Chapter 2 If You Were Unwilling To Get In The Car

Celeste's POV

What could I say?

If Dmitri wanted to punish me on Marie's behalf, nothing I said would matter. If he didn't, I wouldn't need to say anything at all.

Yet something felt off. According to rumor, Dmitri treasured his fiancée beyond measure.

But the way he'd looked at Marie just now—it held impatience, revulsion at her making a scene, and something else. As though she were nothing more than a tiresome nuisance.

I didn't dare follow that thought further.

My silence seemed to irritate him.

His fingers curled slowly at his side, and the pressure in the air dropped until it was hard to breathe.

The musicians onstage didn't dare stop. They could only keep playing, heads down.

Dmitri said nothing. The guests barely breathed. No one dared speak first.

The silence was awkward. Dangerous.

I knew someone had to offer an out.

"Marie must have misunderstood," I said quietly, eyes lowered, not looking at him. "We only want to do business. We never meant to offend anyone."

I didn't want to be a spectacle. And I hadn't forgotten my place—I was Julian's subordinate. The F&G partnership meant everything to the company.

No matter what, I couldn't let this blow up.

I edged closer to Julian and murmured, "Sorry, I'm not feeling well. I'll head out."

Leaving now was the most graceful solution. It wouldn't offend Marie, and it wouldn't drag Julian or the company down with me.

Julian froze. "This isn't your fault. It's a misunderstanding. Let me have the driver take you back."

"No need. I'll catch a cab." I smiled at him—faintly.

I turned to leave.

"Did I say you could go?"

The man's familiar, cold voice cut through the air behind me. My feet stopped.

Slowly, I turned back. "Are you going to punish me for Marie's sake?"

Dmitri looked at me, something dark and turbulent churning in his eyes.

"What do you think?"

The guests around us seemed afraid of getting caught in the crossfire. They edged back a step or two.

The air conditioning overhead was too strong. My arms prickled with goosebumps.

I'd never been able to read Dmitri's mind. After a moment, I asked, "So what do you want to do?"

He didn't answer. He simply raised one hand, barely.

Two bodyguards in black stepped forward immediately.

I glanced at him. Said nothing. Let them flank me and "escort" me out.

As we passed through the crowd, I caught whispers. Some marveled at his ruthlessness—such a beautiful woman, dismissed just like that, without a shred of mercy.

At the door, I glanced back instinctively.

Marie was reaching for his arm. He gave her a cold look, and she froze mid-gesture.

His secretary stepped forward smoothly, blocking her path. "Marie, the boss has work to do. Please don't disturb him."

Marie stood rigid, her face flushed with embarrassment.

I turned away. Didn't look back again.

Outside the hotel, the night breeze hit my face, hot and stifling, tousling the hair at my temples.

I stood under the portico. The clouds hung low and heavy, threatening rain.

A doorman approached with a practiced smile. "Miss, your car will arrive in two minutes. Please wait here."

I looked at him. I hadn't called a car.

The two bodyguards stood behind me in silence, like walls. I didn't struggle. Didn't ask questions. Struggling would be pointless. I'd upset Marie, and he was going to give her satisfaction. I should have understood that from the start.

His people operated just like he did, I thought coldly.

A black Maybach glided silently into the portico and stopped in front of me. The polished body gleamed coldly, like a coiled predator.

The driver's door opened. A man in his fifties stepped out.

He saw me and clearly paused. "Celeste—it's you."

I recognized him.

Groffs. Dmitri's driver. He'd been with Dmitri since Dmitri was a boy.

"It's been a while," I said.

He pulled open the rear door respectfully, bowing slightly. "Please get in."

I didn't move.

Groffs remained courteous, but his words left no room for refusal. "Sir asked me to pass along a message if you were unwilling to get in the car—'Don't make me come down there myself.'"

My lashes trembled.

He didn't need to send that message through Groffs. I'd always known when to comply.

After three seconds of silence, I closed my eyes, bent down, and slid into the back seat.

The door closed softly, cutting off the world outside.

The car merged into the night. Neon lights swept across my face in frames—bright, then dark.

I turned toward the window, spine straight, hands folded quietly in my lap.

Only I knew my palms were slick with sweat.

The car eventually pulled into a highly private riverside residential complex. Motion-sensor lights in the underground garage flicked on one by one, illuminating the cold white walls. Groffs parked the car, opened my door, and escorted me to the elevator. He remained where he was, watching the elevator ascend.

A soft chime. Top floor.

A housekeeper stood waiting at the elevator entrance. I recognized her immediately. When she saw me, she showed no trace of surprise. She simply asked, "Would you like something to eat? I can prepare it."

She didn't ask how I'd died and come back to life. Excellent professional discretion.

I shook my head. Said I had no appetite.

I followed her inside. The living room was brightly lit, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an unobstructed view of the night. The river below reflected the lights from both banks, scattering them like shattered gold.

This was one of Dmitri's residences—a duplex penthouse with a 180-degree river view. The décor was cold and impersonal, devoid of warmth.

I didn't take off my shoes. Didn't sit. I just stood there. Yet my gaze was drawn, against my will, to a glass cabinet in the corner. Inside were a few old plush toys, photos from my college years, and several trophies I'd won back then.

On the sofa lay a faded beige wool blanket.

I'd bought that. A birthday gift for him.

He'd clearly disliked it at the time—so why was it still here?

My throat tightened inexplicably.

"Sir asked that you rest here. He'll return later," the housekeeper said, then disappeared into the kitchen.

The vast living room was mine alone.

I stood by the windows for a long time.

Outside—a thousand lights. Inside—cold solitude.

I'd never had much insight into feelings. But I had a good memory, and I'd always believed in settling scores with the right person.

Marie owed me. I'd collect, line by line.

Time crept forward. The hands of the tourbillon clock on the wall moved slowly, reaching twelve.

I was exhausted. I sank down against the armrest of the sofa, sitting on the carpet, and closed my eyes.

The housekeeper had left hours ago, leaving soup simmering on the stove and a single dim lamp in the living room.

At two-thirty in the morning, the lock clicked.

First, the rustle of fabric. Then footsteps, soft and deliberate, coming closer.

My lashes fluttered. I didn't open my eyes.

A moment later, warm fingertips brushed my cheek.

Then came a kiss—tasting of liquor and mint.