The music inside the grand hall still floated through the open balcony doors, muffled slightly by the breeze that swept across the night. The cool air kissed Celeste's cheeks, calming the flush from all the attention and dancing. Beside her, Damien leaned against the stone balustrade, drink in hand, his tie loosened and collar slightly open, exposing just a sliver of skin.
They hadn't said much since the dance ended. Celeste had smiled to herself, the ghost of his touch still lingering where his hands had been — her waist, her back. She liked how he held her. How hesitant he was, and yet how steady he became when she gave him permission to feel something.
Damien, on the other hand, was brooding.
Not obviously, not the way most people did. But Celeste could feel it — the subtle tension in his jaw, the way he swirled the drink in his glass like it had personally offended him.
"You okay?" she asked, turning toward him slightly.
Before he could answer, the balcony doors creaked again. Three men stepped out — younger executives from another firm, sharp suits and sharp smiles. Their eyes landed on Celeste in an instant.
One of them, the most confident, walked up with a charming grin. "Mind if I steal you for a dance, Miss…?"
Celeste glanced at Damien from the corner of her eye, then offered a sweet, polite smile. "I appreciate it, really. But I'm taking a break. My feet are done for tonight."
Another one tried his luck. "Surely just one more? You lit up the dance floor back there."
Damien's fingers clenched slightly around his glass.
Celeste let out a light laugh. "Flattery will get you nowhere tonight. I already had my favorite dance."
That did it. The subtle spark in Damien's eyes returned, only now it was tinged with something possessive.
The men eventually took the hint and retreated, joking among themselves as they left the balcony.
Silence stretched for a beat, before Celeste turned to Damien fully.
"You okay now? Or are you going to break that glass in your hand next time someone says hi to me?"
He gave her a sidelong look, sighing. "I didn't like them."
"No kidding," she teased. "You looked like you were going to throw someone over the railing."
Damien exhaled, his voice softer this time. "I didn't want to share you."
Celeste's heart skipped. Not because of the words, but the way he said them — quiet, sincere, like it hurt to admit it.
"You didn't have to," she whispered, stepping closer to him. "I wasn't planning to go anywhere."
He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, the whole party seemed far, far away.
The stars above them shimmered, and the wind played with the ends of her hair.
And for Damien Leclair, that moment was all he needed to know — he was well and truly gone for this woman.
Celeste smiled, tilting her head playfully. "Next time, just dance with me twice. That way no one gets ideas."
Damien chuckled, but it held a rasp of something deeper. He nodded. "Deal."
They stood there, just the two of them, the world bustling behind them — but right here, it was just silence, stars, and the beginning of something neither of them dared to name just yet.
The gala lights shimmered in the distance, muffled music humming through the wide open balcony where Celeste and Damien stood. The soft evening air carried with it a breath of calm, just enough to settle the buzz of champagne and eyes from the crowd below. Damien leaned slightly on the railing, gaze cast somewhere far beyond the city skyline, while Celeste stood beside him, drink still in hand, her head tilted in his direction.
She had seen the way he reacted, how his jaw clenched every time someone else's eyes lingered too long on her, especially during the dance floor incident. Still, he said nothing. Did nothing. Like always. Yet his silence screamed volumes louder than any claim could.
"Damien?" Celeste's voice was soft, barely a breeze between them.
He glanced at her, eyes unreadable. "Yeah?"
She took a moment, placing her glass on the railing and turning to face him fully. Her fingers played with the hem of her dress absently. "If you don't want to share me with anyone else… why do you look guilty sometimes?"
Damien froze.
Her question wasn't sharp. It wasn't laced with accusation or expectation. Just… curiosity. The kind that curled its way into his thoughts and sat there, waiting for him to answer something even he wasn't sure of yet.
He sighed, long and tired. "Because I don't know what the hell I'm allowed to feel when it comes to you."
Celeste's heart skipped.
He continued, voice softer now, almost lost under the wind. "You're not mine, Celeste. Not officially. Not in a way that's fair. And I keep looking at you like you are. Like you've always been."
Her brows knit together. "You didn't answer me, Damien."
"I don't want to share you," he said finally, eyes dark and honest. "But sometimes, guilt eats me alive because I think—maybe—I don't deserve you either."
Celeste took a step closer, the air between them charged.
"Then claim me properly," she whispered.
He looked at her then like the world paused.
The music from the ballroom faded into a distant hum as silence settled over them again—but this one held promise, not doubt.
The crowd was still buzzing inside the grand hall as Celeste walked away from the balcony, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor, her thoughts still lingering around Damien and his cryptic guilt. The air inside felt heavier than outside, warmth mixed with perfume and champagne fogging her mind. But she was grounded, determined to rejoin the party like everything was perfectly in place.
Her eyes swept over the room casually—until she froze mid-step.
There, standing by the floral arrangement near the open bar, was Sepharina. That annoyingly perfect smile was still painted on her lips, her laughter chiming too sweetly as she spoke to a group of older men. But Celeste wasn't staring at her for the same reasons everyone else was.
No.
Because just two steps behind Sepharina stood a man she hadn't seen in years. A man with slightly greyed hair, a clean-shaven face, and the same deep-set eyes she used to cry about as a child.
Her father.
The breath was knocked out of her. Her fingers trembled, and her knees buckled for a moment, enough to make her grab a pillar for balance. What the hell was he doing here? Her father? At this party?
Memories bombarded her—her mother's tears, the broken furniture, the echoing silence of an empty home, the birthday cards that stopped coming, the betrayal that etched itself into her bones. And suddenly—
Sepharina.
The picture that had been blurry for so long snapped into terrifying clarity. That odd familiarity she'd felt. The too-perfect smiles. The fake sweetness. The reason her gut coiled whenever that woman was near.
Sepharina Cole. The girl for whom her father left them.
Celeste's stomach turned.
She stepped back, mind racing, skin crawling. The world dimmed around her, voices sounding like echoes through a tunnel. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream.
Her father's gaze hadn't landed on her yet. Good. She couldn't breathe properly, let alone face him.
She turned quickly, weaving through the crowd. The room spun as she made her way to the nearest restroom, locking herself in a stall like she used to as a child—when her world was falling apart.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps.
She leaned against the cool marble wall and slid down.
So this was it. This was the moment. The woman who played the sweet card in Damien's office wasn't just annoying. She was part of the wreckage of her childhood.
Why was she here?
And why—God, why—was her father here, smiling like he didn't disappear from her life like she didn't matter?
Celeste's fists clenched.
The door opened and closed a few times. She stayed silent. She needed to get it together. Damien was still outside. He didn't know. He couldn't know. Not yet.
Minutes passed before she finally stood, washed her face, and stared at her reflection.
Her eyes were red. Her lips were pale. But she managed a shaky breath.
She could do this.
She walked back out into the hallway, making sure her expression was blank, calm, professional.
But inside, everything had changed.
The night had never felt this long.
Celeste had barely registered her surroundings anymore, her vision slightly blurry, her head spinning. Her heels clacked hurriedly against the marble floor as she rushed back through the gala hall, dodging guests and flashing lights. The grandeur of the ballroom, the low jazz music, the golden chandeliers—everything faded into background noise. All she could think about was the storm raging in her chest.
She had seen him.
Her father.
Not in a dream. Not in a memory. But here. At the same party. Laughing. Talking. Being his usual charming self. And beside him stood Sepharina.
Sepharina.
Now it all made sense. The fake sweetness. The familiar air. The subtle glances.
She was the woman.
The one her father left them for.
Celeste didn't know how she got out of that crowd. Her legs were moving before she could process it, guiding her back to the only place she felt remotely safe.
Damien.
He was still at the balcony, leaning slightly over the railing, a glass of half-finished champagne in hand. His eyes immediately found her as she burst through the curtains, face pale, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Celeste?" he asked, straightening up.
But she didn't answer.
She rushed to him, throwing herself into his arms with such force that he staggered back a step, instinctively wrapping his arms around her to steady them both. Her hands clutched his shirt tightly as she buried her face in his chest.
Then she broke.
It wasn't gentle.
She sobbed. Hard.
Her body trembled in his hold, hands fisting the fabric of his suit. It was a dam that had burst, flooding everything she had tried to keep inside for years. Her breath hitched, uneven and short, like she couldn't get enough air.
Damien was startled for a moment. He had never seen her like this. Not Celeste, the woman who had charmed a room full of billionaires, who smiled even when she was nervous, who stood tall even when the world threatened to push her down.
But now she was just a girl. A broken girl.
And she was falling apart in his arms.