Chapter 11 Chapter 11
Chapter 11
“So how’s your first day at the office?” Ariana asked, setting two mugs of hot chocolate on the small table. The faint smell of toast filled the kitchen.
Celine sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair off her face. “It’s okay, I guess. But the job isn’t that easy. I’m also working with the CEO himself, in his office.”
Ariana’s eyes widened. “Wait what? You’re working directly with Ethan Castellan?”
Celine nodded, taking a slow sip from her mug. “Yes. Him. The almighty arrogant CEO.”
Ariana chuckled. “Oh my God, that’s huge though. But arrogant? Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure,” Celine said quickly. “He doesn’t talk much, doesn’t smile, doesn’t even say thank you. He just gives you this cold look and says things like ‘there,’ or ‘fix that,’ or ‘file this.’ He’s... so rude.”
Ariana laughed. “You know these rich people. They think the world owes them some special kind of respect.”
“Still, it’s not nice,” Celine replied. “People like that— they forget others have feelings too.”
Ariana smiled, leaning back. “Well, if you’re not comfortable there, maybe tell them you want another department. You don’t have to stay with him.”
Celine shrugged. “It’s just for the testing phase. Besides, I actually like the office. The pay is good, and I kind of enjoy sorting files... even if it’s in the villain’s office.”
Ariana burst into laughter. “Villain’s office? You’re terrible.”
Celine grinned. “I mean it. He just sits there, typing, not even looking up. I could drop dead beside him, and he probably wouldn’t notice.”
Ariana shook her head. “Don’t worry, maybe he’ll warm up. Or maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to people.”
“I doubt that,” Celine said, rolling her eyes. “He’s rich, famous, and cold. That’s all.”
They both laughed softly, the sound echoing around the small apartment.
After dinner, they cleaned up together, still joking about “Mr. Castellan and his frozen heart.”
Celine soon went to bed, thinking about work the next day. She promised herself she’d just focus and not mind him again.
\---
Castellan Villa
Ethan lay on his bed, the room dimly lit by a single lamp beside him. The large room looked calm, but his mind wasn’t.
He had been turning from side to side for the past few minutes, unable to sleep.
He finally sat up, opening the drawer beside his bed. Inside was a small, old folded note yellowed at the edges, as though it had been handled too many times.
He took it out and stared at it again.
The handwriting was neat, smooth, and simple.
“I loved him, Ethan.”
He ran his fingers over the words slowly, his jaw tightening.
“It looks the same,” he muttered to himself. “Exactly the same.”
He leaned back on the bed, holding the note in his hand for a few seconds longer before letting out a small sigh.
“It happens,” he said quietly, trying to convince himself. “Coincidences exist.”
He placed the note back into the drawer and shut it.
But his eyes didn’t leave the drawer.
For a while, he just sat there, lost in thought.
He couldn’t even explain why it bothered him so much — why that intern’s handwriting, a total stranger’s, had shaken something inside him.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to shake it off.
His thoughts jumped from one thing to another, and soon they landed where he didn’t want them to — Amelia.
His phone screen lit up just then. A new message.
Amelia: “I know you’re probably there battling with seizures again.”
He stared at the screen for a few seconds, his lips pressing into a hard line.
He didn’t reply.
Another text came.
" Reply to me you fool."
He still didn't responded.
He locked the phone and tossed it on the bed. The vibration buzzed again, but he didn’t bother picking it up.
“Why did I even let her in?” he whispered under his breath.
He turned to his side, pulling the blanket over himself. But even in the silence, his mind wouldn’t rest.
“It was all my fault,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Isabelle.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and that was when the memory flashed in his head again — like a scene replaying itself.
Her eyes — the way she looked at him the last time, full of pain and confusion.
Then the sound.
The sound of her body hitting the rocks below.
He covered his face with his hands.
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered to himself. “I didn’t mean it.”He sat up again, restless.
His breathing grew faster. His hands shook.
He reached for his pills on the bedside table, opened the bottle, and poured two into his palm.
He swallowed them dry and sat still for a few seconds.
Slowly, his body began to calm down.
He got up and walked to the balcony. The night air was cold, brushing against his skin.
From up there, the lights of Monterey stretched endlessly, cars moving like tiny dots below.
He placed both hands on the railing, staring out.
Sometimes, he wondered if he'd ever be normal again. All this endless trauma's.
He had everything people dreamed of — money, name, success — yet he couldn’t find peace.
He looked down at his hands, the same hands that couldn’t stop trembling sometimes.
“Why can’t I just feel normal?” he whispered.
He stayed there for a long while, until his breathing calmed again.
When he finally turned to go back inside, his eyes caught the ed
ge of the open drawer. The old note was half sticking out.
He stopped.
For a moment, he thought of pulling it out again, reading those same words, but he didn’t. He walked past it, switched off the light, and let the darkness take over.