Chapter 46
Celeste met Philip’s accusatory glare without flinching. She folded her arms, her voice cold as she added, “But let’s not forget–it was me who pulled her out of that
backwater. For the sake of that…”
She paused, then finished, “When she finally passes and you’re having her cremated, make sure someone lets me know. I’ll at least send a couple hundred bucks for the burial. It’s the least I can do.”
The words barely left her lips when Philip’s eyes went wide–he couldn’t believe such venom could come from Celly of all people.
Viola felt the sting of Celeste’s hatred and her heart skipped a beat.
“Philip, I only wanted to suggest you talk things through with Celeste. I never thought… she’d curse me like this!”
“Curse you, bless you–does it really matter? Enough with the theatrics. The both of you, please leave.”
Celeste’s patience was worn razor–thin; her head ached from the commotion. She retreated to the foyer, ready to slam the door shut and end this farce.
But the door didn’t close. Philip’s hand clamped tightly onto the frame, refusing to let go.
“Wait, Celly, I–I still want to talk to you.”
Celeste hesitated, regretting she hadn’t given him a good kick before trying to shut him out. Now it was too late; he was stronger than she remembered and she stood
no chance in a tug–of–war.
As Philip slowly forced the door open, Celeste caught a flash of bitter resentment in Viola’s eyes. Viola was clinging desperately to Philip’s other arm, as if he were her last lifeline.
With Viola anchoring Philip in place, Celeste made a split–second decision. Gritting her teeth, she mustered all her strength and slammed the door with everything she
had.
“Agh-!”
Philip didn’t pull his hand away in time. His fingers were caught in the door, turning purple and swelling in seconds.
“Philip, are you okay? How could Celeste be so cruel?” Viola cried, her eyes
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Chapter 46
brimming with concern as she took his injured hand in hers, ready to heap on more
blame.
But Philip gently pulled his hand away from her touch. Clutching his throbbing hand, he stepped back to the door. In the same charming tone he’d once used to win Celeste over, he called softly, “Celly, my hand is hurt. It really hurts…”
A wall and a door separated them, but Celeste could hear the exaggerated frailty in his voice. The sound stirred old memories.
Back in school, Philip had hurt his hand playing basketball. Standing behind the wire fence, he’d called out to her in the same plaintive tone, asking her to skip her study session in the library and come take care of him. She hadn’t hesitated back then; she’d rushed onto the court to check on his swollen fingers, with their classmates teasing in the background. Philip had always pulled her close, murmuring, “Celly, no one takes care of me like you do.”
That memory overlapped with his voice now, pleading from the other side of the door.
“Just look at me, will you?” he coaxed.
But Celeste shook off the nostalgia. Her heart was as cold and unyielding as ice–there was no pity left.
“If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police.”
“Celly…”
So annoying. She hated the sound of him calling her name again and again. Without hesitation, Celeste dialed the security office for the gated community. Within minutes, the commotion outside stopped abruptly. Well–trained security guards surrounded the two trespassers. Viola, feigning fear, cowered behind Philip and clung to his sleeve, putting on her most pitiful face.
“Celeste is so heartless, actually calling someone to kick us out… Philip, I’m scared. What if they really hurt us?”
