Celeste's Public Humiliation
The world turned against me overnight.
One moment, I was sipping my usual vanilla latte, oblivious to the storm brewing around me. The next, whispers slithered through the air like vines, tightening around me with every step I took. Heads turned as I entered the café, their eyes filled with barely hidden amusement and sympathy. My breath caught when a sickeningly familiar voice sliced through the murmurs.
"Oh, Celeste, darling," Bianca's voice dripped with honeyed malice. Her perfectly manicured fingers flashed an engagement ring—the same one that had once been meant for me. The diamond caught the light, momentarily blinding me before she smirked. "Didn't think you'd be out and about so soon. I assumed you'd still be… mourning."
Mourning? As if I was supposed to lock myself away and wallow because the man I loved had chosen her? My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I forced a breath, lifting my chin.
"Takes more than a cheating fiancé and a backstabbing friend to ruin me."
Gasps rippled through the café, followed by hushed giggles. Bianca's smirk faltered for half a second before she recovered, her lips stretching wider.
"Oh, sweetheart," she cooed, tilting her head in mock sympathy. "Let's not be bitter. It's not a good look on you."
I wanted to rip that smirk right off her face.
Instead, I straightened my coat and turned away, acting as if none of this affected me. But my stomach twisted in knots. Even the barista, usually so friendly, hesitated before quickly looking away. The whole city had become a stage, and I was their tragic entertainment.
"Celeste, hey…" A hesitant voice came from behind me.
I turned to find Andrea—Andrea, my supposed best friend—shifting awkwardly. "I was going to call, but… you know, things have been hectic."
"Hectic?" A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "What's hectic about choosing sides?"
Her face flushed. "It's not like that. It's just… Bianca and Damien are together now. And you're… you know…"
"Irrelevant?" I finished for her, my voice sharp.
Andrea flinched. "No! That's not what I meant. It's just… awkward, you have to understand."
Understand? That my so-called friends had dropped me the second I lost my place in the social hierarchy? That the same people who once rooted for my relationship were now laughing at how pitiful I had become?
I forced a smile. "I do understand, Andrea. Thanks for making it so clear."
Without another word, I walked out, leaving my untouched coffee behind. My appetite had vanished—except for the slow-burning hunger for something else.
Revenge.
The city felt different now. The streets I used to love, the places I once shared with Damien—they all felt tainted, their memories turned to ash. Every step forward felt like walking over shattered glass, each piece cutting into my pride, my heart.
I wouldn't cry. Not for him. Not for them.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
You should have seen this coming. Maybe next time, don't be so naïve.
My grip tightened around the device. My pulse pounded in my ears, but I refused to let them—whoever they were—see that they had gotten to me. Still, my body betrayed me, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.
Damien? Bianca? Some stranger delighting in my downfall?
I kept walking, ignoring the stares, the smirks, the whispers. The golden girl had fallen, and they all wanted front-row seats.
Then—
"Celeste."
I froze.
I turned sharply to find Damien standing there, looking as if he had something important to say. But all I saw was betrayal written across the face I once loved.
My stomach clenched, but I held my ground. "What do you want?"
"I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. "I didn't mean for it to happen this way."
A sharp, humorless laugh left my lips. "Oh? You didn't mean to propose to Bianca while we were still together? Or you didn't mean for me to find out through an Instagram post?"
His jaw tightened. "It wasn't like that. Things changed."
"No, Damien. You changed. Or maybe you were never who I thought you were."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I cared about you, Celeste. I still—"
"Don't," I cut him off, my voice ice-cold. "Don't you dare say you still care? You cared about yourself. And now you get to walk around with her while I become the punchline to everyone's jokes. Congratulations."
He reached for me, but I took a step back.
"Don't touch me."
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—regret? Guilt?
Too little. Too late.
I turned and walked away, my heart hammering in my chest.
I wasn't going to be their victim anymore.
Let them whisper. Let them stare.
I would give them something worth watching.