Never Forgive Never Forget (Celeste and Philip) novel Chapter 6

If we're really going our separate ways, then let's make it a clean break—no more halfway measures.

Just before bed, Philip messaged again.

[I spoke to the hotel—they'll keep your room until Monday. Don't be angry, Celeste. I'll come get you Monday… for the wedding registration.]

Celeste was rummaging through her suitcase for clothes when she realized her lucky charm was gone.

She stared at his message for a long time.

Philip had moved Viola into their house himself, yet here he was, calmly extending her hotel reservation and talking as if picking up a marriage license was just another errand.

What a joke.

What made him think she'd still be waiting to marry him after all this?

...

It was half past eleven when the pain woke her.

A searing, burning ache gnawed a hole right through her stomach.

Back when Philip was starting his business, she'd hustled through four business dinners in one day just to land a project, just to chase down an investor—anything that would help him prove himself in front of his disapproving family.

All she'd wanted was for Philip to have his moment, to finally make the Robertsons look at him with pride.

She ended up in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. It took half a year to recover. After that, Philip banned her from anything to do with the company and told her to settle into her role as the future Mrs. Robertson.

Now, dazed and dizzy from the pain, she fumbled open the nightstand drawer, searching for her medication. Nothing.

Only then did she remember—this was a hotel room, not the home she'd shared with Philip.

No medicine here.

The pain came in relentless waves, curling her into a fetal position as cold sweat prickled across her pale forehead.

She told herself to tough it out, that the pain would ebb away soon. But after fifteen minutes, there wasn't the slightest relief.

She couldn't risk waiting any longer.

With trembling hands, she reached for her phone, about to dial 911.

"You know Viola has asthma, and you still used all that disinfectant around the house. You even left scented candles in the bathroom. Do you realize she almost couldn't breathe?"

Celeste bit her lip until she tasted blood.

She let out a bitter, silent laugh.

She'd used disinfectant to erase her own traces from the house.

She'd left those candles because Philip never slept well; the scent was supposed to help—something she'd gone to great lengths to find just for him.

"Philip, I'm not a mind reader. I didn't know you'd move Viola in," she managed.

The line went silent. She could hear his breathing, ragged and frustrated.

Another surge of pain hit, stealing what little strength she had left. She couldn't hold back a stifled groan, and the phone slipped from her hand onto the bed.

"What's wrong?" Philip's voice snapped back to focus.

"Philip, my stomach hurts. Can you…" Her plea trailed off as he cut her off, his voice weary and impatient.