When the Man I Loved Humiliated Me in Front of Everyone, Celeste’s Smile Suddenly Disappeared and Owen’s Hand Began to Tremble

“No, because you loved me?” I asked Owen when one sentence from him silenced the entire room.

It was eight o’clock in the evening in the glass council room of Owen Blake in downtown Denver. Glasses filled with water stood on the table, and an enormous plan of the city’s new district hung on the wall. I stood at the end of the table, holding my phone, and the same photo was still visible on the screen: Celeste Moretti in Owen’s arms, her lips on his lips, while his hand was on Celeste’s waist.

Below the photo was a message from an unknown number: “He made his choice. You were only temporary entertainment.”

In the second picture, someone had written about me: “The flower girl has fulfilled her purpose.”

I gripped the edge of the phone in my left hand so tightly that the plastic left a red mark on my finger.

“Tell me this photo is fake,” I told Owen.

He stood directly opposite me. The collar of his black shirt was slightly open, but his face was so motionless that it was as if I were speaking to a stone.

“The photo is real,” he said.

Celeste adjusted the sleeve of her silver dress and smiled calmly.

“Mira, by coming here you are humiliating yourself even more.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“But you already know the answer.”

Owen’s uncle, Richard Blake, tapped his fingers on the table.

“This is a family matter. Go outside.”

“Was I family to him for a year, when I chose flowers for his mother’s grave?” I asked and looked at Owen. “And now I am simply a distraction?”

Owen lowered his eyes.

A year earlier, at six in the morning, I fell on black ice in front of my flower shop. Owen caught me, prevented my knee from hitting the snowy pavement, and at that very moment ordered me to close the shop.

“I don’t work for you,” I told him then.

“I know,” he replied. “That is why I am asking and not ordering you.”

Three days later he bought white anemones at “Wild Mercy” for his mother’s grave. From then on, every Thursday became his day. He would come and say that he was checking the construction work across the street. I knew he was lying.

One winter morning I discovered that the path leading to the shop door was heated. Snow lay all around, but my narrow path was giving off steam. Owen stood there with two coffees.

“It is a municipal test,” he told me.

“Why are both coffees to my taste?”

“Because I am paying attention to you.”

Then I did not understand how dangerous that attention could become.

Our love grew slowly. Owen removed thorns from roses, burned pasta, and asked before every touch whether I was sure. Once, at an evening at his foundation, Celeste kissed my cheek and mockingly called me “florist.”

“She has a name,” Owen stopped her sharply.

That same night I found him on the balcony with bloody fists. He had struck the wall.

“Jealousy does not give you the right to frighten someone or break anything,” I told him.

“I know.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because you were talking to another man. But I will still never take away your choice.”

Then I kissed him.

Several months later I found a black envelope under the shop door. Inside was a photograph of Owen and me leaving the penthouse. On the back was written: “Flowers die when they are cut off from the garden.”

Owen arrived in four minutes.

“I will move you to a safe house.”

“No.”

“Mira, this is not a request.”

“Then stay with me and tell me the truth.”

We spent five days in the mountains. There he told me that marrying into Celeste’s family would strengthen his business alliance and protect many people.

“If marrying her will be safe for everyone, will you do it?” I asked.

He was silent for a long time.

“Yes.”

Two days later the calls stopped. They no longer let me into his office. Then I received a photograph taken with Celeste.

And now, in this room, everyone was looking at me.

“Are you marrying her?” I asked.

“Yes,” Owen said.

Celeste’s smile widened.

I came one step closer.

“And was I only a responsibility?”

Owen’s face changed, but his voice was still cold.

“You were a distraction.”

Someone in the room quietly exhaled.

“Not because you loved me?” I asked.

Owen looked up at me. At that moment I saw for the first time that he was afraid too.

I took a small folder from my bag and placed it on the table.

“Then look at this.”

Richard reached out his hand, but I grabbed him by the wrist.

“Owen must open it first.”

Owen slowly leaned toward the folder. His fingers stopped on the clasp and…

Owen’s fingers touched the clasp, but he did not open the folder immediately. The monotonous hum of the air conditioner could be heard in the room. And I felt only my own heartbeat.

“What is this?” Celeste asked.

“The answer to why Owen’s office went silent,” I said.

Richard struck the table with his hand.

“Call security.”

“Call them,” I answered. “But before that, let everyone see what you were trying to hide.”

Owen opened the folder. His gaze froze on the very first page. Then he moved to the second. The color slowly drained from his face.

“Mira… who gave you this?”

“The person who lied to me first.”

“You know nothing about this matter.”

“Then why is your hand trembling?”

Celeste stood up and tried to snatch the sheet, but Owen grabbed her hand for the first time.

“Don’t touch it.”

There was no longer in his voice the confidence with which he had erased my existence a little earlier.

The sound of footsteps came from behind the door. Someone knocked twice.

“Mr. Blake, the lawyer has arrived.”

Richard looked at Owen.

“Tell him to leave.”

“It is already too late,” Owen said.

I saw him turn to the last page. There, one short sentence stopped his breath.

“What does it say?” I asked.

Owen could not answer me.

The answer came as soon as the door opened. A short, gray-haired woman entered the room, holding a sealed evidence bag.

“Ms. Mira,” she told me, “are you ready to learn who sent those messages?…”

The woman closed the door and placed the sealed bag on the table. Her name was Nadia Voss, an independent auditor whom I had never encountered at Owen’s company.

“I trust no one in this room,” I said.

“That is why I came alone,” Nadia replied.

Owen was looking down at the folder. Celeste was still standing, but her silver dress no longer shone; her face had gone white as paper.

“Say that all of this is fake,” she told Owen.

“I don’t know yet.”

“You must know!”

Nadia took a small voice recorder from the bag and turned it on. Richard’s voice sounded in the room.

“Mira must think that Owen abandoned her. If she stays, Owen will refuse the marriage and the agreement will collapse.”

Celeste stepped back.

Her voice sounded in the recording.

“The photo will be enough. Tell her that she was only temporary entertainment. Owen will say this if he knows that otherwise his brother will go to prison.”

I placed the recorder on the table. My hands were trembling, but this time not from fear. For the first time in a year I was seeing the whole picture.

Owen closed his eyes.

“What happened to my brother?” I asked.

Nadia took a document from the folder.

“Richard transferred money from the company accounts. The responsibility was supposed to be shifted onto your partner Owen. If Owen refused an alliance with Celeste’s family, Richard would involve him in all the crimes.”

“And you knew?” I asked Owen.

“I knew there was danger. I did not know they would use it against you.”

“But you still told me that I was only a distraction.”

Owen’s voice failed.

“I wanted you to hate me. I thought that if you left me, you would survive.”

“And you decided that humiliating me was the best way to survive?”

“No. It was my greatest mistake.”

Celeste suddenly laughed.

“A mistake? You signed the agreement yourself.”

Nadia took out a second sheet.

“This signature is forged.”

Richard’s face turned gray.

“Impossible.”

“No,” Nadia said. “Because at the time indicated on this document Owen was not even in the city. The records of his car and the building confirm this.”

Owen looked toward me.

“Mira, please…”

“No, Owen. I am hearing the truth for the first time now. I will hear it to the end.”

Nadia placed the phone on the table.

“The messages were sent from Celeste’s personal device. The photo was also edited on the same day. But this is only the beginning.”

“What else is there?” I asked.

Nadia looked at Owen.

“The money transfers did not go only to Richard’s accounts. Some of it went into the clinic where your brother was staying.”

Owen sprang up quickly.

“My brother paid for the treatment himself.”

“That is what you thought,” Nadia said. “In reality, the payments were in the name of a person who died three months ago.”

Silence fell over the room.

An unknown number lit up on my phone. I answered the call immediately.

“Mira,” a man said, “if you trust Owen now, your life is in danger.”

“Who are you?”

The line went dead. At that same moment heavy footsteps sounded outside the door and the handle slowly lowered…