Celeste

By morning, I had made up my mind. If I was going to be stuck in this house then I needed something to do to make it more comfortable for me.

The quote from the gardening book had stayed with me all night. I must’ve reread it a dozen times:

Grow something even if they don't want you to. Especially if they don't.

It felt like I was being dared. So I dressed early in jeans and a soft sweater, and made my way down the east corridor, past the formal rooms I still couldn’t keep straight. I hadn’t seen Adrian since dinner, and I didn’t plan to because there was no telling what mood I’d find him in today. Cold? Angry? Confusingly attentive?

I reached the conservatory entrance just as someone else turned the corner.

Langley.

He stopped short, startled. “Mrs. Westwood.”

I froze, then smiled thinly. “Morning.”

He blinked at my outfit. “Is everything alright?”

“Perfectly,” I said. “I just wanted to see the garden.”

Langley hesitated. “Would you like me to call someone to escort you?”

“No. I’m not lost.”

I opened the door before he could say anything else and stepped out onto the gravel path. The garden stretched ahead in its usual symmetry, looking both clean and lifeless with its perfect hedges, but without a single wild bloom.

I wandered for a while, letting my fingers trail along the clipped branches until I found a stubborn looking patch of soil near the edge, crouched down and pressed my fingers into the dirt.

It wasn’t much, but it was mine now.

Adrian – POV

Markus handed me a file over breakfast, his expression unreadable as usual.

“She’s back in London,” he said, referring to Allegra. “At least for now.”

I flipped through the photos without interest. Boarding gate surveillance, hotel check-in, the usual. “No contact since?”

“No sir, nothing direct.”

“And Celeste?”

He looked at me. “Still clean.”

I didn’t respond.

I should’ve felt relief since the estate was secure, but for some reason, I didn’t. Instead, I found myself looking at the security feed, as she walked toward the garden.

“She’s in the conservatory,” Markus added, like he’d read my thoughts. “Do you want her followed?”

I closed the file. “No. Let her be.”

Celeste – POV

I had lunch by myself and thankfully there was no staff hovering, just a light tray on a small side table by the sunroom. I ate slowly, flipping through the next section of the gardening book. Whoever had owned it before me had marked a whole chapter about climbing vines and trellises.

"Climbers need something to hold on to, or they’ll strangle themselves. People are a bit like that sometimes.”

Was it strange to be comforted by the commentary of someone I’d never met?

Ava knocked on the door, pulling my focus away.

She leaned into the doorway, looking less stiff than usual, but still in her all black blazer and professional restraint.

“I heard you braved the garden this morning,” she said.

I shrugged. “Why not? It felt like something to do. All I ever do in this place is hang around and eat whatever.”

“You’ve caused a stir. Langley wasn’t sure if he should alert security or the groundskeeper.”

I gave her a look. “What for? Did he think I was going to steal a hedge?”

Ava almost smiled.

“I came to say dinner’s been moved up. Six sharp. Mr. Westwood has a call with shareholders afterward.”

“Will I be quizzed again?”

“I doubt it,” she said. “But I’d be ready just in case.”

I nodded. Ava didn’t leave right away.

“You said something yesterday. About the curated dossier not helping you feel like you knew each other.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well…” she crossed her arms thoughtfully. “It wasn't a bad idea. Documents and that sort of of thing might be safer in theory, but it’s also the fastest way to miss the truth.”

Then she left.

---

Dinner was earlier, just as Ava said, but this time the room felt different.

The lights were brighter. A smaller table was moved into one of the private dining rooms, with warm-toned wallpaper and lower ceilings that made it feel less like a gallery and more like a room meant for people.

Adrian was already seated, same as always.

I sat across from him, not speaking at first.

“You went to the garden,” he said.

I blinked. “Are you tracking my movements now?”

“I saw footage of you on the surveillance cameras” he replied. “I was curious.”

“Right,” I said, pulling my napkin into my lap. “Well. I didn’t steal anything.”

He watched me for a moment, shook his head, then leaned back slightly. “Why gardening?”

“Why not?”

“You could do anything with your time. Learn to play the piano, take a few language lessons. I'd handle the bills of course.”

I laughed. “I happen to like gardening. It's useful, don't you think?”

“I think it’s… impractical.”

“Well, that’s kind of the point,” I said, reaching for my water. “Nothing in my life so far has been very stable, I think maybe this will be. It's not very practical since you already have a full staff for the plants and such but...”

The corner of his mouth twitched he asked, “What did your mother do?”

The question caught me off guard.

“I thought we... She died when I was twelve,” I said. “But before that, she was a teacher.”

“And your father?”

I sighed. “You already know that.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

I stared at him. “He made a lot of mistakes. Got in too deep. Gambled with too many people’s lives—including mine.”

Adrian didn’t argue.

“What about your family?” I asked. “You never talk about them.”

He stood abruptly, pacing to the window.

“My mother left when I was six,” he said finally. “My father was… not the type who inspired any bedtime stories.”

I stayed quiet, letting the words hang there.

“Is he still alive?” I asked.

“No,” Adrian said. “And no, I didn’t go to the funeral.”

A beat of silence passed between us.

“I'm really trying to et along with you here. To have a conversation? Are you always this evasive?” I asked.

He turned back to me, eyes unreadable. “Are you always this persistent? Believe it or not, there are some subjects some people don't like bringing up.”

I felt scolded. “Sorry. My mistake. I didn't mean to pry."

He stepped closer.

“I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. I’m not interested in being understood, Celeste,” he said, voice lower now. “I’m only interested in results.”

“Results,” I muttered, rising to my feet, “looks we’ve got a problem, because I’m not some variable in a math problem."

We were standing too close again, and there was too much energy between us, but he didn’t back away.

He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, then he turned and walked out leaving me alone again with my heart pounding, unsure if I wanted to scream at him or follow him.