Chapter 8

Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

He returned to the estate. Everything was exactly as it had always been.

My books still lined the shelves. My favorite mug sat on the kitchen counter. The faint trace of my perfume lingered in their bedroom.

It was as if I had never left. As if the past twenty–four hours hadn’t shattered everything.

He sank onto the leather couch, his gaze locking onto the enormous wedding portrait that hung in the center of the living room.

The image had always been there, but tonight, for the first time, he really saw it.

The bride and groom stood side by side, facing each other, their hands entwined.

To an outsider, they looked like the perfect couple. But if one looked close–there was something else.

A quiet sorrow lingering in both of their eyes. I hadn’t understood it before. But now, I did.

The sadness in his gaze? It was because he had married a woman he believed he didn’t love.

In the beginning, we had treated each other like old friends. Polite. Respectful. But always with an invisible wall

‘between us.

Until that night.

That night when Atlas had come home reeking of whiskey, his composure undone, his defenses lowered.

him, his breath uneven, his voice raw as he murmured my name over and

like a prayer.

Celeste.

Celeste.

Celeste.

Instead, I had kissed him

quickly turned desperate. That night,

no more distance.

hearts pressed so close together it

22:33

of Love, Seven Minutes

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Chapter 8

on, we had become what the world believed

and wife who belonged together.

Atlas had convinced himself that what he felt for me

he spent by my side, every time he looked at me and felt something tighten in his chest-

guilt. Nothing more.

finally realized the truth. Atlas clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists.

the day–to–day moments of our life together, in the small intimacies we had shared, he had fallen in

hadn’t

images of me. The way I laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. The way I looked in the mornings, hair messy, skin warm

surfaced–my face, pale with

his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands trembled as he looked down at the medical report still

pain tore through his chest, unlike anything

behind him. Slender arms wrapped around his

scent filling

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