Morning light spilled into the Lancaster estate, weaving between the cream curtains and golden frames, illuminating the silence that wrapped itself around the household like a heavy quilt. But unlike the days before, the silence felt softer. Less hollow. As though something within these walls had begun to shift.
Celeste awoke before the sun had fully risen. She sat by the window in her new room—once a rarely used guest suite, now furnished for her as per Adrian's order. She hadn't expected the change. A part of her thought he might send her away after their visit to Adrienne's grave.
But he didn't.
Instead, he asked her to stay. Not as a guest. Not as a stranger.
As something else.
Something unnamed, fragile, and still hidden under the layers of his grief and disbelief.
Celeste had lived many lives since her rebirth, wandering through orphanages, foster homes, and independence. But nothing ever felt like it fit. Until now. This estate—this family—wasn't just familiar. It was hers. Not just in memory, but in soul.
Today would mark her first day working closely with Adrian. They were finalizing the charity gala's structure and presenting it to the board. It wasn't just a chance to be near him. It was a test. A test of whether he truly believed her enough to trust her voice in a world where he ruled with certainty.
---
Adrian stood in his office, adjusting his cufflinks.
He was usually composed in the morning. Routine kept him sane. But today, his hands trembled ever so slightly. Not out of fear—but anticipation. Celeste would be arriving shortly.
He hadn't told anyone yet—not even Helena—why he'd let her stay. There was no explanation that wouldn't sound like lunacy.
But last night, he'd found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, remembering Adrienne's laugh. The real one. The one that bubbled up from her chest when she was completely unguarded.
And then he remembered Celeste. Laughing the same way with Aria in the garden.
He couldn't explain it. He didn't want to.
But something in him—a part that had been sealed shut for thirteen years—was opening again.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he called, voice sharp.
The door opened quietly. Celeste stepped in, not in one of her usual plain dresses, but in a soft cream blouse tucked into a deep blue pencil skirt. Professional. Confident. And unmistakably reminiscent of the way Adrienne used to dress for foundation meetings.
For a split second, his breath caught.
"Good morning," she said with a small smile.
He nodded once. "You're early."
"Old habit."
He gestured to the table beside his desk where documents were laid out. "I reviewed your proposal. Some of your ideas are… unconventional."
"Do you hate them?" she asked softly.
"No." He paused. "I think I like them. Especially the idea of involving the children's stories through paintings and letters."
A flicker of surprise crossed her face. "Really?"
Adrian looked at her, something unreadable in his gaze. "It's something Adrienne would've done."
The way he said her name—Adrienne—was less painful. Less burdened.
Celeste smiled gently. "Because I remember dreaming it with you. She always wanted her foundation to have a soul, not just structure."
He didn't respond immediately, but he didn't deny it either.
---
Later that afternoon, they met with the foundation board.
Adrian introduced her formally as a consultant for the gala—his voice professional, measured, but with a strange protectiveness threaded through his words.
Celeste presented her ideas with confidence and calm grace. She spoke about integrating art therapy, involving children in the process, and humanizing the fundraising effort. The board, mostly older men and women in sharp suits, were skeptical at first—until she told a story.
About a boy named Jonah. Orphaned. Quiet. Angry. Until someone handed him a paintbrush. She told the story with such conviction and sadness, some of them believed she'd known him.
She had.
Jonah was a boy from a foster center she had stayed in during her early reborn years. A boy who reminded her of Aiden.
When she finished, the board applauded.
Adrian watched her from across the table. Something in his chest ached, but it wasn't grief. It was hope.
He hadn't felt it in years.
---
After the meeting, they rode back to the estate together. The car ride was quiet at first, filled only with the occasional rustle of papers and the distant hum of the city.
"You handled yourself well today," Adrian said, finally breaking the silence.
Celeste looked at him. "I didn't think you'd compliment me."
"I didn't say it was a compliment. It's an observation."
She smirked. "Your compliments are hidden behind stone walls, aren't they?"
He glanced at her. "Stone is durable. Safe."
"But cold," she said quietly.
He didn't respond, but the air shifted.
---
That evening, Celeste found herself alone in the kitchen, pouring tea when a small figure entered quietly.
Aiden.
He walked up and stood beside her, not saying a word.
"Want some warm milk?" she asked softly.
He nodded.
She prepared it gently, placing the cup on the counter.
"Thanks," he muttered, sipping carefully.
"Rough day?" she asked, pretending to stir her own cup.
He shrugged. "Not really. Just… thinking."
Celeste waited.
"I had a dream last night," Aiden said, voice so low she had to lean in. "About a lady with long brown hair and a voice that made me feel better. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she was safe."
Celeste's throat tightened.
"She called me 'baby bear.' No one's ever called me that before."
Celeste smiled, eyes shimmering. "She used to call you that. When you were born."
His eyes widened. "You know her?"
"I am her," she whispered.
He looked at her, uncertain. Searching her face like he might find the truth hidden between freckles or eyelashes.
"You smell like her," he said quietly. "Not perfume. But something… warm."
Celeste couldn't speak. She reached out gently, brushing his hair back.
Aiden let her.
For the first time.
---
Later, she stepped outside for air, heart full and heavy at the same time.
Adrian was already there, standing by the balcony that overlooked the garden. He turned as she stepped beside him.
"He's warming up to you," Adrian said.
She nodded. "He remembered a nickname she used to call him. One I hadn't said aloud."
Adrian didn't speak, but his eyes were intense.
"I don't expect you to believe me completely," Celeste said. "But every day I remember more. Not just details. Feelings. You. The way your eyes lit up when we danced in the kitchen at midnight. The way you held my hand in meetings when I was nervous."
He looked away. "Don't."
"Why?"
"Because I'm afraid you're right," he admitted.
Silence.
She stepped closer.
"Then let yourself believe," she whispered.
He turned back, eyes locking with hers.
There was no kiss. Not yet.
But there was something more powerful.
Acceptance.
To be continued...