Celeste – POV

For the first time in days, I asked Ava to stay for coffee.

She gave me a look, one part suspicion, one part calculation, but sat down anyway, perched on the edge of the armchair like someone who wasn't at all used to casual chats. Her phone sat face-down on the table, that alone told me she was curious.

"I found something," I said, sliding the envelope across the table.

Ava flipped it open, brows ticking slightly at the sight of the old clippings and contracts. My father's merger, the headlines of Whitmore's financial collapse, his name beside Adrian's in bold black ink.

"I assume you knew," I said.

"I did."

The confirmation didn't hurt, not really. But it planted something colder. Deeper.

"So this is what I'm worth?" I said quietly. "My father's get-out-of-jail-free card. I mean, I had some kind of inkling, but no one ever prepares you to read something like that"

Ava's expression didn't shift. "It was business, Celeste. You're part of a structure now, and that structure doesn't leave room for sentiment."

"Does he even care?"

"Mr. Westwood is a businessman, and like other businessmen, doesn't traffic in care," she said. "He traffics in outcomes, in results. You know this as well as I do."

I wanted to be angry, but the truth of it was too clean to deny. So I bit the tears back and said nothing, the bitter tasting coffee burning my tongue.

Later that afternoon, Ava returned, this time not alone.

Marla breezed in first, looking like a spring picnic had exploded in her closet-floral culottes, a sky-blue blouse with pearl buttons, and a braided belt the color of mint icing. Her cheeks were rosy. Her smile was too wide.

"Honey drop!" she chirped. "Why so glum?"

Ava followed behind her, tablet in hand, blazer pressed sharp. She gave a small nod of greeting, then moved to stand near the desk.

Marla held up a new dress. Soft plum silk with hand-beaded embroidery at the waist. "You'll wear this tonight. It's formal enough for the dinner, but still soft enough to look approachable."

"I didn't agree to dinner," I said.

Marla tsked. "No one ever agrees to dinner in this house. We just show up and pretend it's our idea."

I caught Ava frowning faintly, eyebrows pulled together tautly, eyes narrowed. She was watching Marla, not me.

As Marla walked around the room, pulling at the curtains and peering into drawers under the guise of organizing, Ava's gaze followed her movements with quiet intensity.

"Where did you say you got this fabric?" Ava asked casually.

"Oh, from a personal connection in Marseille," Marla replied, voice breezy. "Don't worry your pretty head about it."

Something shifted in Ava's expression, barely noticeable, a subtle tightening around the jaw.

Marla leaned in close to me with a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't mind Ava, she may manage statements, but I manage you, andtrust me when i say I know best"

I glanced at Ava. She was ssmiling now, but it didn't reach her eyes.

Adrian – POV

She entered the dining room right on time, wearing the plum-colored dress like it had been made from the hour itself. Her posture was straight, her eyes unreadable, her every step was measured and controlled.

Good.

I didn't need drama, I needed answers.

She sat across from me without speaking.

I waited until the first course had been served before I spoke.

"You need to be prepared," I said.

She blinked."For?"

"The press. Interviews, fundraisers. They'll ask how we met. What you like. What I like. What we do on the weekends."

Celeste gave a bitter smile. "Should I invent a story about bumping into you at a bakery?"

"I think you cn do better than that."

"Then what?"

"We build a narrative," I said simply. "And we make it consistent."

She folded her hands in her lap. "So you want us to rehearse lies."

"I want to prevent inconsistencies. Image is everything in my line of work, Celeste, and I will not have anyone ruin mine, not even you"

She didn't argue, so that made it easier.

"Where were you born?" I asked.

She blinked. "You don't know?"

"I didn't ask until now."

"Charleston."

"Parents?"

"My mother's dead. My father's a debt-ridden real estate parasite."

"At least you're honest."

"Don't get used to it," she said.

"What's your middle name?"

"Grace."

I nodded. "Good. We can use that, I've heard far worse."

She leaned forward. "And what about you?"

I ignored the question.

"What's your degree in?" I asked.

"English Literature. Which qualifies me for nothing."

I met her eyes. "It qualifies you to sound intelligent in small talk."

She tilted her head. "What about your degree?"

"I don't answer questions I don't consider relevant."

"Funny. You seemed very interested in mine."

I said nothing. I didn't owe her a biography. She was here to help me, not the other way round.

She pushed her plate aside. "So that's how this works. You ask. I answer. You control the story."

"Would you rather the world invent it for us?"

"I'd rather you stop pretending this is a marriage."

I leaned back in my chair, lips pressed in a line. She thought she could rattle me with that. She didn't know I hadn't believed in marriage since the day I buried my father and took over an empire built on blood and leverage.

"I want five key facts," I said. "That's all. You'll repeat them if needed. No improvisation."

"And if I forget?"

"Don't. Or else"

Ava – POV

I lingered just outside the dining hall, waiting for the conversation to end. I didn't usually eavesdrop, I had far more important things to do. But tonight, something didn't sit right with me.

Marla's behavior earlier still played in my mind. The overly familiar way she moved through Celeste's room as though she already owned it, the way she spoke over me. It wasn't new, Marla was a bit always pushy, but today it felt intentional.

And Celeste didn't notice. Why would she? She was still too new to the rules of this place, but I wasn't.

Marla's access to wardrobe, press photography, even private moments. In a way, these things were indeed her responsibility, but she was still far too close for comfort.

I made a note on my tablet to restrict her clearance until further notice.

Then I stepped back and disappeared into the hallway before anyone saw me.

Celeste – POV

After dinner, I walked the corridors instead of going back to my room. This house, with its endless doors and mute lights, had started to feel more like a labyrinth than a home. The longer I stayed here, the more I realized just how many walls were for show.

Outside the conservatory, I paused by the hedge line. The garden was perfectly curated, yet empty.

And then I saw it. Tucked between two bricks in the low wall near the south entrance, a folded piece of paper.

There was no name, no address. No mistake. I opened it.

They'll never let you leave.

My throat tightened. I looked around, but no one was there.

Still, I knew I wasn't alone, someone had seen me come here before, and they were trying to tell me something.