Never Forgive Never Forget (Celeste and Philip) novel Chapter 164

She'd missed so many concerts because of work.

And that custom violin she'd promised herself thirteen years ago? Still nothing but a phantom on her to-do list.

Now, Philip was still stubbornly chasing after her, spinning promises he could never keep.

A cold laugh slipped from her lips. In a flash, Celeste's high heel came down hard on Philip's polished shoe.

She heard him grunt in pain.

Amanda and her daughter shrieked nearby.

With a swift motion, Celeste wrenched herself free from Philip's grip. She looked down at the man, now hunched and wincing from the pain, and said icily, "Let me go."

"If you can't even manage that, spare me the empty promises."

With that, she spun on her heel and strode away. Just as the elevator doors slid shut, she threw him a taunting smile over her shoulder. "I've already hit my targets for the month. I'm clocking out—goodbye."

Philip's face was ashen with pain, yet his fists clenched at his sides.

He couldn't blame Celeste for resenting him—he'd failed her far too many times. He'd make it up to her, somehow. He had to.

—

Celeste left the office and headed straight for Claud's studio.

Her father's constant pressure, Philip's relentless neediness, and all the corporate backstabbing—it was exhausting, body and soul.

She entered the empty studio, losing herself in the rhythm of shaping clay. Only then did her restless mind begin to calm.

It was dusk by the time Claud arrived. His eyes widened as he saw the row of finished pieces.

"All these… you made these replicas yourself?" He was incredulous. "I can hardly believe my eyes—this is the work of an outsider? Miss Duncan, with your skill, you could join the studio as a full-time ceramicist. Honestly, the details on this one—you'd never know it wasn't the real thing!"

He was clearly impressed.

She snapped a photo and sent it along.

Alfred replied almost instantly. "Looks delicious."

"If it's good, next time you'll have to come with me," she wrote back.

For a second, Celeste remembered Alfred was her ally, not her best friend. She hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen, considering deleting the message.

Then Alfred sent two quick "sounds good" texts, punctuated with full stops.

Celeste's hand paused in midair. She didn't delete the message. In fact, the thought of sharing a meal with Alfred made her smile—ally or not, he was always reliable, always there when she needed him.

Satisfied, she put her phone down.

Claud, sitting across from her, had caught a glimpse of Alfred's name on her screen. He handed the menu back to the waitress and teased, "Reporting in to your husband? You look way too happy for just a dinner."