Never Forgive Never Forget (Celeste and Philip) novel Chapter 88

Beverly stood frozen, her face drained of all color.

Up near the front, Mack was leading Celeste to their seats in the VIP section, drawing a fresh wave of astonished whispers from the crowd behind them.

"She's really sitting up front with Mack! That has to be Mrs. Hopkins—no question about it!"

"What kind of lousy event is this? Only a few VIP seats left, and the rest of us have to stand?"

"Oh, please. Anyone who gets a spot up front isn't even in the same league as us. Be grateful they even let us stand back here and catch a glimpse."

Beverly found herself lumped in with the rest, lingering awkwardly at the back.

Meanwhile, Celeste sat in the very first row, calm as ever.

Why?

Why was it that, despite sharing the same father, Celeste got all the privileges?

All Beverly wanted in that moment was someone's arms to fall into, someone she could cry to.

She turned, only to catch Jasper's gaze—still locked on Celeste, his eyes wide with disbelief. Was she really that captivating?

Jasper didn't even notice Beverly watching him. He was just now snapping out of his daze, the chatter around him finally sinking in.

So, she really is Celeste.

Who would've thought she had such a sharp tongue?

His emotions had been tossed all over the place tonight, and Jasper found himself even more intrigued by Celeste, unable to look away.

Elsewhere in the room, Viola and Philip exchanged glances, both startled to realize that the mysterious woman from earlier was, in fact, Alfred's new wife.

Philip had only come tonight to try and win a partnership with Hopkins Group—something he hoped would finally silence his nagging relatives.

He approached, planning to discuss Hopkins Group's latest development at The Silvercrest Emporium.

"I—"

When the doors at the back of the hall swung open with a thud.

"Mr. Alfred!"

Someone in the crowd called out, and all heads turned.

Alfred strode in, clearly just arrived from the office. His suit was a pale grey—immaculately tailored, though his usually perfect hair was a little tousled from rushing over. The cold edge in his eyes softened the instant he saw Celeste.

"My apologies," he said, breaking his silence to acknowledge his brief delay.

Then, before everyone's stunned gaze, he adjusted his shirt cuffs and walked briskly, straight toward Celeste.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd—Mr. Alfred, being this attentive to his wife? Was this really the famously frosty Mr. Alfred?

Philip watched in silence as Alfred made his way to ‘Mrs. Hopkins,' a sharp pang tightening in his chest.

Celly would rather be the mistress of a man who adored his wife than ever come back to him.