Celeste Hale
The dress is a weapon. It hangs in the cavernous walk in closet Caden has designated as mine, a sliver of deep emerald silk surrounded by my own comparatively drab clothing. It arrived in a box an hour ago. No note. None was needed. Tonight is the performance. Tonight, I become Celeste Blackwood in the eyes of the world.
My reflection in the mirror is a stranger. The woman staring back is polished, her hair swept into a complicated arrangement at the nape of her neck, diamonds dripping from her ears. They were in the box too. A loan, I tell myself. Everything is a loan.
The past few days have been a blur of logistics. Lawyers, press releases, a single, sterile phone call with my father where he tried to find the words to ask if I was okay and failed. Hale Innovations is saved. The capital appeared in our accounts like a miracle. The news of my engagement to Caden Blackwood hit the financial world like a shockwave. Thorne Industries’ stock took a small but noticeable dip.
That small victory feels like a drop of honey in an ocean of poison.
I step into the silk. It’s cool against my skin, settling over my body as if it were made for me. It probably was. Caden Blackwood seems like the kind of man who doesn’t believe in off the rack solutions.
A light knock sounds on the bedroom door.
“They are waiting, Mrs. Blackwood,” a disembodied voice says. One of his staff. They move through this silent penthouse like ghosts.
“I’ll be right out.”
Caden is waiting in the main living area, his back to me, looking out at the city lights. He wears a tuxedo with the same effortless command he wears a business suit. He is a creature of power and sharp edges.
He turns as I approach. His smoky eyes rake over me, from the diamonds at my ears to the hem of the dress. It is not a look of appreciation. It is an inspection. An inventory of an asset.
“Acceptable,” he says. His voice is a low rumble.
“I’m overwhelmed by the compliment.”
A corner of his mouth quirks, a microscopic movement that is gone as quickly as it appears. “Sarcasm does not suit the occasion. Tonight, you are my adoring fiancée. You look at me with devotion. You laugh at my remarks, should I choose to make any. You touch my arm when we walk. Do you understand?”
“I read the contract. Section Four: Public Presentation. I’m a quick study.”
“See that you are,” he says, turning toward the door without another word. I am meant to follow. A well behaved part of his entourage.
The gala is a glittering nightmare. A sea of a thousand faces, all of them turning toward us as we enter. The whispers are a physical force, a wave of sound that washes over me. I can feel their eyes dissecting me, calculating my worth, wondering how the quiet, overlooked Hale daughter landed the city’s most powerful and elusive billionaire.
Caden’s hand rests on the small of my back. It is not a caress. It is a prompt. A brand. He guides me through the crowd with an unnerving grace, nodding curtly to people who look at him with a mixture of fear and awe.
I play my part. I smile until my cheeks ache. I look up at him as if he hung the moon. I touch his arm, and the fabric of his suit is so fine it feels like armor. He is an impenetrable fortress, and I am the flag he has just planted on the battlements.
“Caden, wonderful to see you,” an older man with a booming voice says, clapping him on the shoulder. “And this must be the lovely Celeste. My dear, you have done the impossible. You’ve managed to drag this man out into society.”
I offer a polite laugh. “He has his charms.”
The man laughs, but Caden’s expression doesn’t change. He is a statue amidst the swirling chaos of the party. After a few more stilted pleasantries, he guides me toward a secluded alcove overlooking the grand ballroom.
“I need to speak with a business associate. Do not move from this spot. Do not speak to anyone you do not know,” he commands, his voice low and for my ears only.
“And what if I get thirsty?” I ask, the question laced with a defiance I can’t quite suppress.
He looks at me, his gaze unblinking. “Then you will be thirsty.”
He turns and disappears into the throng, leaving me alone. I feel like a porcelain doll left on a shelf, a pretty object to be observed but not touched. The isolation is almost worse than being on his arm. Now the stares are more direct, less veiled.
I take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, directly disobeying his silent order. The bubbles are a small, crisp rebellion in my throat.
“Well, well. Celeste Hale.”
The voice freezes the blood in my veins. I know that smug, condescending tone better than my own heartbeat. I turn slowly.
Julian Thorne stands there, a flute of champagne in his hand, a predatory smirk on his face. He looks me up and down, his gaze lingering in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“I always knew you had a price,” he says, his voice a low sneer. “I just never guessed it would be quite this high. Congratulations. You’ve successfully leveraged the family bankruptcy into a merger and acquisition of your own.”
My hand tightens on my glass. “Leave me alone, Julian.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. The whole city is talking about it. The tragic little tech princess saved by the dark king. It’s quite the fairytale. Tell me, are the terms favorable? What exactly does a man like Blackwood get for his investment?” He takes a deliberate step closer, invading my space.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It was my business for two years,” he whispers, his eyes glinting with malice. “I know all your secrets, Celeste. Does he? Does he know he’s purchased damaged goods?”
The insult lands like a physical blow. Bile rises in my throat. This is what he does. He finds the cracks in your foundation and pours poison into them.
“You are a thief and a liar,” I say, my voice trembling with a rage I can barely control. “You stole my work. You tried to destroy my family.”
“I took what was offered,” he says with a shrug. “You were so eager to please. So desperate for approval. You laid out your best ideas for me like a feast. It would have been rude not to indulge.” He reaches out, his fingers about to brush my arm.
I flinch back. “Don’t touch me.”
“Is there a problem here?”
The new voice is not loud. It is quiet. It is cold. And it cuts through the air like a shard of ice.
Julian freezes. The smirk on his face falters as he turns. Caden is there. He did not walk up. He simply materialized. A shadow detaching itself from the others. His presence is a physical weight, instantly changing the gravity of our small circle.
Julian recovers quickly, pasting on a confident smile. “Blackwood. Just congratulating your lovely fiancée. We’re old friends.”
Caden’s eyes do not flicker to Julian. They are fixed on me, a question in their smoky depths. I give a nearly imperceptible shake of my head.
That’s all he needs.
He turns his head slowly, his gaze finally settling on Julian. It is not an angry look. It is a look of utter disinterest, as if he were examining a mildly irritating insect.
“Mr. Thorne,” Caden says, his voice a flat, deadly monotone. “You work for Thorne Industries. Correct?”
“That’s right,” Julian says, puffing out his chest slightly. “Head of new project development.”
“The project based on stolen schematics from Hale Innovations,” Caden states. It is not a question. It is a fact being entered into evidence.
Julian’s face pales. “Now wait a minute, that’s a baseless accusation.”
“I don’t make accusations, Mr. Thorne. I state realities,” Caden says, taking a single, unhurried step forward. He is now standing between me and Julian, a formidable, physical shield. “I am a man who keeps a close watch on all my assets. Both corporate,” he pauses, his eyes flicking over Julian’s suddenly ill fitting suit, “and personal.”
The implication is clear. The threat hangs in the air, unspoken and absolute.
“You are speaking to my fiancée,” Caden continues, his voice dropping even lower, becoming more dangerous. “Choose your next words with the care your future career deserves.”
Julian is speechless. The color has completely drained from his face. He looks from Caden’s implacable expression to my own, and all he sees is a closed door. A world he has been violently and permanently ejected from. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Without another word, he turns and practically flees into the crowd.
The entire exchange took less than a minute. Caden has not raised his voice. He has not made a single threatening gesture. And yet, he has utterly dismantled him.
The moment Julian is gone, I feel a tremor run through my body. The adrenaline, the rage, the humiliation. It all comes crashing down on me. I sway slightly.
Before I can fall, Caden moves. His arm goes around my waist, pulling me against him. His other hand comes up to cup the side of my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheekbone. He turns my face toward his.
“Smile,” he murmurs, his voice for me alone. “Everyone is watching.”
I look out and he is right. We are the center of attention. A dozen phones are pointed in our direction. For the cameras.
I obey, forcing a tremulous smile onto my lips. But my mind is reeling from the contact. The contract, our conversation in his office, my one demand, it all vanishes. All I can feel is the solid, unyielding strength of his body pressed against mine. The warmth of his hand on my skin. He smells of clean linen and cold, hard currency.
The jolt is real. Frighteningly real.
For a man so cold, he is surprisingly warm. His arm around my waist is a steel band, but it doesn’t feel like a cage. In this glittering, hostile world, under the weight of a thousand judgmental eyes, it feels like the only safe place on earth.
He holds me there for a long moment, a perfect tableau of the loving, protective fiancé. My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frantic, wild rhythm that has nothing to do with Julian and everything to do with the man holding me.
He has fulfilled his contract. He has protected his asset.
But as I stand there in his arms, the flash of cameras painting us in light, I feel a terrifying, confusing thought surface.
It felt real. And that was not part of the deal at all.
