The Love That Came Too Late

Chapter 5 Birthday Forgotten

Celia sat quietly in the room. The door creaked open behind her, and Xavier stepped inside. "Look, about today, we were wrong to accuse you."

Celia did not respond.

It was as if she had not heard him, or maybe she simply did not care.

She did not care about any of them. Not their false accusations, not his hollow apology.

Xavier's chest tightened with emptiness. "Celia."

But Celia kept her back to him, her voice icy. "Xavier, where is my mattress?"

He froze.

That mattress had been custom ordered, costing a small fortune.

As a lawyer, Celia spent endless hours hunched over case files, and the strain on her back was crippling. Some nights, the pain tore her from sleep.

On her doctor's advice, she had bought that corrective mattress, the one that was supposed to help.

Xavier remained silent.

Celia was not surprised.

"Iris took it, did she not?"

Her voice was flat, lifeless as a stagnant pond.

Xavier's throat clenched as if stuffed with cotton. "Celia."

She had known since that first night back. The mattress beneath her had felt all wrong, thin, hard, merciless.

She had asked him then, her tone carefully light. "Why does the mattress feel different?"

He had not answered. She had not pressed.

But the next day, passing Iris's room, she had caught their voices.

"Iris, return the mattress to Celia. She noticed."

"Big deal if she noticed? After a year in prison on a concrete slab, she thinks she rates a luxury mattress now?"

Xavier had not objected.

That silence spoke volumes.

Because she had been to prison, she no longer deserved comfort.

Celia had always known her conviction would stain her life forever.

But she had never imagined her own family would twist the knife, plunging it deep, then wrenching it until her heart was a raw, gaping wound.

A fortnight after her release, the house hummed with preparations for Iris's birthday.

Celia watched servants scurry below her window before turning away, her lips twisted bitterly.

Three days after she had come home, her birthday, had passed unnoticed.

In prison, she had dreamed of finally celebrating with her family.

Yet when the day came, no one remembered.

So she had cooked a single serving of pasta, bought the tiniest cake on the shelf, and sang to herself in the dark.

"Happy birthday to Celia."

The trembling candlelight painted her face in a fragile glow as she managed a quivering smile. The instant the flame died, tears spilled freely down her face.

Tonight, however, Iris's birthday celebration painted a stark contrast.

Guests had already streamed in long before the festivities began.

Dressed in a shimmering pink gown and crowned with a diamond tiara, Iris reveled in the spotlight, surrounded by fawning admirers. They fell over themselves praising the Hartwell family's second daughter, the legal world's dazzling rising star.

As for Celia, she stood forgotten in a dim corner.

Midway through the party, a young woman sidled up with a saccharine smile. "I just met Iris recently. Are you one of her friends too? What is your name?"

"Celia."

The girl's smile vanished like a snuffed candle. Her face twisted in disgust as she rolled her eyes. "Ugh. You. You should have led with that."

Dagger-like stares and hushed whispers pierced the air.

Then, a stranger stepped forward, snatched a glass of crimson wine from a passing tray, and upended it over her head with a sickening splash. The liquid cascaded down, drenching her hair and dress in sticky scarlet.