Thorns Grow After Betrayal (Celeste and Chester) novel Chapter 287

Chester froze, stunned.

He knew St. Aurelius College wasn’t Celestine’s first choice, but the place still meant a great deal to her. And now, she’d gone out of her way to ensure they would never cross paths again—cutting off even the slightest chance of a reunion.

A wave of bitterness swept through him. “Celly, you really are ruthless.”

“Ruthless?” Celestine’s smile faded. “If I hadn’t met Mr. Fordham, I’d probably be thriving in the field I’m passionate about, not stuck at home every day waiting on your entire family—playing the dutiful, uncomplaining housekeeper, serving up home-cooked dinners, all for nothing.”

The wedge between her and Chester was more than just Joanna. It was their very natures—fundamentally incompatible. Chester had never truly trusted her. He was proud, fiercely protective of his dignity.

If only he’d ever bothered to ask why she'd married him. Maybe then their resentment over that wedding would never have festered for so long. Long enough that, with Chester always away, Celestine often felt more like a widow than a wife.

Chester’s expression was conflicted, pain flickering in his eyes. For a long moment, he struggled for words. Finally, he managed, “I’m sorry.”

Celestine felt nothing. Regret, arriving this late, was worth less than dirt. So was an apology. When she’d needed him most, Chester had always been nowhere in sight.

Even if it hadn’t been Joanna, there would have been someone else. The cracks in their marriage were bound to split wide open eventually. The real question had always been: who would sacrifice, who would change?

Now, she was simply tired.

A flicker of hurt crossed Chester’s gaze, gone as quickly as it came. Outside, rain began to patter against the windshield.

Celestine frowned, eyeing the road. “Slow down.”

But Chester seemed not to hear her, his foot pressing harder on the accelerator, the car picking up speed.

She turned to stare at him. “Chester, calm down! We’re still on the road.”

“I am calm, Celly.” His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. He’d slammed the brake to the floor, but the car showed no signs of slowing.

For the first time, Celestine realized something was terribly wrong. “Chester, listen to me—stay calm. I’m calling for help.”

Ahead, the ramp to the overpass loomed closer. The morning rush had ended, but the highway was still thick with Monday traffic. Celestine’s mind reeled at the thought of their car hurtling onto that overpass at this speed.

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