"Celeste," he whispered again, one hand going to her back, the other pressing gently against her head. "Hey. Breathe. Breathe with me."
She shook her head violently.
"I-I c-can't," she stammered between ragged gasps, "I can't, I can't… Damien… I…"
"Shh, it's okay," he soothed, moving one hand to cup her cheek, guiding her eyes up to his. "You're okay. You're safe. I'm here."
She met his gaze, barely. Her pupils were wide, her expression full of panic and pain. She looked like she was drowning.
He kept speaking softly, his voice low and steady.
"You're not alone. Just breathe. In and out. With me. Come on, Celeste. One breath at a time."
It took minutes.
But eventually, her breathing slowed. The tremors in her hands softened. The stabbing pain in her chest dulled. She was still crying, but the sharp edges of the panic attack were fading, replaced by exhaustion and sorrow.
She slumped deeper into his arms, pressing her forehead into his shoulder.
"He was there," she murmured hoarsely.
Damien frowned. "Who?"
"My father."
Those words struck Damien like ice.
She hadn't spoken much about her family. Just vague references, deflections. But the weight in her voice now told him everything.
"And the woman," she continued, her voice cracking, "the woman with him… it was her. The one he left us for. I knew I'd seen her before. I was a kid, but you never forget someone who ruins your whole life."
Damien held her tighter.
Celeste let out a bitter laugh between sniffles.
"Can you believe that? All this time, I didn't realize who she was. And she was right here, pretending to be sweet, acting like she doesn't know me."
Damien clenched his jaw. "Do you want to leave? We can go."
She hesitated.
Then shook her head. "No. No, not yet. I just… needed a moment."
He didn't let go. And she didn't ask him to.
The balcony was quiet now. Only the sounds of the city far below and the soft rhythm of her breathing filled the space.
Celeste pulled back slightly to look at him. Her eyes were red, makeup smudged, but she still managed a small, tired smile.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me," he replied, brushing a thumb over her cheek. "I'll always be here. You know that, right?"
She nodded.
"I know."
And in that moment, under the starlit sky and the echoes of a painful past, Celeste realized that maybe, just maybe, she had finally found someone she could fall into when the world got too heavy.
Someone who wouldn't let her drown.
Damien Leclair had never seen Celeste like this. Not once in all the time they had spent together had she faltered—not like this. She was always composed, bright, even when she was tired, even when things got tough. She carried herself like she had everything under control, like no shadow of her past could haunt her. But now… now she was trembling in his arms.
And it shattered him.
She had burst onto the balcony like a wave crashing through a glass wall—eyes wide, breath hitched, and shoulders shaking. Her beautiful face was twisted in anguish, mascara smudging beneath her lashes. He hadn't had time to ask. She threw herself into his arms as though he were the only safe place left in the world.
Damien didn't question it. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her to him like she was something precious and breakable. She wasn't just crying; she was breaking. Her entire body was trembling, her sobs raw and uncontrolled, the way one cries when a wound opens up that's never really healed.
He slowly guided her to the lounge chair on the balcony, letting her curl into him, her fists gripping the lapel of his jacket like she'd fall apart if she let go. Her chest heaved in between hiccupping breaths, and Damien instinctively rubbed soothing circles along her back.
"Celeste," he whispered, his voice gentle and low, heart pounding in sync with the chaos he could feel within her. "You're okay. I'm here. I've got you."
He felt her nod—barely—and her grip only tightened.
She never said why she was crying. And he didn't press. Not yet.
Because something told him this was more than a bad memory. This wasn't about the gala, or the people, or even him. This was old pain. This was rooted deep in the foundation of who she was. And he… he didn't know how to fix it. He wasn't even sure if he should try.
But he could be there. That much, at least, he could do.
She didn't let go for the longest time.
Damien had always seen her strength, her intelligence, her effortless charm. She was magnetic in rooms full of powerful people, captivating without trying. But this… this vulnerability turned something inside him upside down.
He kept holding her.
And in the silence, his mind ran wild. He thought about how alone she must've been, how hard she worked to keep everything buried. And it made his chest ache.
Maybe he didn't know the details yet, but something in her broken whispers, in the way she gasped for air like she was drowning, told him one thing clearly: someone had torn her world apart once.
And he hated whoever it was.
He hated that someone made her this scared. This broken.
Eventually, her sobs softened into sniffles. Her breathing evened out. Her head rested against his chest as though she'd melted into him. Damien kept his hand in her hair, brushing through the soft strands slowly.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head—gentle, instinctive.
He didn't ask why.
Because some things didn't need words.
Not yet.
And he'd wait.
Because for the first time in a very long while, Damien Leclair wasn't thinking about business, or deals, or even his own guilt. All he could think about was the girl in his arms, whose strength had finally bent… and how badly he wanted to be the one strong enough for the both of them.
Celeste's breaths came in ragged whispers, but her body moved before her mind could catch up. Her heart was hammering so hard it felt like it echoed through her chest. Damien's arms were still around her, warm and grounding, even though her thoughts were spinning.
Just over Damien's shoulder, she could see Sepharina's familiar silhouette. The sharp chin, the graceful yet insincere smile she always wore — it was unmistakable. Sepharina was walking, slow but steady, through the crowd. And she was coming in their direction.
Celeste's fingers clutched the fabric of Damien's blazer tighter. She could not—would not—let him see her. Not like this. Not now. If Damien looked back, if he saw the woman who was both his wife and the one who wrecked Celeste's family… he'd know. He'd piece it together. And she wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Not tonight.
So she did the only thing she could think of.
She pulled him into a kiss.
It was sudden and soft, but it startled Damien, his body going still. His breath hitched at the contact, lips frozen before he responded with a gentleness that contrasted the panic bubbling inside her.
His hands rose instinctively to cup her face, his fingers brushing along her jaw. There was a moment, a breath, a heartbeat where everything quieted. No crowds, no music, no wife walking closer, no past catching up — just the two of them, lips pressed together, warm and hesitant.
Celeste didn't know what she was doing. Her heart was breaking and melting all at once, and all she could cling to was the taste of him — clean, like mint and champagne and something deeper, like safety.
Damien finally pulled back, eyes searching hers, filled with confusion and something else… something dangerous.
"Celeste… what was that?"
But Celeste smiled. Not her usual confident, sarcastic smile — this one was laced with fragility, as if she'd stitched it together only to survive the moment.
"I just wanted to kiss you. Is that so bad?" she whispered.
Damien didn't reply, but the look in his eyes — it was soft, careful, and wary, like he was trying to catch pieces of something broken. He opened his mouth, about to speak, when Celeste pulled him again. She wrapped her arms around his torso and leaned her head on his chest, hiding her face.
"Please… just stay like this," she murmured. "Don't let go yet."
Behind them, Sepharina had paused. Her smirk faltered.
But Celeste wasn't watching her anymore. She was clinging to the only warmth that kept the shards inside her from cutting too deep.
Damien held her.
And for now, that was enough.
The cold air clung to the balcony, brushing against Celeste's skin like an old ghost. But the chill wasn't enough to numb what she felt inside. Her chest heaved from the aftermath of her breakdown, face still damp with tears, fingers trembling slightly as she gripped Damien's jacket like it was the only anchor she had left in the moment.
He stood with her silently, still cradling her gently in his arms, as though afraid even a breath could shatter her. His shirt was damp from where her tears soaked through, but he said nothing. Just let her stay there, pressed close, heart beating against his chest like the flutter of a trapped bird.
The party hummed faintly in the background, laughter and clinking glasses now sounding distant. That world didn't exist right now—not when her world had crashed and she had run to him.
Celeste pulled back slightly, not enough to leave his warmth, just enough to look up at him. Her eyes searched his face, uncertain, vulnerable. Her fingers fidgeted with the lapel of his suit jacket.
"Damien…" she whispered. Her voice was rough, shaky.
He looked down, eyes soft, brows furrowed with quiet concern. "Yeah?"
She swallowed hard, suddenly unsure again. The words caught in her throat.
But then her gaze flicked past him, toward the open glass doors. She thought—no, she knew—Sepharina was inside. And maybe, just maybe, she was heading this way.
The terror flickered back for a heartbeat, and Celeste's breath hitched.
Her hand reached up, gently touching Damien's cheek. "Please," she whispered, barely a breath, "kiss me."
It wasn't sultry. It wasn't seductive. It was pleading. A desperate call for safety. A place to hide from her past.
Damien froze for half a second, eyes searching hers for the real reason—trying to understand the weight behind her request.
But there was something in her gaze. A storm she was holding back. And he couldn't deny her that lifeline.
He leaned down, hands sliding to the small of her back and waist. Their lips met softly at first, a question in the press. Celeste responded with a broken sound in her throat, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
The kiss deepened—gentle, but anchoring.
He held her like she would disappear if he let go.
And for Celeste, every second was like sealing herself inside a moment she never wanted to end.
She felt his warmth, his arms, his breath against her lips—and for the first time in years, the anxiety dimmed just enough to breathe.
In that kiss, Damien wasn't the CEO. She wasn't the broken girl who grew up hiding pain behind ambition. They were just… two people finding each other in a world that had taken too much.
And inside, just beyond the glass doors, her past waited with painted lips and knowing eyes.
But out here, Damien Leclair kissed her like he didn't care about the noise, the rules, the guilt.
Just her.
Just this moment.
Celeste melted into it, letting it claim her, whispering inside, don't let me go.
Celeste's eyes found Sepharina in the crowd, and for a brief second, their gazes locked. A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at Celeste's lips—confident, bold, and unapologetically territorial. She didn't need words to say it, the look said it all: He's mine. With Damien's arm still securely around her waist and his attention blissfully unaware, she leaned in just enough to brush her hand along his chest, her expression never faltering. It wasn't about revenge or maybe it was—it was about claiming something that finally felt hers. And if Sepharina caught that message, good. Celeste had no intention of backing down this time.