Page 94 of Saint Céline
“I really can’t.”
Thad stared at me, and for one brief moment, I saw him try to step out of the life he had been raised inside, try to become the kind of man who could reach me without money, without family, without the smooth tools he had always used to manage discomfort.
“This is humiliating,” he said finally.
I nodded once. Though I wish he had said heartbreaking instead, like I meant something to him, not just his social position.
“Yes, I’m so sorry.”
His face darkened. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to explain how my girlfriend goes from dinner with my parents to breaking up with me over some professor everyone knows is obsessed with himself.”
The anger in his voice should have made me defensive. Instead, it made me tired. “Everyone knows a lot of things that aren’t true.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
I almost smiled. The truth would ruin both of us.
“I don’t love you,” I said quietly.
That did it. The anger left his face so quickly that I regretted the words. He looked younger suddenly. Not the wine heir. Not the rich boyfriend. Just a man who had been hurt by a girl he had given himself to for three years.
“I wanted to,” I added, because I was cruel but not completely heartless. “I tried.”
Thad looked down, jaw tightening. Then he nodded once, sharply.
“Okay. Leave then.”
“Thad—”
“No. It’s fine.”
It was not fine. His pride had arrived to save him before the grief of our relationship could. I knew that instinct too well to resent it.
He walked to the door and opened it. The gesture was clear. A dismissal. For once, he was the one ending a conversation.
I picked up my bag slowly. At the doorway, I paused. He did not look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Yeah,” he replied. “You said that already. Now leave.”
I stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind me with a soft, controlled final click.
I stood there for several seconds staring at the polished wood while my pulse beat heavily in my throat. Then I took out my phone. My fingers hovered over Vincent’s name. I did not want to text him. I did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I had obeyed.
But the alternative was worse. If I stayed silent, he would know anyway, and somehow that felt even more humiliating.
So I typed two words.
Céline :It’s done.
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed. Then I sent it.
A reply came in instantly.
