LOGINCELESTINE'S POV: We bring Elara to her room. It is the room we prepared for her, the one with the pink walls and the soft blankets and the stuffed animals that I bought weeks ago, hoping and praying that she would come home with us. There is a bed with a white canopy and a bookshelf full of picture books and a window that looks out over the garden. She stands in the middle of the room, her small hands clasped in front of her, her eyes moving slowly across the walls. I watch her face. Her expression is guarded but something flickers in her eyes. I think it might be wonder. "Do you like it?" I ask. She nods. "It is pretty." "You can change anything you want. The color of the walls. The furniture. The blankets. This is your room. Your space. You can make it whatever you want it to be." She looks at me. Her green eyes are wide. "Anything?" she asks. "Anything." She is quiet for a moment. Then she walks over to the bookshelf and pulls out a book. It is a picture book about a litt
CELESTINE'S POV:The drive back from Wales takes four hours, and Elara sleeps for most of it.She is curled up in the back seat of the car, her small body pressed against the door, her dark hair falling across her face. She fell asleep within minutes of getting into the car, exhausted by the emotions of the day, by the strangers and the questions and the sudden, overwhelming change in her life.I watch her in the rearview mirror. Her chest rises and falls. Her lips are slightly parted. She looks so small, so fragile, so utterly alone in the world.I think about what she said to me in that house. ‘Will you be my mommy?’ The words hit me like a punch to the chest every time I replay them. She is only three years old. She has no one. She has never had anyone. And she is trusting me, a stranger, to be the person she needs.I do not know if I am worthy of that trust. I do not know if I can be the mother she deserves. But I am going to try. I am going to try with everything I have.Before w
CELESTINE'S POV: "How is she?" I ask. "She is... she is a good girl. Quiet. A little sad sometimes, but good. She has been with us for close to two years. We have grown attached to her." I look at my hands. My palms are sweating. My heart is pounding. "I want to bring her home," I say. "With me. She is family. She is my husband's child, in a way. She has a brother now, a baby brother. I want her to have a family." The woman looks at me for a long moment. Then she sighs. "We knew this day might come," she says. "Her father paid us to take her. He told us that if anything happened to him, someone might come. We did not know who. We did not know when." "Her father is dead. Her mother is dead. She has no one else." The woman nods. She stands up and walks to the window. She looks out at the garden, where a small girl with dark hair is playing with a doll. "Her name is Elara," the woman says. "She is three years old. She likes chocolate and stuffed animals and the color yellow. She
CELESTINE'S POV:The next day, I drive to Wales.I do not know what I will find. I do not know if Elara will want to come with me. I do not know if the family she is living with will be willing to let her go. I do not know if I am doing the right thing or the wrong thing or something in between.But I have to try.Lysander wanted to come with me. He wanted to drive me himself, to hold my hand, to be there when I met Elara for the first time. But I told him to stay. I told him that this is something I need to do alone. I need to see her. I need to talk to her. I need to know if she is okay.He did not argue. He kissed me and told me he loved me and said he would be waiting for me when I got home.I have three cars following me. Security. Lysander insisted. He does not trust Kier's world, even now, even after everything. He does not trust that there are no more traps, no more secrets, no more people who want to hurt us.I do not argue. I let the cars follow me. I let the guards watch my
CELESTINE'S POV:Six months after Alistair is born, I receive a letter from Kier's lawyer.I almost throw it away.The envelope is sitting on the entryway table when I come downstairs one morning. White. Plain. My name written in careful, unfamiliar handwriting. No return address. No indication of who sent it or what it contains.I pick it up and I stare at it for a long moment. My first instinct is to burn it. My second instinct is to throw it in the trash without opening it. My third instinct is to hand it to Lysander and let him deal with it, the way he has dealt with everything else that has come from Kier's world.But something makes me open it.I slide my finger under the flap and tear it open. Inside is a single piece of paper, folded in thirds. And tucked behind it, a copy of a document that makes my blood run cold.A paternity test.I unfold the letter first. The handwriting is Kier's. I recognize it from the letter he sent me from prison, the one I burned in the fireplace. T
VIVIENNE'S POV:Vivienne Thornwell sits in her empty mansion and stares at the pile of papers on the dining room table.They are everywhere. Legal documents. Bank statements. Eviction notices. The remains of an empire that took generations to build and less than a year to destroy. She has been sitting here for hours, her tea cold, her hands shaking, her mind refusing to accept what she already knows.The Thornwell fortune is gone.Her son's crimes took everything. The lawsuits, the legal fees, the settlements, the judgments. The company is bankrupt. The bank is foreclosing on the mansion. The investors have abandoned her. The board has voted her out. She has nothing left.She has filed for bankruptcy. Not because she wanted to, but because she had no choice. The workers were going to sue her. The partners were going to come after her. The only way to protect herself was to admit defeat, to lay down her arms, to accept that she had lost.The shame of it burns in her chest like a fire.
She didn't know how long she stood there. A minute. Maybe five. Maybe ten. Time had stopped making sense.Kier's voice came again and more softer now. Wrapping up the call."I love you too. I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Yeah. Goodnight, Sable."He hung up.The apartment went quiet.Celestine st
Kier came home around two in the morning.Celestine woke up to the sound of his voice. Not because he was loud but because she was always listening for him. Even in her sleep. Even after all the nights he didn't come home. Her body had learned to wait for him. Her ears had learned to pick out his f
At seven thirty she put the pasta water on to boil, figuring she'd wait until he was actually here to cook it so it would be fresh. She sat on the couch with a book she couldn't focus on, her phone in her hand, checking it every thirty seconds like a teenager waiting for some boy to notice her. At
Celestine started cooking at three in the afternoon, flour on her hands, music playing low from her phone and the smell of tomatoes and garlic filling the whole penthouse.She made the sauce from scratch, the way her grandmother taught her when she was maybe ten years old. She rolled out the pasta







