivy stumbled back, her expression faltering.
His gaze, once desperate, was now cold, cutting through her like ice.
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Chapter 8
“You’re not Celeste,” he said, his voice sharp enough to wound.
He took a step back, as if repulsed. “Why are you here?”
