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“Daddy, why don’t you marry Auntie Vanessa?”
Damien was zipping up our five-year-old daughter’s dress when she suggested he marry my best friend three hours before our wedding.
Why would she say something like that?
Bonnie’s words pierced my heart like a needle. But what cut so deeply was Damien’s silence. The man I’d given up my career for, to care for our family while he built his business, said nothing.
We’ve come so far. I thought bitterly. I’d been there for him through every struggle, every late night, every moment of doubt. We’d built this life together—starting with Bonnie, who came into this world before we even had a wedding.
Damien had promised me a dream wedding, a day to make up for all the sacrifices. But now, standing here, I couldn’t help but wonder if those promises were just nonsense.
Bonnie and I had just been arguing over which flower girl dress she would wear. Last month we went to a boutique with Vanessa where I found the perfect dress. But Vanessa had bought another dress for Bonnie and given it to her behind my back.
Vanessa and I met in college. We were classmates who quickly became best friends. When she was struggling to find work, I asked Damien if he could give her a job at his company.
Since then, we saw her a lot more often and Bonnie became very attached to her. Their relationship often struck a nerve. I constantly had to remind myself that Bonnie was five, and it was probably just a phase.
But recently Vanessa had been stepping over the line far too often. I was Bonnie’s mother, and this was my wedding, so what dress my daughter and flower girl wore should have been my call.
Maybe she was confused about her duties as the maid of honour?
Damien came into the makeup room while I was trying to convince Bonnie to wear the dress I chose. She sprung into tears the moment she saw him.
“Why are you always so harsh with her, Celeste?” Damien’s voice was icy as he strode across the room to Bonnie.
“I wasn’t being harsh. She’s throwing a tantrum.” I tried to suppress my hurt and frustration.
Damien crouched down to Bonnie’s level, ignoring me. He spoke to her in hushed tones. My heart melted as he wiped the tears from her cheeks.
I snapped a picture of the two people my world revolved around. Bonnie looked adorable in her dress.
“Thank you, daddy!” Bonnie squealed.
Damien always had a way with people. I smiled as she dashed out of the room.
“What did you say to make her so happy?”
He stood up and gave me a stony glare.
“I told her she could wear the dress Vanessa chose for her.”
“What? Damien, we spent hours finding the perfect dress. The one Vanessa chose doesn’t fit with the colour scheme—”
“Seriously, Celeste?” He stood up. “Why do you always have to be so difficult?”
“I really wasn’t. It’s just that I’ve been dreaming of this wedding for five years. I—”
“Yeah and in those five years you’ve changed a lot. Sitting around doing nothing all day has really made you such a nag.”
He reached into his pocket for his phone and turned away from me. I was speechless as he sat down to scroll.
It felt like he’d pushed me off a cliff into icy water.
Today was a happy day. I wiped my face, glad I hadn’t done my makeup yet.
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
Damien nodded, not bothering to look up from his phone.
Bonnie bursted into the room. The bright magenta of her dress was an eyesore.
“Daddy, please zip my dress.”
She was bouncing as she admired her reflection.
“Hold still, Bonnie.” Damien was struggling.
I imagined the zipper breaking and felt immediate guilt. Bonnie may have looked like she was imitating a certain purple dinosaur, but she was happy.
“I can help.” I moved toward them.
That’s when Bonnie asked, “Daddy, why don’t you marry Auntie Vanessa?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. The sound of the dress zipping filled the silence.
Damien smiled at our daughter in the mirror. He swooped down to kiss the top of her head when the door opened.
“You look beautiful, Bon-Bon.”
The makeup artist swooned at the sight of Damien being paternal. It irritated me, but he had that effect on women.
“Mr Kent—”
“Please, Damien. And you are?” He stretched out a hand.
“Kelly.” She managed with a blush. “Your groomsmen need you in the fitting room.”
Damien sent her smile. “Thank you, Kelly.”
Damien gave Bonnie her iPad before leaving.
Annoyed, I sat in front of the mirror. Kelly’s makeup case clunked onto the table. She cleared her throat.
“You have a lovely family. You must be so happy.”
I nodded, and she got started.
My face transformed in front of me. With every minute that it became more flawless, I could see why an onlooker would think we were happy.
A successful husband, adorable daughter, doting mother, and dream wedding.
So why did I feel more lonely and bitter with each sweep of makeup?
“All done, Mrs Kent. You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks, Kelly.”
Bonnie tossed her iPad onto the seat and ran to take my place.
“My turn!”
“Honey, you’re still a bit too young to wear makeup.”
She crossed her arms. “Auntie Vanessa would let me. Why can’t she be my mommy?”
The wall around my heart cracked.
“Kelly, would you mind doing my daughter’s makeup? Something natural, please.”
“Sure thing.”
Bonnie’s face lit up.
“I’m going to go see if your dad is ready. Be a good girl, okay?” I asked as I opened the door, but Bonnie was already engrossed in the makeup.
I took a few steadying breaths. I had just spent an hour on my makeup and really couldn’t afford to cry.
“Wow. You look stunning, Celeste.” I heard Damien’s charming best man, Ryan, call out from down the hallway.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“If you ever wanna trade up,” he winked, “I’ll be the handsome one standing behind the groom.”
I laughed at his antics. Ryan was a terrible flirt, but he knew how to lift anyone’s mood.
“You’re such a tease. Have you seen my husband anywhere?”
“I was actually coming to see if he was with you.”
“Oh, I’ll check the fitting rooms.”
“Let me know if you find him.” He called out as I went on my way.
I wondered if Damien would also think I looked stunning as I reached the fitting rooms. Excitement filled me and I finally felt a little lighter.
“Damien? Are you–”
I opened the door and the world stopped making sense.
Damien sat in a plush armchair with his face buried in Vanessa’s breasts. She was riding him hard. My best friend’s mouth twisted into a smirk when she saw me.
Celeste’s POVRyan arrived like a rupture in reality.I heard him before I saw him, the screech of tires, the slam of a car door, his voice cutting through the night, raw and furious, shouting my name like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.“Celeste!”I was still half-collapsed against the exterior wall of Rosemary Atelier, knees scraped, lungs burning, phone clutched in my shaking hand. I barely had time to turn before he was there, hands on my shoulders, scanning my face, my arms, my legs, as if cataloguing damage faster than his fear could catch up.“Are you hurt?” he demanded, voice tight, eyes wild.“I—” My throat closed. “Andre’s inside.”That was all it took.Ryan’s entire body changed. Something lethal and precise slid into place behind his eyes. He moved in front of me without thinking, one arm pushing me back as he reached for the door.“Ryan, wait—”Too late.The door burst open.Andre came at us like he’d been waiting for this moment, like the night had shar
Celeste’s POVThe atelier had never felt this hollow before.Rosemary after hours usually carries a soft echo, machines cooling down, the faint hum of the security system, the scent of metal and polish settling into the walls.That night, it felt scraped clean of warmth, like something had stripped it down to bone.I was alone. Or so I thought.I was locking my office when I heard it, the faint click of the front door disengaging.Not the alarm. Not the controlled entry tone.A manual override.Every muscle in my body tightened.I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I listened.Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Like whoever had entered wasn’t worried about being caught.Andre.The realization hit with cold clarity, not panic. Panic comes later, after the body decides survival matters more than pride.I slid my phone into my pocket without looking at it. No light. No sound. Calling anyone now would give me away. The security desk was empty.Rachel and Jenny had left hours ago.The floor was his.I
Celeste’s POVI didn’t sleep.Not really. I lay on the couch in my office at Rosemary Atelier with my phone clutched in my hand, staring at the ceiling, counting breaths that never settled into anything close to rest.The city outside was still dark when I finally gave up and stood, pulling on a blazer that felt more like armor than clothing.By six in the morning, Rosemary was already awake.Rachel was at her bench, polishing with quiet determination. Jenny hovered near the coffee machine, jumping every time her phone buzzed. No one asked me if I’d slept. No one asked me if I was okay. They didn’t need to. My face must have answered all of that for me.By eight, Officer Raymond had checked in twice. No leads yet. No ransom demand. No sightings that could be confirmed.By nine, I made the call I had been avoiding.Leander Voss answered on the second ring. Laurent joined moments later, his voice calm in a way that immediately told me he already knew why I was calling.“Celeste,” Leander
Damien’s POVI woke up to the sound of breaking glass.Not the sharp, cinematic crash people imagine, but a dull, ugly shatter, like something heavy giving way under pressure.For half a second, my brain refused to translate it. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, caught between sleep and instinct.Then the alarm started screaming.I was on my feet instantly, heart slamming against my ribs. The house lights flicked on as I ran barefoot down the hallway, grabbing the first solid thing my hand found, a decorative metal paperweight from my desk.Useless as a weapon, but it gave my hands something to do besides shake.“Who’s there?” I shouted, my voice echoing too loudly in the empty house.No answer.The living room was chaos. One of the tall windows near the garden had been smashed inward. Shards of glass glittered on the marble floor like ice. Cold night air poured in, carrying the smell of damp soil and something metallic.I scanned the room, every muscle tight, waiting for movement.
Celeste’s POVThe studio lights at Rosemary Atelier always felt harsher after midnight. They cast everything in clean, unforgiving lines, every flaw visible, every doubt amplified.I had stayed late because staying busy felt safer than going home early and letting my thoughts catch up with me. Vivian had Molly tonight. Grace had left early, claiming a headache and a need for quiet. I remembered teasing her about finally listening to her body.I wished I hadn’t.When I finally locked up and drove home, the city felt too still. Traffic lights blinked dutifully. Security guards nodded. Everything looked normal enough to lull someone else into calm. But I had learned the hard way that silence often came before impact.Grace’s shoes were by the door when I stepped into the apartment.That was the first thing that felt wrong.She never left them there. Grace was meticulous in small, quiet ways, shoes lined, keys always in the same ceramic bowl, bags hung, never dropped. I set my own bag down
Celeste’s POVImperial Aurium Group still smelled the same, polished wood, cold metal, ambition pressed into the walls. I hadn’t missed it.Damien’s office was exactly as I remembered, all sharp lines and controlled lighting, designed to make people feel smaller when they sat across from him.I refused to.Damien looked tired when I walked in. Not the performative exhaustion he used to wear like a badge during deals, but the real kind, the kind that hollowed out the space beneath his eyes. Atlas’s file lay open on his desk, untouched. That alone told me everything.“Celeste,” he said, standing quickly. “Thank you for coming.”“I didn’t come for pleasantries,” I replied, setting my bag down and taking the chair opposite him. “I came so you’d stop thinking you’re cornered.”He exhaled slowly and sat. “You spoke to the Voss brothers.”“I did.” My voice stayed even, though the anger was still there, coiled and waiting. “And no—you don’t have to agree to anything they’re asking.”Damien rub







