Chapter 55 Ugly in Every Light
The maid reached out, hesitant, afraid that grabbing Celeste too quickly might hurt her. She hovered close instead, gesturing urgently, her voice low and tense.
"Stop smashing things! If they walk in and see this… you won't look like Edith anymore. They'll start questioning everything you've done."
"Edith! Edith! Always Edith!"
Celeste spun around, her eyes bloodshot, locking on the maid with a stare sharp enough to slice through steel.
"What's so special about her? She's been dead for years, and still everyone worships her! I've been playing the part for five years… pretending for five years! I've had enough. I'm the one who should be standing next to Alex!"
"You're right," the maid agreed instantly.
She glanced around the wreckage of the bedroom, mind racing for something to calm her down.
"Miss, now isn't the time to lose control. It doesn't matter who he takes to the gala… what matters is who can help him close that deal."
Celeste didn't throw anything else. She stood amid the wreckage, breathing hard.
"You're the Neville Family's foster daughter. You have the right to get an invitation to an event at that level. Time is short, but you have people under you. They're not just ornaments."
The words finally cut through Celeste's fury. Reason slid back into place.
"Yes… you're right," she murmured.
Her gaze swept over the shattered glass and porcelain, and her lips curved into a cold smile.
"Whoever can help him is the one who matters. Caroline, that mute… she has nothing but her face and her pitiful act. And me… I can help him."
Her voice steadied, her tone sharp.
"Clean this up. No traces. Replace everything I destroyed. Call the best stylist and the best dressmaker. I want everything ready for tonight's gala in the shortest time possible. And get my people who know shipping and the Euravell market. I want every detail about the Ford Group and this project. The more, the better."
"Yes, Miss!" The maid, relieved, hurried off to make arrangements.
Celeste stood in the wreckage, watching her reflection in the mirror. Her perfect mask returned, but the cold in her eyes remained. She let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Caroline… see you at the gala. Let's find out who really belongs at his side."
Meanwhile, in Caroline's office.
She sat on the couch, held in place while stylists and makeup artists worked around her.
They moved with precision—cleansing her skin, smoothing her hair, pressing expensive masks and creams into her face. Every step was exact, leaving not a single strand out of place before the makeup began.
The artistry hid the exhaustion in her face, flawless enough to defy criticism.
Finally, Caroline stepped into a champagne-colored gown.
When they stepped back and the mirror revealed her, she froze.
The woman staring back had elegant styling, impeccable makeup. She was still far too thin, but the gauntness was masked, the fatigue softened. At a glance, she almost looked like her former self—poised and untouchable.
Even her fragile frame seemed to suggest overwork, not torment.
Caroline stared, unsure if she believed the reflection.
Was this really her? The woman broken over five years, stripped of dignity? This polished shell only made her uneasy.
If she couldn't keep up this facade, she'd rather not go at all. But the choice wasn't hers to make.
The office door swung open.
Alexander stood there.
He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his posture straight, his presence cold and commanding.
Next to each other, dressed like this, they almost looked matched.
But his eyes were still ice, scanning her with judgment.
His gaze landed on her quiet profile in the mirror, and the cutting remark on his tongue faltered.
For a moment, his mind slipped.
The image overlapped with a memory—Neville Family's garden, a girl in pale dresses, reading quietly in the sun. Caroline then had bright eyes, a calm grace, so different from Edith's liveliness.
But the moment shattered.
Reality dragged him back—the chaos at the docks, Edith's face pale in blood, Caroline's years of venom and false tears.
"All that work… and this is it," Alexander said coldly.
"Skinny as a shadow. Bad color. No matter how expensive the dress, it doesn't fit. Your eyes keep darting away. You look like you don't belong."
No surprise. No matter how she dressed, he would still see her as ugly—because deep down, he hated her.
His words didn't shock her, but they hurt. Her chest tightened.
Her fingers twisted the fabric of her gown, the faint color in her face draining again.
In his eyes, she would always be ugly, unworthy. Any beauty she had was charity.
Alexander caught the flicker of darkness in her eyes, and irritation rose in him again.
He turned, voice curt. "Why are you still standing there? Waiting for me to invite you? Move. We're leaving."
Caroline flinched, lifting her head, but he was already walking to the door, leaving only his cold back.
She stayed frozen, unsure.
Go? To the gala? Now?
Should she follow?
"Madam," Liam said gently, stepping in from the hall, "the car is waiting downstairs. Please come with me. I'll escort you."