Nathan pulled up quietly to the Rosenfield estate, the sun melting into a gold haze behind the marble archway. When they arrived, Letty was already waiting by the steps, ready to help Celine out of the car.
Nathan walked beside her, his hand steady at the small of her back as she limped slightly. "Careful," he murmured.
"I'm fine," she said softly, though her voice trembled with exhaustion.
He stayed close anyway. But before they could step inside, his phone rang. Marv.
One glance at the screen and he knew it was business. Urgent.
He hesitated, torn between duty and the girl before him.
Celine noticed immediately — the small crease in his brow, the tension in his jaw. "Go," she said gently, her tone like a whisper of comfort. "I'll be fine. Really."
Nathan's gaze lingered on her, his chest heavy with unspoken words. For a moment, he wanted to ignore the call — to stay, to make sure she rested. But the way she smiled, reassuring and patient, gave him permission to leave.
"Thank you," he mouthed quietly. His voice almost cracked. "I'll call you."
She nodded, and he turned reluctantly, walking back to his car. The taillights disappeared down the long driveway, leaving Celine standing under the warm porch light — a silhouette of grace and quiet strength.
⸻
Across town, the mood couldn't have been more different.
Dean and Denise had just returned to their sprawling home. The house was eerily silent — his mother, Dinah, was still at the hospital with his father, and most of the staff had already retired for the night.
Denise kissed his cheek before heading upstairs. "I'm going to shower. Don't stay up too late," she said lightly, unaware of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.
Dean walked into his office — the same one his father had spent countless nights in — and dropped onto the leather chair. The air smelled faintly of old whiskey and cedarwood.
A knock at the door.
Matt, his father's long-time assistant, entered with a thick stack of folders and a weary expression.
"Sir, these require your review and signatures," Matt said, placing the papers neatly on the desk. "There are pending site inspections, client callbacks, warranty issues… and a few urgent legal matters."
Dean glanced at the pile, uninterested. "Don't we have people we pay to handle all that?"
"We do, sir," Matt said evenly. "They've done their part. You're the one who needs to approve them."
Dean rolled his eyes, leaning back and resting his legs on the desk. "Right. Well, leave it there. I'll get to it."
Matt's jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. "Very well, sir." And with a curt nod, he left.
The door shut, and silence filled the room once more.
Dean walked toward the window and pulled the drapes open. Outside stretched the same garden where Celine used to visit him — where they'd once laid on picnic blankets, sharing secrets and laughing about the future. The memory softened his face for a moment… until he crushed it with a bitter scoff.
"That's over," he muttered.
But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, her face kept flashing in his mind — the way she looked at the gala, radiant and untouched by heartbreak. The way she smiled beside that man.
That man.
Nathan Park.
Dean poured himself a drink, the amber liquid trembling in the glass as his grip tightened. How could she move on that fast? How could she look that happy without him — after everything they'd shared? He was her constant, her anchor. He'd expected her to fall apart, to come crawling back. Instead, she'd walked past him like he was nothing.
He slammed his glass onto the table.
"So much for all that talk about love," he muttered bitterly.
He thought of the way Nathan had touched her — her hand in his, her laughter soft and genuine. How she looked at Nathan like she once looked at him.
The thought tore through him like poison. He paced the office, muttering under his breath.
"What's his game? What does he want from her? Money? Fame? Access to the Rosenfields?"
His jealousy twisted into anger, into obsession. He wanted to know everything about Nathan Park — where he came from, what he wanted, and why Celine let him close.
The truth burned deeper: Celine wasn't supposed to be happy. Not yet.
Dean ran a hand through his hair and groaned. "She's not supposed to look at anyone that way."
The stack of papers on the desk caught his attention again — a convenient distraction. He sat down, flipping through them impatiently, anything to drown out the echo of her laughter in his head.
But as he skimmed through the pages, his irritation turned to disbelief.
"Wait… what the hell is this?" he whispered.
Report after report detailed delays, cancelled projects, lawsuits, unpaid balances — a dozen financial fires his father had been quietly putting out.
He picked up the phone. "Matt! Get in here!"
Matt reappeared moments later, composed but clearly expecting this.
"What are all these?" Dean demanded, his voice shaking. "Do you realize how bad this looks? Half of these projects are bleeding money! How long has this been going on?"
"Since before your father fell ill," Matt said calmly. "He was managing the losses himself, covering them one by one. But lately, things have escalated."
Dean's hands clenched into fists. "You mean we're broke?"
Matt hesitated. "Not broke. But we're struggling to stay afloat."
Dean's heart pounded. "How? We've been one of the biggest contractors in the city. We had investments, clients—"
Matt cut him off gently. "The Rosenfields, sir. They've been your father's safety net for years. Nearly every major project we've had — residential, commercial, infrastructure — came through them. Their influence kept us alive."
Dean froze. The words hit him harder than any insult.
"The Rosenfields?" he repeated.
"Yes, sir. And as long as we maintained that partnership, Lennox stayed secure. But ever since the engagement ended and you decided to sever ties…" Matt trailed off.
Dean sat back slowly, the realization dawning like a cold shadow.
"So you're saying… my father's empire was propped up by them."
Matt didn't answer — he didn't have to.
Dean stared blankly at the monitor in front of him, the numbers on the financial reports dipping lower and lower.
He'd thought they were equals. He'd even believed the Carters were superior — the stronger link in the decades-old alliance. But now, it was clear. Without the Rosenfields, Lennox was hanging by a thread.
He pressed a hand against his temple, disbelief clouding his mind. "How could I not know this?"
Matt sighed. "Because, sir, you never asked."
Silence.
Dean swallowed hard, the bitterness burning his throat. For the first time, he truly saw the damage his arrogance had caused — not just to his family, but to his father's legacy.
He dismissed Matt with a weak wave of his hand. The door clicked shut again, and Dean sat there — alone with his regret and envy.
In his mind, all roads still led back to her.
Celine.
She was the one thing that slipped through his fingers, the one thing he thought he could replace but couldn't. And now, even his company — his father's empire — was proof of how much he'd underestimated her family, and her.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
Denise peeked in, smiling sweetly. "Dean, are you busy? I was thinking maybe we could go shopping. Get your mind off things?"
Dean looked up at her — perfectly composed, elegant, and shallow as ever. His lips curled into a forced smile.
Maybe not everything was lost, he told himself. At least he still had his fiancée — and his pride.
But deep down, as Denise walked toward him, he realized something he couldn't say out loud.
He didn't want her.
He wanted Celine — the version of her he couldn't control anymore.
And that thought made the green monster inside him roar louder than ever.