The ticking of the wall clock felt louder than ever as I struggled to button up my shirt with trembling fingers. My mind wasn’t here. It was already racing down the road with Celeste’s car.
Her reaction earlier had been cold—but not cold enough to be indifferent. That single look of hurt, masked beneath her shades, haunted me more than I wanted to admit.
She cared. And that made it worse.
Blair was still downstairs. Probably snooping through my kitchen or criticizing the furniture. I regretted everything now—every smug smirk, every whispered word that convinced her to play pretend in my plan to ruin Amelia. It felt so juvenile. So… shortsighted.
Now, Celeste might think I was playing her too.
I glanced at my phone. Still no reply. Four missed calls. One unread message. But not from C
