Never Forgive Never Forget (Celeste and Philip) novel Chapter 91

Philip's nails dug into his palm, pain shooting through his hand and rooting him to the spot.

Right then, a server approached at just the right moment.

"Mr. Robertson, I'm afraid you've lingered in the VIP section long enough. Please come with me."

At last, Philip unclenched his fist, shoving down the storm of anger in his chest. He turned on his heel and strode away.

Halfway to the exit, he stopped. Turning back, he snapped a photo of Alfred and "Mrs. Hopkins" deep in conversation, side by side.

In the picture, their shoulders touched. Out of sight, their hands were entwined.

Celeste, you're nothing but a shadow, a secret no one's supposed to see.

Philip bit down on the bitter thought as he saved the damning photo, determined to send it to Celeste later—let her see who Alfred really was.

Ahead, Alfred was the first to pull his hand back, ever the gentleman.

"I've made the rounds and greeted everyone I needed to," he said quietly, making it clear he was ready to leave.

His attention was entirely on Celeste. It seemed that every time Philip's mood shifted, it sent ripples through Celeste, too.

How easy it was to be jealous of that.

Celeste couldn't read Alfred's mind. Either way, she found the party dull and pointless—she'd much rather slip home early with him and call it a night.

The audience had dispersed; the actors could finally step offstage.

No one dared question their early departure.

...

Moonwater Grove.

The car rolled to a stop at the base of Celeste's apartment building.

Alfred had to return to the Hopkins estate to report in, so he got out halfway and left instructions for his assistant to drive Celeste the rest of the way home.

Celeste pulled her injured hand from her pocket, deliberately showing off the white bandage wrapped around it.

She'd worn black gloves at the gala earlier, but now in her everyday clothes, the stark bandage stood out, impossible to miss.

"So, do you want to talk," she said, voice like steel, "or are you here to hurt me again?"

Philip's expression twisted with pain. He stopped dead in his tracks.

Celeste tucked her hand away and lifted her chin, proud and dismissive.

"I'm tired and need to rest. Don't block my way."

Viola clutched her coat, glaring at Celeste's aloofness. Who was she to act so high and mighty? Just a mistress, nothing more!

Seeing Celeste about to brush past them and go inside, Philip blurted out, "Wait—I wanted to tell you about Alfred and his wife—"

A sharp car horn echoed through the night.