Never Forgive Never Forget (Celeste and Philip) novel Chapter 115

The music and chatter never stopped.

Philip's voice cut through it all—impossible to miss. He looked frayed, his shirt cuff rumpled from someone grabbing it in haste, the gel in his hair failing as loose strands fell over his forehead. His eyes were clouded with worry.

To Celeste, the moment felt dreamlike, as if she'd been dropped into someone else's life.

Once, Philip had spoken to her like this—rushing to reassure her, always pleading for her understanding, always urging her to make allowances for Viola's fragile health. But now, he'd left Viola's side and come straight to her, as if to say that, at least in this moment, Celeste mattered more than Viola.

But Celeste no longer cared.

Standing before her ex-boyfriend, a man who now believed she'd been the other woman all along, she only looked at him the way you'd look at someone hopelessly deluded.

"This is exactly where I belong," she said, producing a gold-embossed invitation card from her clutch.

Every one of these invitations was custom-made by the organizers, reserved exclusively for the VIP guests.

For a brief moment, something flickered in Philip's eyes—surprise, disbelief. Alfred had gone this far for a supposed "mistress"?

Celeste let the invitation spin between her fingers before it landed lightly on her lap. She smiled.

"I've always known my place, Mr. Robertson. Perhaps you should learn yours."

Old flames don't reignite.

A wise woman never looks back.

Her eyes were cool, distant—she was done with Philip, and she made sure he understood it.

"Celeste, Philip's just worried Mrs. Hopkins has her sights set on you. He's only trying to help," Viola interjected, slipping seamlessly into the space beside her.

Outwardly, Viola still played the part of the delicate darling—her pale green off-shoulder dress enhancing her fresh, innocent beauty.

She picked up a flute of champagne, stepping closer with a tentative smile.

"Celeste, Philip got the wrong idea about you because of my asthma last time. I want to apologize for that, today…" Her words trailed into a gasp.

The glass trembled in her hand.

"Viola may be frail, but she's not mute. Does she really need you to speak for her, word for word? If she's that helpless, Mr. Robertson, maybe you should keep her safe at home, like a fragile little specimen in a glass case."

Celeste wasn't interested in hearing another word. She swept past him, signaling for a server to show her to the changing room.

At events of this caliber, there were always spare gowns for guests.

She left Viola and Philip standing awkwardly in the middle of the floor, both of them humiliated, their faces drained of color.

***

The lounge was quiet when Celeste stepped inside, following the attendant.

She didn't get two steps before Beverly's sharp tongue cut through the air.

"My, what happened to your dress? Looks a mess."

"I thought the Hopkins family favored you now. I figured even if you ripped your dress, they'd have a wardrobe of spares ready for their bright new star. But here you are—just like the rest of us—scrounging for a backup in the guest closet."