Chapter Twenty-Two

Celeste’s fingers curled around the soft fabric of her dress as she moved down the familiar corridors of Redstone. The polished wooden floors gleamed beneath her steps, and the golden glow of the early evening sun filtered through tall windows, casting shadows across the hallway walls. Everything looked exactly as it was perfect, clean, ordered. As if her world hadn’t been crumbling silently from within.

She shouldn’t have been nervous. Not today.

She had spent hours mustering the courage to look for him. Grayson had been distant lately absent smiles, cold touches, conversations that slipped into silence before they ever found meaning. But Celeste still believed. Still clung to the fragile hope that if she tried hard enough, held on just a little longer, he’d return to her fully.

So she wore the blue dress.

The one he said made her look like the sky before snow.

She had even braided her hair the way he once liked, hoping he’d notice. That maybe today would be different.

Celeste moved through the packhouse with quiet purpose. Warriors passed by, nodding with polite disinterest. She offered small smiles, her heart fluttering against her ribs with each step closer to his office. There had been no sign of him all day.

Blair had lingered earlier in the lounge, lounging like a cat in front of the hearth with her wine glass and smirk. She hadn’t said anything cruel, hadn’t needed to. Her presence alone was enough to turn Celeste’s stomach.

Still, she pushed forward.

Grayson would be in his office. He always said it was where he felt most at peace.

Celeste reached the second floor, the carpet muffling her steps. Her hand hovered over the cool brass doorknob, her breath catching as she paused.

Something was wrong.

The door was slightly ajar. Light spilled through the crack, warm and golden. She leaned in, about to knock…

And then she heard it.

A soft, breathless moan.

She froze.

Another sound followed. The unmistakable thud of something shifting. Then Blair’s voice, sultry and low.

"Do you love me, Grayson?"

Celeste’s heart squeezed.

There was a pause. A groan. Then his voice, hushed but unmistakably intimate.

"You know I do."

A rustle of fabric. Another soft laugh from Blair.

"Then when?" Blair asked. "When will you make me your Luna?"

Celeste’s breath hitched. Her hand trembled on the doorknob.

Grayson gave a low grunt in response, too distracted to answer, or unwilling. Blair giggled again, then moaned louder.

"Say it," she demanded between gasps. "Say I’m yours."

"You’re mine," Grayson growled.

The sound sliced through Celeste.

Her fingers slipped from the doorknob.

She didn’t need to see it. Her mind had already painted the picture far too vividly.

She stumbled back a step, then another, her vision swimming. The walls seemed to close in, the golden light from his office suddenly harsh, unforgiving.

Everything inside her twisted.

There had been signs, so many signs. The late nights, the curt goodbyes, the smell of another woman’s perfume lingering faintly on his shirt when he thought she wouldn’t notice. And Blair, always too close. Always smiling.

Celeste turned and walked away.

Not fast.

Not with drama.

Just quiet, measured steps, one foot in front of the other, as if she could pretend she hadn’t heard anything. As if it hadn’t happened. As if she hadn’t just shattered into something small and irreparable.

Down the stairs. Through the foyer. Out into the biting wind that cut straight through her.

The snow was beginning to fall. She hadn’t brought a coat. Her shoes were still by the door.

She didn’t care.

The cold grounded her. It stung her cheeks, numbed her fingers. But it was nothing compared to the chill settling into her chest.

She walked until the trees swallowed her. Until the packhouse lights were far behind her. Until her legs trembled and her breath came ragged.

And still, she didn’t cry.

She stood there, beneath the bare branches and gray sky, and stared at nothing.

Because grief this sharp didn’t come with tears.

It came with silence.

And silence was all she had left.

The mate bond didn’t sever that day.

But Celeste did.

In one quiet moment, standing barefoot in the snow, she stopped being the girl who believed love could fix anything.

And started becoming the woman who would never ask to be chosen again.

**

Dinner was quiet at first.

Celeste sat at the far end of the long table while Grayson and Blair chattered between themselves like always. Their voices overlapped, casual and warm, so familiar with each other it almost felt like Celeste was intruding.

Grayson poured Blair another glass of wine, laughing at something she said. Blair reached for his hand across the table, her fingertips brushing over his knuckles.

"You always know just how to make me feel special," she cooed, not even glancing in Celeste’s direction.

Grayson smiled. "Well, you deserve it."

Celeste shifted slightly in her seat.

Then, with that same light tone, he asked, "So, what would you like to do for your birthday this year?"

Blair lit up. "Oh! I was thinking maybe a weekend in the city. It’s been so long since I’ve really gone out and done something fun. Just you and me."

Grayson nodded. "I can arrange that. I have business in the city anyway, so the timing works."

Blair leaned in, lowering her voice just enough for it to still be heard. "It’ll be like our own little getaway. No distractions."

Celeste’s fork clinked too hard against her plate.

She stared at her food, appetite gone.

Blair’s birthday. Two days before hers.

He hadn’t said a word about it.

Grayson hadn’t even looked her way. Didn’t ask if she’d like to come. Didn’t ask what she wanted.

Blair turned then, her voice sugar-sweet. "Oh, I hope it doesn’t interfere with any plans you had, Celeste. But you understand, right? Some things just take priority."

Celeste stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Grayson blinked. "Celeste?"

She didn’t answer. She turned and left.

"Celeste!" he called after her. "Don’t walk away from me!"

She didn’t hear the rest.

He found her outside twenty minutes later, standing in the snow again. She was near the edge of the training field, her breath coming out in clouds.

"What the hell was that?" he snapped. "That was rude, Celeste. I’m trying to do something nice for Blair’s birthday."

She turned slowly to face him. "Do you remember mine?"

Grayson faltered. "What?"

"My birthday. When is it?"

His mouth opened. Closed. No answer came.

Celeste’s lips trembled. "You’ll be attending business for it."

Grayson groaned. "Celeste, come on. We’ve celebrated your birthday so many times. Waiting a day or two won’t hurt. Blair hasn’t celebrated hers in a long time. I’m just trying to let her have a good time."

"At my expense?" she asked, the anger finally surfacing beneath the ache.

He stepped closer. "That’s not what this is."

"No? Because it feels exactly like that. Like I’ve been benched. Again. Forgotten."

"You’re not forgotten. I’ve just had a lot going on."

"You always have a lot going on, Grayson. And somehow, she always makes the cut."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "This is ridiculous. Why does it matter which day we celebrate?"

"Because it matters to me!" she shouted. "Because for once, I wanted you to remember without being reminded. To care without obligation."

The words hung between them, too loud in the snow.

A long silence stretched before she asked, quieter this time, "Will you be sharing a room?"

Grayson’s eyes narrowed. "What? No. I have my own apartment there for times like this. There’s a guest room for her."

Celeste didn’t look away. "And you expect me to believe that?"

He stepped back. "You’re accusing me of something now?"

"I don’t have to. I already heard enough."

"Celeste…”

"Don’t," she said, holding up a hand. "I don’t want to hear excuses. Not again."

Grayson was silent. The anger had drained from his posture, leaving something colder behind—guilt, maybe. Or regret.

But Celeste didn’t care anymore. Not tonight.

She turned from him without another word and walked deeper into the snow, leaving nothing behind but her footprints.