Never Forgive Never Forget (Celeste and Philip) novel Chapter 66

"How many times do I have to turn you down before you finally get the message? I'll say it one more time: I want nothing more to do with you. My life isn't any of your business, so stay out of it."

"If you try to talk me into it again, I'll kick you. Go ahead, test me."

Philip doubled over, clutching his side in pain, staring at Celeste in disbelief.

Was this really his Celly?

She used to hang on his every word, never even raising her voice, let alone her hand. He couldn't accept that Celeste had become this person.

"I'm just trying to help—ow!"

Celeste landed another sharp kick.

"Every time you talk, I kick. I mean it."

"Celeste! After all these years together—mmph—!"

He really deserved another kick.

Celeste couldn't even be bothered to argue. Every time Philip opened his mouth, her foot was already on the move.

Philip yelped and stumbled around the room, finally realizing she wasn't bluffing. He scowled, bracing himself against the wall and snapped, "Celeste! That's enough!"

Bang—

The door burst open.

The project manager jumped, startled by the sudden noise.

Alfred strode in with his usual air of command. He took one look at Celeste—her chest heaving with anger, strands of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks—and immediately hurried to her side, steadying her by the shoulders.

"Don't let him get to you."

Celeste took a few slow, deep breaths and tucked her messy hair behind her ear, answering with calm composure, "I'm not angry. Some people just don't understand anything but a little force."

She started to move forward again.

Philip glared, watching this fiery side of Celeste he'd never seen before, bitterness twisting in his gut. There's no way Alfred could really like a woman like her, he thought darkly. Just wait, Celeste—he'll show his true colors soon enough. He's only stringing you along.

Sweat beaded on Philip's forehead.

"I didn't mean—"

"Do you need an ice pack?" Alfred ignored him completely, bending down to carefully inspect Celeste's ankle, as if her sore foot was the only thing that mattered.

Philip was left speechless.

Even Celeste couldn't help but laugh, glancing up with a sparkle in her eye. "It's just a little sore, not even swollen. I don't need ice."

Her words were lighthearted, but to everyone else, there was a hint of playful affection in her tone.

"You say it hurts, but you refuse the ice," Alfred said, his voice gentle with a touch of exasperated fondness.

Celeste bent to touch her ankle, listening to Alfred's soft, almost theatrical concern, and let out a real laugh.

This man—when it counted—knew exactly how to play the part.

Flawless performance, as if he'd rehearsed for this his whole life.