The day before the match, Celine and Sadie went out shopping. The boutique smelled faintly of jasmine and clean linen, sunlight glinting through mirrored shelves lined with white pleated skirts, visors, and crisp polos.
Sadie held up a chic tennis dress. "You're definitely wearing this one," she said. "Short, elegant, but screams 'I'm thriving.'"
Celine laughed softly, shaking her head as she checked her reflection. She wasn't sure who she was trying to impress anymore — Dean or Nathan.
Maybe neither.
Maybe this was just for her.
And though she didn't realize it yet, Nathan's quiet influence was changing her. He made her want to try again — not to prove anything to anyone, but to feel alive.
⸻
The morning of the match was bright and cool, the kind of perfect day where even the air felt new. Nathan arrived right on time, pulling up to the Rosenfield estate in a silver coupe that gleamed under the sun.
Celine stepped out of the house dressed like a dream — her outfit an elegant white ensemble: half-zip top, subtle back perforations, and a pleated skirt that moved softly with each step. She looked like she had stepped straight out of a lifestyle magazine.
Nathan, in contrast, was effortlessly striking in a simple white shirt and shorts — the casual kind of handsome that turned heads without trying.
"Good morning!" he greeted cheerfully, opening the passenger door for her. "Ready to show off our skills?"
Celine smiled, radiant under the sun. "We'll see if I survive first."
He laughed, and together they headed toward the Brandt estate.
When they arrived, they were met with more cars than expected. Rows of luxury sedans and convertibles lined the long cobblestone driveway, the chatter of guests echoing over manicured hedges and flowering trellises.
"Didn't they say it was going to be small?" Celine whispered.
Nathan gave her a puzzled smile. "Apparently, 'small' means half the city."
The Brandts' property was a playground for the elite — twin tennis courts gleaming under the sun, a basketball area, a vast lawn for croquet and lounging, and a small clubhouse serving cocktails and light brunch. Around eight couples gathered near the courts, their laughter mingling with the sound of clinking glasses.
Celine froze when she spotted them.
Dean and Denise — laughing loudly, holding hands, and perfectly positioned where everyone could see. Denise leaned close, whispering something in Dean's ear that made him smirk.
Celine's pulse quickened. For a second, she wanted to turn back. But she steadied herself. You can do this.
She straightened her posture, lifted her chin. Show them.
Nathan glanced at her from the side, catching the flicker of tension in her eyes. He didn't say a word, just offered a quiet, reassuring look — the kind that said, I've got you.
Their eyes met for a moment longer than necessary, and somehow, it was enough.
Dean's smug expression faltered briefly when he saw Nathan and Celine walking side by side. They looked effortless — radiant even. It burned him to admit that she looked better without him.
The Brandts soon gathered everyone near the courts. "We're keeping things friendly," Mr. Brandt announced. "Just a few rounds of doubles, and there's a little prize for the winning team."
Cheers followed.
Celine and Nathan took a seat near the shade, watching the first pair play. Between sets, she handed Nathan a towel, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead, her gestures natural and soft. He smiled and murmured a quiet thank-you. To everyone watching, they looked tender and perfectly in sync.
And Dean noticed. Every. Single. Time.
When it was his and Denise's turn, he went all in — loud, showy, trying to prove something. Denise giggled exaggeratedly, cheering him on. But even as they scored points, his gaze kept drifting toward Celine.
Meanwhile, Nathan leaned closer to her ear, whispering jokes that made her laugh quietly. Her smile — genuine and unrestrained — stung Dean more than any defeat could.
They won their match, but Dean could barely enjoy it.
Then it was Nathan and Celine's turn.
From the start, it wasn't going well. Celine missed the ball more than once, her nerves betraying her. Dean smirked from the sidelines, his expression smug and satisfied.
Nathan noticed immediately. Between serves, he walked to her side. "Hey," he said softly, his voice steady. "You're okay. Don't think about them. We're in this together, alright?"
Celine nodded but still looked uncertain.
Nathan smiled faintly and leaned in closer until their foreheads touched, a brief, grounding moment that felt almost sacred. "Just breathe. Play for fun. Forget everything else."
And somehow, she did.
When the next serve came, something in her shifted. She loosened up, laughed when she missed, cheered when she hit. The pressure melted away. Soon, they were completely in rhythm — high-fiving, cheering, teasing each other between points. Celine's laughter carried across the court like music.
The crowd adored them. Every gesture looked natural — effortless. When they finally scored the winning point, Celine jumped, throwing her arms around Nathan in excitement. The other couples clapped and whistled.
Dean's smile faltered.
After the game, Celine excused herself to freshen up. Inside the clubhouse, the air smelled of citrus and fresh towels. She splashed cool water on her face, feeling exhilarated and alive — until a shadow appeared behind her reflection in the mirror.
"Celine."
Her stomach dropped. Dean.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. "Enough with the show," he said coldly.
She turned, frozen.
"I know what you're doing," he sneered, stepping closer. "Trying to make me jealous? It's pathetic. You still want me, don't you?" He lowered his voice, his eyes scanning her. "You look beautiful, by the way. Still not enough."
His hand brushed near the hem of her skirt.
Celine recoiled instantly, her voice trembling but firm. "If it doesn't concern you, then why are you following me?" she said, stepping past him. Then she turned back, her tone calm and cutting. "Everything you see now — it's not for you. It's for me. I can finally be me. So stop flattering yourself. Not everything revolves around you."
And with that, she walked out. Her sneakers clicked sharply on the marble, her heart pounding — but her head held high.
Dean stayed behind, fists clenched, seething. He barely recognized her anymore. She was stronger, freer — and it terrified him.
Back by the courts, Nathan immediately noticed the shift in her energy. She looked pale, her movements slightly stiff.
"Hey," he said quietly. "Everything okay?"
"Yes, love," she said quickly, squeezing his hand. It was the first time she'd called him that in public. Nathan blinked, surprised, but decided not to push. He simply squeezed her hand back.
From across the court, Dean caught the gesture — and his stomach twisted.
The next few matches continued. Dean and Denise won another round, though their constant touching and exaggerated kisses looked more rehearsed than real.
When it was Celine and Nathan's turn again, they started strong, but midway through, Nathan noticed her wince. She was limping slightly.
He immediately signaled for a break. "You're done," he said firmly, guiding her to a nearby bench.
"It's just sore, I'm fine," she insisted, but he was already kneeling in front of her.
Gently, he slipped off her shoe and checked her ankle. His touch was careful, almost reverent. "You twisted it," he murmured.
Dean took a step forward, instinctively, but stopped himself. Watching Nathan handle her with such patience — with such care — did something to him. It stung. He turned away, muttering something to Denise before pulling her in for a kiss he didn't feel.
Nathan continued tending to Celine, his hand warm against her skin. She blushed, flustered. "You really don't have to—"
"Too late," he said with a half-smile. "I already started."
She laughed softly, her cheeks flushed.
They sat the rest of the match out, her legs draped gently across his. He massaged her ankle lightly as they talked and joked in whispers. Around them, other couples smiled, whispering enviously about how attentive he was — how lucky she was.
In the end, another team won the tournament, but everyone agreed the day was perfect. The Brandts promised another gathering soon.
As the guests left, a few couples exchanged knowing glances toward Nathan and Celine — a mix of admiration and envy.
Dean said nothing.
He simply watched as Nathan helped Celine to the car, his hand on her back, his voice soft.
He'd never seen anyone look at her that way before.
And deep down, it scared him — because for the first time, he realized… he might've really lost her.