Later that night, the gathering thinned out. Plates were empty. Music faded into background noise. Celeste was in the kitchen with two guests. Maureen sat alone now, her wine glass still half-full, untouched.
Her eyes were locked on Leon.
He stood by the hallway arch, listening quietly to someone ramble about gallery lighting—but he wasn't really there. His eyes kept drifting back to Celeste, soft and unreadable. Protective, even.
Maureen followed his gaze. Watched the way he looked at her—like he was still trying to memorize her face. Like she was something fragile he was terrified of losing again.
It made her stomach twist.
She had tried to love Leon gently once. Quietly. She thought if she stayed close enough, he'd turn one day. That he'd see her.
But he never did.
Not once.
All his storms were for Celeste.
Later that night, the gathering thinned out. Plates were empty. Music faded into background noise. Celeste was in the kitchen with two guests. Maureen sat alone now, her wine glass still half-full, untouched.
Her eyes were locked on Leon.
He stood by the hallway arch, listening quietly to someone ramble about gallery lighting—but he wasn't really there. His eyes kept drifting back to Celeste, soft and unreadable. Protective, even.
Maureen followed his gaze. Watched the way he looked at her—like he was still trying to memorize her face. Like she was something fragile he was terrified of losing again.
It made her stomach twist.
She had tried to love Leon gently once. Quietly. She thought if she stayed close enough, he'd turn one day. That he'd see her.
But he never did.
Not once.
All his storms were for Celeste.
She watched Leon again, the ache curling inside her.
"I loved you first," she thought bitterly. "And better."
But it didn't matter.
Because when Celeste looked up and called his name, Leon crossed the room without hesitation—drawn to her like a tide pulled home.
Maureen forced her smile. She took one last sip of wine, tasting nothing.
Then quietly, she stood.
And walked toward her next move.