Celeste – POV

I hadn't expected to see him again that night. After our strange moment at dinner, I thought Adrian would disappear into whatever cold and steel-wrapped lair he used to punish the world.

I tossed and turned on the cold silk sheets, reaching for sleep that would not come, and in a brief moment of madness I considered all the things I could do to pass the time and landed on wandering the grounds.

This place had top-of-the-line security, so it wasn't like I had anything to fear. Sure, it was a gigantic and ominous building with shadows that stretched from wall to wall, but I was far more under-stimulated than I was afraid.

Who knows, maybe I would discover something less dull than the rest of the house?

I reached into the armoire and pulled out the one dress I hadn't dared wear yet. Midnight blue, off the shoulder, with a silk bodice that clung to the ribs and flowed like water around the knees. Impractical, yes, but I was past that now. Nothing about the past few weeks had been practical or normal.

I stood before the mirror and smoothed the fabric. My collarbones were bare, and my skin was soft from the bath. I looked like a woman being summoned, like someone a person might finally look at and want.

Not that I expected Adrian to want me. He didn't seem like the type to want anything at all except control. But still, I couldn't ignore the strange current that had passed between us earlier, or the way he looked at me like I was a question he didn't want to ask.

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I took one step out the door and onto a rock-hard surface. Hurt and confused, I rubbed my nose with one hand and was just about to say something in protest when his voice stopped me.

"Celeste."

I blinked.

Adrian took a step forward, close enough to touch, close enough to change something.

"You wore that dress on purpose," he said.

I didn't deny it.

"And you stared at me the moment I walked in," I said, holding his gaze.

He didn't deny that either.

He stepped closer. We were inches apart now, the air between us charged and magnetic.

His eyes dropped for a second, not in shame or avoidance but as though he couldn't trust himself to keep looking. Then they lifted again, and something in them burned low and deep.

But he didn't kiss me.

He leaned in just slightly, enough to brush the space beside my jaw. His voice reached me like smoke and silk.

"Don't tempt me if you don't intend to follow through."

My breath caught, but I didn't back away.

"Maybe I'm not the one being tempted," I whispered.

Something shifted in his eyes then. Heat, yes, but something wilder too, a hunger buried under years of control.

He stepped back sharply like he had just realized how close he had come to losing the upper hand.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Westwood," he said, voice tight.

"Goodnight, Mr. Westwood."

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Adrian – POV

I watched her walk away, every step of that d*mn dress swaying like it was taunting me.

I should've stopped this. I should've canceled dinner the second I saw her in that hallway, but then she walked in and suddenly I forgot every rule I made.

She was soft lines and bare shoulders and that look in her eyes, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me and maybe didn't hate it.

And I wanted her.

Not just the way men want women. I wanted to unravel her, to watch her shatter and come together again under my hands, and to learn what made her flinch and what made her stay.

But I couldn't touch her. Not yet.

She was too new and too dangerous.

Although Celeste wasn't much more than just my wife on paper, she could become my greatest liability.

Every weakness I buried, every instinct I learned to shut down, flared in her presence. She didn't beg for attention. She didn't try to please me, and that was somehow worse.

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Celeste – POV

Try as I might, I still couldn't sleep. My midnight stroll had proven pointless. Too many locked doors and identical corridors. It took me ages to find my room again.

The estate wasn't a home. It was a gallery, beautiful and curated, but cold.

Too many questions filled my head. How do I make the best out of this situation? What exactly did being a good wife mean, and what would happen if I didn't meet their expectations?

I wasn't sure what scared me more, disappointing Adrian or being too good at pretending.

In the early hours of the foggy morning, I found Adrian on the balcony outside the east hall.

He didn't acknowledge me right away. He just stared out into the mist, his shirt sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, and a glass of something dark in his hand.

He looked less like a husband and more like a ghost, rooted in place but never truly here.

I cleared my throat, trying to think of something to say to lift the tension. I had just walked into a brooding session, and I wasn't sure if he would even appreciate the conversation.

"I saw a car in the driveway this morning. It didn't look like one of the usual ones," I said. "Visitor?"

"Unwanted," he murmured.

I looked down at his hand, knuckles pale against the glass. There was tension there, not the kind that simmered but something heavier and more dangerous. Whoever had visited today had left a mark.

Whatever that meant, I didn't push it. It was far too early in the morning to go digging for secrets.

I stepped closer, emboldened by the night air. "You don't sleep much, do you?"

He glanced sideways. "Do you?"

"No."

Another silence, not cold this time, just unsure.

We stood there like that, two strangers wrapped in the same storm, not quite enemies and not yet friends.

Finally, he said, "You should stay away from the south garden."

I blinked, not expecting that.

I nodded slowly. "The one being renovated?"

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then, "It's where I buried what was left of my father," he said, voice barely above the rain. "Figuratively."

I didn't ask more. I didn't make some soft or useless comment about grief or closure. I simply stood there, looking out at the gray horizon until the wind started to rise again.

Eventually, I turned and stepped back inside.

But something stayed out there with him, something broken and jagged and bleeding beneath the suit. I recognized it because it looked a lot like me.