Page 42 of Never Enough
Just come back to me. That’s all I want.
Our digital confessions are the only truths in this charade. I cling to those messages because they’re a reminder that, beneath the layers of pretense, our connection remains unbroken. If it survived nine years, it can survive a few more days.
As the limo turns into the long driveway leading to the mansion, the reality of the weekend looms over me. Somewhere between the text messages and the stolen glances, I find the strength to face ahead.
Chapter fifteen
Daphne
The limo comes to a stop, and I stare in awe at the Whitmore mansion. It’s a massive stone behemoth, resembling a castle that never needed to defend itself. Memories flood back as I remember the world of luxury and opulence that seemed untouchable. Will it feel the same this time?
Alex’s deep voice brings me back. “Come on.”
We gather our bags and step out onto the perfectly manicured driveway. The steps leading up to the front door loom like a grand staircase from one of those old movies. With crisp confidence, Alex knocks.
A moment later, the door swings open, revealing the familiar butler.
“Good evening, Mr. Alexandru, Ms. Victoria,” he greets them with a respectful nod before turning to me with an expressionless face.
Feeling insignificant compared to this world of wealth and privilege, I squeak, “Hi.”
Celeste brushes past me, her perfume a suffocating cloud, while Victoria’s heels click sharply behind her. The grand foyer, a cavernous space with towering ceilings and ornate chandeliers, seems to swallow up every sound. The marble floor, polished to a blinding sheen, reflects the light from the stained glass windows, casting intricate patterns across the walls. A grand staircase, adorned with carvings, spirals up to the second floor, its banisters gleaming with gold leaf.
I’m overwhelmed by the sheer opulence.
The butler effortlessly picks up our bags as if they weigh nothing and leads us further into the mansion.
We’re led through a series of grand halls, each more ornate than the last. Portraits of stern-looking men and elegant women adorn the walls, their eyes following our every move. Finally, he ushers us into a sitting room, which is a spacious chamber brimming with luxurious furniture.
A crackling fire dances in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Expensive perfume and polished wood create a scent that fills the room.
I can’t help but feel out of place. Everything is so grand, so perfect, so completely artificial. It’s like stepping into a museum, where everything is on display for admiration but devoid of warmth.
Celeste, on the other hand, seems perfectly at ease. She glides across the room, her eyes scanning the shelves filled with antique books and porcelain figurines. Victoria follows close behind, her heels clicking confidently on the marble.
I spot Mrs. Whitmore—Patricia—across the room, a pang of awkwardness tugging at my heartstrings. I summon a forced smile and approach her. “Mrs. Whitmore,” I say, my voice strained. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Her gaze sweeps over me with no spark of recognition igniting in her eyes, only polite indifference. My heart sinks as I realize she might not even remember me. To her, I’m just another face in the crowd.
To make matters worse, she breezes past me.
“Victoria, dear, look at you!” Her voice drips with honey as she lavishly embraces her daughter. They have already forgotten about my presence, treating me as if I’m just a piece of decor. Victoria smirks over her mother’s shoulder, her snicker a subtle jab at my insignificance.
Celeste, basking in Patricia’s attention like a sunflower in sunlight, shares a warm embrace once Victoria is done. Once they part, Patricia tugs gently at Celeste’s sleeve, her eyes filled with pride. “Darling, your dress,” she says, smoothing out imaginary imperfections. “There, now you’re perfect.”
Celeste responds with practiced ease, a smile playing on her lips.
I catch Alex’s eye and see an apologetic expression on his face. I shake my head slightly. It’s not his fault that some people are better at building connections than others. Like Celeste, who’s always had a way of making herself unforgettable to those who matter most, such as Alex’s mother.
Alex cuts through the tension. “Hey, where’s your gran, Celeste? Wasn’t she supposed to come?”
Celeste flips her hair, glancing at me with a smug smirk. Obviously, she’s well aware of my feelings towards her ex. “Oh, Gran couldn’t make it,” she says in a light and dismissive tone. Like all is well. “Mom’s here instead.”
I bite my cheek, holding back words that won’t change anything. Gran is the reason I gave in, and now she’s not even here.
“Oh?” I try my best to appear unaffected. “I’m sorry. When did you learn that she isn’t coming?”
“In the limo.”