Celeste packed slowly.
Not because she wasn't sure — she was. But every fold of clothing, every zipped compartment felt heavier than it should've. Like she was tucking pieces of herself away, not just fabric.
Damien sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching her with a blank expression. Not cold. Just… still.
"I didn't want it to end like this," she said quietly.
"It's not ending," he said. "It's just… shifting."
She stopped folding. Looked at him. "You're disappointed."
"Yeah," he said simply. "But I'm not mad. And I'm not surprised."
Celeste closed her suitcase. "He said he knows who I really am."
"You think he's right?"
"I think I need to know."
Damien nodded. No argument. No guilt. Just truth.
She crossed the room and sat beside him. "You've been good to me."
"I didn't do it to earn anything."
"I know," she whispered. "That's what made it harder to leave."
He turned to her then. His eyes looked tired, but soft. "I'll be fine, Celeste."
She leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to his cheek — not heated, not possessive. Just warm. Honest.
He smiled faintly. "You really want to fly commercial?"
She blinked. "What?"
"I already called the pilot." He stood. "Jet'll be ready in an hour."
Her mouth parted slightly. "Damien—"
He walked to the dresser, grabbing her passport and setting it on top of the suitcase. "You wanted answers. This'll get you there faster."
She swallowed. "You're really doing this?"
"I told you. Choose your peace."
He paused, then added softly, "Even if it takes you away from mine."
That broke something in her chest.
She threw her arms around him, holding tight. He didn't hesitate — he hugged her back like he wasn't letting go too soon, even if he knew she was already halfway gone.
When they pulled apart, there was nothing left to say.
Just the faint sound of ocean wind slipping through the windows
And the quiet understanding that love doesn't always mean keeping someone.
Sometimes it just means helping them get where they need to go.