*** Chapter 2
Loften felt like my li
my life was perpetually derailed, heading straight into every storm it could find.
When I first met Weston, I was the adored Manhattan socialite, Celeste Monroe, and he was the rising star of the financial world.
PA
D
y art gala, while the powerful circled around me with empty praise, he was the only one studying my painting in silence.
At my
Dressed in a crisp white shirt, he looked like he belonged in my self–portrait, “Portrait of a Countryside Girl,” that hung just behind him.
When our eyes met, he offered a small smile.
“Miss Monroe, you’re as beautiful as these works of art.”
The imagined breeze of the painted fields brushed my heart, and it raced wildly.
From that moment, I fell in love, enduring six years of one–sided longing.
Weston always maintained a polite distance but never explicitly rejected me.
I believed I was worthy of him and clung to the hope of winning his heart.
Then, tragedy struck. The Monroe legacy crumbled, leaving me the only survivor.
I was alive, but only in body.
Later, I ran into a burning building to save an unconscious Weston, losing my sight in the process.
I lost my home and could no longer paint.
The Carringtons, not wanting public scrutiny, forced Weston to marry me.
That’s when I learned his heart belonged to someone else: Isabelle Knight.
He resented me.
One Harvest Moon Festival, a drunk Weston came home for the first time.
Before I could say a word, he embraced me, reeking of alcohol.
I couldn’t break free.
As he tore my clothes like a wild animal, the image of the boy who once smiled at me filled my mind.
“Miss Monroe, you’re as beautiful as a piece of art,” he had said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
When I awoke, pain shot through me.
And then, he slapped me hard.
“Celeste, there’s no end to your scheming to stay as Mrs. Carrington, is there?”
I realized then that it had always been a mistake.
I should have left long ago.
***