Ribbons Unbound: My Fiancé's Lingering Regret novel Chapter 52

I barely touched my breakfast, and now my stomach churned violently on the way to the shoot.

By the time we arrived, nausea clawed at my throat. I stumbled out of the car, leaning against it, gulping in fresh air in an attempt to settle the sickness.

Meanwhile, Atlas was carefully lifting the hem of Ivy's gown, his head slightly bowed as he guided her into the studio with the utmost care.

I watched in silence.

The man who once promised to cherish me—who used to hold my hand so protectively—was now treating another woman as though she were the most precious thing in the world.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, swallowing back the bitter taste in my mouth.

"Celeste," Atlas called out to me, his voice laced with frustration. "The shoot is about to start. Be nice—just do your job. This is important for both Ivy and Whitmore Industries."

Without warning, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward. I stumbled, nearly falling to the ground.

Pain flared up my arm, but Atlas had already turned away, his attention elsewhere, as if I were nothing more than a reluctant participant in his carefully orchestrated world.

It had been five years since I last held a camera. Now, as I raised it, my hands trembled.

Fear gripped me, a cold and suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. But I forced myself to push through it.

Click.

With each shutter press, I fought against the flood of emotions threatening to drown me.

Grief.

Rage.

Betrayal.

I kept going, each snap of the camera a desperate attempt to hold myself together.

---

Halfway through the session, the room emptied, leaving only Ivy and me. She scrolled through the shots, a slow smirk curling on her lips.

Then, she turned to me, her voice light, almost amused.

"You really are just like your father, Celeste," she said, her words laced with venom. "Pathetic. A failure. No matter how hard you try, you'll never be good enough."

My nails dug into my palms.

The air in my lungs grew heavy, my body trembling as white-hot rage surged through me.

And then—

"Ivy, are you okay?" His voice was frantic as he cupped her face, examining the reddening mark on her cheek.

She flinched, shaking her head. "I'm fine, Atlas... please don't be mad at Celeste. I must've lost my balance..."

Her voice was laced with fragile vulnerability, as if she were trying to protect me.

Atlas's jaw clenched.

"You don't have to defend her," he snapped. "I saw what happened."

His hands—once so gentle with me—were now carefully supporting Ivy, treating her like the most delicate thing in the world.

And then, for the first time in our marriage, Atlas turned his rage on me.

"Celeste, apologize to Ivy," he demanded, his voice cold, unrelenting.

I stared at him, stunned. He had never spoken to me like this before. Not in five years of marriage. Not even when we fought.

"I must have spoiled you too much," he continued, his words sharp as a blade. "I let you get away with everything, and now you've turned into a venomous woman."

His eyes burned with something I had never seen before---disgust.

"You know how important Ivy's face is to her career!"