The CEO (Adrian) is forced to work closely with Celeste on a charity event hosted by his company.
The twins, especially his daughter Aria, will play a more active role and begin to show signs of warming up to Celeste.
There will be emotional tension, a subtle moment of vulnerability from Adrian, and a scene where Celeste shares a memory that only his late wife could have known—sparking confusion and fear in him.
Now, here's your requested Chapter 6 with a minimum of 3,000–3,500 words.
Chapter 6: A Glimpse of Yesterday
The golden hues of morning filtered through the tall windows of the Lancaster estate, warming the cold marble floors and brushing gently over the portraits of ancestors long gone. Celeste stood by the window in the drawing room, her arms crossed, eyes distant, watching the dew evaporate from the rose garden. She felt the weight of the silence behind her—thick, tense, and almost resentful.
Today marked the first major company event she'd be involved in. Adrian had reluctantly approved her participation after some gentle persuasion from Aunt Helena and a rather clever manipulation of circumstances that made it impossible to exclude her without causing a PR issue.
A charity gala. Funded by Lancaster Industries. With a children's foundation as the main beneficiary. Ironically poetic, given that she'd once dreamed of starting her own foundation—when she was someone else. When she was Adrienne.
Celeste exhaled slowly. It was almost cruel how fate played with time and identity. Now, she had to wear someone else's name and still carry her past life's grief like a phantom limb.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps on the polished floors.
"Miss Celeste!" Aria's voice rang out. The twelve-year-old, for once, wasn't speaking with her usual dismissiveness. She sounded—excited?
Celeste turned to find Aria holding up a cream-colored envelope, sealed with the Lancaster emblem.
"Father asked me to give this to you. The final itinerary. He wants you downstairs by ten sharp for the venue inspection."
Celeste smiled warmly, taking the envelope. "Thank you, Aria. Did he say anything else?"
Aria blinked, then looked away. "Only that you're not to mess up. His exact words."
Celeste held back a laugh. "Sounds like him."
Aria hesitated before stepping closer. "I heard you're good at painting. Is that true?"
Celeste's brows lifted. "I used to be. Why?"
The girl shrugged, fiddling with the edge of her dress. "My mom… she was good too. She painted in that little sunroom upstairs, the one he never opens anymore."
Celeste's heart thudded painfully. That room—Adrienne's private sanctuary. She had painted there through morning sickness and through the ache of bed rest. Her final work had been a pastel portrait of the twins as she imagined them.
"I'd like to paint something too," Aria murmured. "But I don't know if it would upset Dad."
Celeste knelt, her tone gentle. "Art is never upsetting when it's honest. If it makes you feel something, it's worth creating."
Aria glanced up at her, caught off-guard by the answer. There was something in the girl's expression—something raw and unspoken—that passed between them.
Celeste knew in that moment: Aria was Adrienne's daughter. Her soul recognized it. The way the girl clenched her fists when she was nervous. The way she squinted when thinking. The quiet longing in her eyes.
And yet, she could say nothing.
---
The venue inspection was held at Lancaster Hall, the company's main headquarters, which had recently been converted for the upcoming gala. Celeste stood beside Adrian, her presence acknowledged but ignored. He spoke with the coordinators, nodded at floor plans, made executive decisions without once looking at her.
But she watched him. Studied the tension in his jaw, the way his hand lingered at his side as if missing something he used to hold—her hand.
When they finally reached the private conference room, the staff cleared out, leaving just the two of them. Silence stretched thick between them, awkward and brittle.
"I don't see why you insisted on being here," he muttered, not turning around. "This isn't some school project."
Celeste didn't flinch. "Because this charity is one your wife started. And you're honoring her memory with it."
Adrian stilled.
She stepped forward, slow, measured. "You're trying to carry on her legacy without understanding what it meant to her."
He turned then, cold fury in his eyes. "Don't speak as if you knew her."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But I did."
For a second, something flickered across his expression—confusion, disbelief, maybe even fear. But he masked it quickly, brushing past her.
"I don't have time for riddles, Miss Celeste."
"You once told Adrienne that if she ever started a charity, it should help children born in the cracks of society. You said, and I quote, 'If we can't save the world, we can at least patch it with hope.'"
Adrian froze.
Celeste swallowed the knot in her throat. "That was on a rainy night. In Florence. You had just gotten soaked trying to buy gelato because she was craving it."
His breath caught. Slowly, he turned to face her again.
"No one knew that," he said, his voice tight. "Not even her best friend. Not the staff. I never… wrote it down."
Celeste held his gaze. "I know."
For a moment, all time stood still between them. The sound of rain echoed faintly in the background, though there was no rain outside. A ghost memory, lingering between dimensions.
Adrian's expression darkened. "Who are you?"
Celeste blinked back the tears building in her eyes. "The same woman who painted sunflowers in the upstairs sunroom. The same woman who gave you a list of baby names two weeks before giving birth."
He moved toward her, anger and confusion warring inside him. "No. She's dead."
"I know," Celeste whispered. "I was there."
---
The silence between them became unbearable after that. Adrian left the venue abruptly, instructing his assistant to drive Celeste back to the estate. Celeste sat in the car with her fingers clenched in her lap, her heart hammering.
Had she said too much? Pushed too hard?
But how else could she reach him?
He had locked Adrienne away in a corner of his soul so deep, even he forgot how to feel her loss. He grieved, yes. But it was clinical. Controlled. He refused to revisit memories too tender to handle.
She wanted to bring him back. Not to who he was—but to who he could still become. If he remembered how to feel.
---
That evening, Aria knocked on her door.
"Dad didn't say it, but… he's upset."
Celeste nodded, expecting as much.
"I told him about the painting room," Aria said. "And that I wanted to try painting too."
Celeste looked at the girl, surprised. "You did?"
Aria shrugged. "He didn't say no. Just looked sad."
Celeste smiled faintly. "That's a good sign."
Aria hesitated. "Did you really know my mom?"
Celeste froze.
"I saw the way you looked when you mentioned her," Aria continued. "Like you missed her. Not just admired her."
Celeste couldn't lie. Not to her daughter. Not truly.
"I loved her very much," she whispered.
Aria tilted her head. "Then I think… maybe you belong here more than we thought."
---
Later that night, Adrian stood alone in his study, staring at the unopened folder on his desk. It was Celeste's background check—pulled at his command months ago and never reviewed. He had refused to read it because he didn't want to admit she mattered. But tonight's revelation cracked him.
Her words haunted him.
"I know."
She had described a moment no one else could have known. A moment buried in a lost night, a distant country, and a heartbeat that had once kept him tethered to joy.
Adrian opened the folder with trembling hands.
Name: Celeste Navarro
Age: 22
Born: February 14
Place: [REDACTED]
Orphaned at birth. Adopted. No known biological family.
February 14.
Adrienne's death anniversary.
Her rebirth day.
His hand trembled.
What if it wasn't a coincidence?
What if—
He pushed the thought away. It was madness. Reincarnation? Souls? The supernatural?
But then again, nothing in his life had ever felt natural since Adrienne died.
Celeste's eyes haunted him.
He pressed a hand to his chest, suddenly breathless.
Could it be?
Could she really be—
---
To be continued...