There was something about the quiet that followed acceptance. It wasn't peace, exactly. It was more like the stillness before a storm—the kind that brewed under clear skies.
The twins knew now. And despite the initial shock, they'd accepted it with more grace than Adrian expected. In truth, they seemed… relieved. Like a strange, missing puzzle piece had finally clicked into place.
But the world outside the Lancaster estate was less forgiving.
And Adrian knew it was only a matter of time before the waves came crashing in.
---
Celeste sat by the window of the third-floor library, a notebook balanced on her lap, sketching ideas for the children's painting exhibit for the gala. Sunlight streamed through the glass, catching in the curls at her temple. She looked calm.
But inside, she wasn't.
She'd had dreams the last few nights. Not fragmented visions like before, but memories. More vivid. More detailed. Some sweet—like Adrienne feeding the twins for the first time. Others painful—like the sharp terror of bleeding in the hospital bed and realizing she wouldn't live to see them grow.
The dreams left her aching. She carried them like hidden bruises.
Today, the board was meeting again—this time with the press. It was the first pre-gala exposure, and Adrian had insisted she be by his side.
"I want the world to know you're not just an event consultant," he told her that morning. "You're part of this. Of me."
But part of her wondered… would they see her? Or just the ghost of a dead woman walking in her skin?
---
In the Lancaster Industries conference wing, the atmosphere was electric.
Photographers waited just beyond the tinted doors. Executives filled the leather chairs. And Adrian Lancaster, crisp in a navy suit, stood at the head of the table with his hands clasped, waiting for her.
Celeste entered like a breath of spring in a room full of winter. She wore a high-waisted navy skirt and a pale silk blouse, her hair pinned delicately at the back, her presence subtle but magnetic.
Several heads turned. Whispers passed between the older members of the board.
Adrian ignored them all.
"Thank you for joining us," he said, nodding to the table. "This is Miss Celeste Navarro, the lead visionary and co-organizer of this year's charity gala."
"Miss Navarro," one of the older women said, voice clipped. "Quite a fast rise through the ranks."
Celeste smiled graciously. "I believe when your heart is in something, progress follows."
Adrian watched her speak. Calm. Confident. Adrienne in voice, spirit, and steel.
But then came the strike.
"Some of us have been hearing rumors," said a board member named Mr. Grayson, his tone oily. "About your relationship with the CEO."
The room shifted.
Adrian stood straighter. "This isn't the time or place—"
"I think it is," Grayson interrupted. "You've brought her into our inner circle. You're funding the gala through family trust accounts. This isn't just about work. So, what is she to you?"
Celeste froze, just slightly. But Adrian didn't.
He stepped forward, eyes blazing. "She is someone I trust. Someone whose vision has brought this foundation back to life."
"But is she—" Grayson pressed, "—your… companion?"
"Careful," Adrian warned.
"You're a widower, sir," the man pushed. "And the press will wonder. We already do."
Adrian's voice dropped, cold and dangerous. "I don't give a damn what you wonder."
Celeste stepped beside him, her hand brushing his arm.
"It's all right," she said softly.
Then she turned to the table, voice steady. "Yes. Mr. Lancaster and I are in a personal relationship. But that has nothing to do with the transparency, ethics, or impact of this gala."
"And what's your connection to his late wife?" another woman asked, eyes sharp. "Your resemblance has been noted."
A beat passed.
Celeste took a slow breath. "That's not something I can explain to everyone. But what matters is that I care about this family. About the children. About continuing what Adrienne started."
"And you think that's enough?" Grayson sneered.
"No," Celeste said. "I think love is enough."
The room fell silent.
Adrian looked at her, something fierce and tender blooming in his chest. Then he turned back to the board.
"If anyone here feels uncomfortable with Celeste's presence, I invite you to step away from this year's project. I will personally fund any deficits. But she stays. She leads. End of discussion."
He didn't wait for a response.
He reached for Celeste's hand.
They walked out together—past the board, the cameras, and the rumors hanging in the air like smoke.
---
Outside, in the garden courtyard, Adrian pulled her into an alcove behind the ivy wall and held her there, both hands on her face.
"You didn't flinch," he murmured. "You didn't hide."
"I won't hide from who I am anymore," she said.
He brushed his lips against her forehead. "Neither will I."
They stood like that for a long moment. He kissed her gently. Then again, deeper. Until everything around them dissolved.
---
That night, as twilight settled over the estate, Aria approached her father in his study. She held a small painting in her hands—her first for the gala.
He took it gently and looked down.
It was… a family. A father, a boy, a girl, and a woman with soft brown hair. The background was dreamlike, swirling, almost ethereal.
Adrian's voice caught. "Is this…?"
Aria nodded. "It's us. And her."
He blinked. "Her?"
Aria shrugged. "Whoever she is. Celeste. Adrienne. I don't really care anymore. She feels like home. So I painted her like one."
Adrian stood slowly and hugged his daughter.
And in that quiet, tear-filled moment, he knew:
Whatever came next—he would fight for it. For her. For all of them.
To be continued...