Chapter 4

I barely touched my breakfast, and now my stomach churned violently on the way to the shoot. By the time we arrived, nausea clawed at my throat. I stumbled from the car, leaning against it, gasping for fresh air to quell the sickness. Meanwhile, Atlas carefully lifted the hem of Ivy’s gown, his head bowed slightly as he guided her into the studio with the utmost care. I watched in silence.

The man who once promised to cherish me—who used to hold my hand so protectively—was now treating another woman as if she were the most precious thing in the world. I pressed a hand to my stomach, swallowing back the bitterness.

“Celeste,” Atlas called, his voice laced with frustration. “The shoot is about to start. Be professional—just do your job. This is important for both Ivy and Whitmore Industries.” Without warning, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward. I stumbled, nearly falling.

Pain shot up my arm, but Atlas had already turned away, his attention elsewhere, as if I were merely a reluctant participant in his meticulously orchestrated world. It had been five years since I last held a camera. Now, as I raised it, my hands trembled. Fear gripped me, a cold, suffocating weight on my chest. But I forced myself to continue.

Click.

With each shutter press, I fought against the overwhelming emotions threatening to consume me: grief, rage, betrayal. I kept going, each click a desperate attempt to maintain control.

Halfway through the session, the room emptied, leaving only Ivy and me. She scrolled through the shots, a slow smirk playing on her lips. Then, she turned to me, her voice light, almost amused.

“You really are just like your father, Celeste,” she said, her words dripping with venom. “Pathetic. A failure. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be good enough.”

My nails dug into my palms.

Ivy’s voice was laced with fragile vulnerability, as if she were trying to protect me. Atlas’s jaw clenched.

“You don’t have to defend her,” he snapped. “I saw what happened.” His hands—once so gentle with me—were now carefully supporting Ivy, treating her like the most delicate thing in the world.

And then, for the first time in our marriage, Atlas turned his rage on me. “Celeste, apologize to Ivy,” he demanded, his voice cold and unrelenting.

I stared at him, stunned. He had never spoken to me like this before. Not in five years of marriage. Not even when we fought.

“I must have spoiled you too much,” he continued, his words sharp as a blade. “I let you get away with everything, and now you’ve turned into a venomous woman.” His eyes burned with something I had never seen before—disgust. “You know how important Ivy’s face is to her career!”

Chapter 5