Chapter Five: The Proposal

"They were never going to let me claim it," I whisper. "They were going to… what? Kill me?"

"Maybe. Or maybe just keep you so beaten down, so convinced you were nothing, that you'd never question who you really were." Vincent steps closer. "But then I found you."

I look up at him, tears streaming down my face. "Why do you care about any of this?"

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, something flashes across his face. "Because I suspect the Ashfords had a hand in murdering both our parents."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What?"

"Seven years ago, my father was investigating the disappearance of Celeste Moretti. He suspected the Ashfords were involved, but he died before he could prove it."

Vincent's voice goes hard. "Sudden heart attack. Fifty-three years old. Perfectly healthy. The autopsy was rushed, the case closed within days."

"On his deathbed, he made me swear I'd finish what he started." Vincent's dark eyes bore into mine. "That I would find you and make the Ashfords pay for everything they'd done. To your family. To mine. It took me seven years. Seven years of investigating, following dead ends, bribing officials, until I finally found you. Until I finally had proof that Anastasia Ashford and Celeste Moretti are the same person."

My lips tremble. The shock crashes over me in waves, each one stronger than the last, threatening to pull me under. I'm Celeste Moretti. The Ashfords murdered my parents, stole my identity. My inheritance. My entire fucking life.

And they might have killed Vincent's father too.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Vincent says quietly, and his voice softens just a fraction.

I try to steady myself. Try to breathe. Try to process any of this. I'm the daughter of... I'm...

And then the shock morphs into something else entirely.

Rage.

Pure, white-hot, burning rage that consumes everything else.

They did this to me. All of it. Every slap, every insult, every cruel word, every moment they made me feel like I was worth less than dirt, it's all built on lies and murder and theft.

"I'm going to fucking kill them," I snarl, and before I can think about what I'm doing, I'm storming toward the door, my vision tunneling with fury. "I'm going to walk into that house right now and I'm going to—"

Vincent moves quickly, catching my wrist and spinning me around so suddenly that I stumble into his chest.

"No," he says firmly, his other hand coming up to steady me at the waist.

I'm suddenly very aware of how close we are. How solid he feels. How his hand on my waist is warm and strong and—

No. Focus. I'm furious. I'm not thinking about how good he smells or how his touch makes my skin tingle.

"Calm down," Vincent continues. "This won't do."

"Won't do?" I try to pull away, but his grip doesn't budge. "They murdered my parents! They stole my life! And you want me to calm down?"

"I want you to be smart." His eyes lock onto mine, intense. "Running over there now, hysterical and screaming accusations you can't prove, what do you think that accomplishes? They'll have you committed. They'll claim you're having a mental breakdown, that you're unstable, dangerous. And then you'll never get your inheritance. You'll never get justice."

I hate that he's right. I hate it so much.

"How then?" I demand, still trying to catch my breath. "How do we destroy them?"

A slow smile spreads across Vincent's face.. "Marry me."

I blink at him. Once. Twice. "Uh?"

"Marry me," he repeats, and he's completely serious, his hand still resting on my waist like it belongs there.

My brain is short-circuiting. "I don't—what are you—"

"Think about it." Vincent's thumb traces a small circle against my waist, and I'm not sure if he realizes he's doing it or if it's deliberate. "You marry me, Vincent Torres, the man your sister has been throwing herself at for years. Suddenly, you're not invisible, worthless Anastasia anymore. You're the woman who captured the most eligible bachelor in New York."

"But why would you—"

"It would be a contract marriage, nothing more," Vincent says quickly, and I notice his eyes drop briefly to my lips before snapping back up. "Purely strategic. Business arrangement. You don't have to worry about performing any... wifely duties."

I choke on air, heat flooding my face so fast I probably look like a tomato. "Oh. Okay. I'm just—I'm not so sure how to go about any of this."

Vincent's smile widens, and his eyes darken with something that makes my pulse race. "How innocent," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a lower octave. "Sinfully innocent."

"I'm not innocent," I protest weakly, but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound. "I just—"

"When was your last relationship, Celeste?"

The way he says my real name sends shivers down my spine. "Christopher. But that was—"

"The one who's now engaged to your sister?" Vincent's expression hardens. "The one who got her pregnant while he was still with you?"

I look away, embarrassed. "Yes."

"And before him?"

"There was no one before him."

Vincent's eyebrows rise. "So you've had one boyfriend. The same boyfriend who cheated on you and is now parading around with your sister."

"You don't have to say it like that," I mutter.

"I'm just establishing facts." But there's something in his voice now, something that sounds almost... possessive? "Has anyone ever made you feel wanted, Celeste? Desired? Or have you spent your entire life being told you're not good enough?"

The question hits too close to home. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything." Vincent's hand on my waist tightens slightly. "Because tomorrow, when I propose to you in front of the entire city, I need you to look like a woman who knows her worth. A woman who knows she deserves everything. Can you do that?"

I meet his eyes, and the intensity there takes my breath away. "I can try."

"Good." His gaze drops to my lips again, lingering this time. "Because when I get down on one knee in front of your family, in front of all those people who've spent years making you feel invisible, I need you to say yes like you mean it."

My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can feel it. "And then what?"

"And then we make them regret every single thing they've ever done to you." Vincent's voice is dark, promising. "Starting with your sister watching the man she's obsessed with choose you instead."

The thought sends a thrill through me that I probably shouldn't enjoy as much as I do.

"I have a meeting tomorrow," Vincent continues, finally releasing my waist and taking a step back, leaving me feeling strangely cold. "A public event. Tech investors, media, every important name in the city. I'll make sure the Ashford family is invited. Front row seats."

"And you'll propose? Just like that?"

"Just like that." His smile is pure sin. "In front of everyone. Cameras rolling. The whole world watching Vincent Torres choose worthless, invisible Anastasia Ashford."

"Except I'm not Anastasia," I say, and the words feel stronger now. "I'm Celeste Moretti."

"Exactly." Vincent's eyes shine with approval. "So wear something that shows it. Something fantastic. Something expensive. Something that makes you look like the billionaire heiress you are."

"I don't have anything like that."

Vincent pulls out his phone, types something quickly. "You will by tomorrow morning. I'm sending a stylist to you at eight AM. She'll bring everything you need."

"I can't afford—"

"Consider it an investment." He pockets his phone. "After all, you're about to be my fiancée. You need to look the part."

My head is spinning. This is insane. All of this is completely insane.

But underneath the chaos, underneath the shock and the fear and the overwhelming madness of everything, I feel something else building.

Power.

For the first time in my life, I'm not powerless. I'm not invisible. I'm not nothing.

I'm Celeste Isabella Moretti, and I'm about to make everyone who ever hurt me pay.

"Okay," I say, squaring my shoulders. "What time should I be there?"

"The event starts at seven. Be there by six-thirty. I'll have a car pick you up."

"Won't the Ashfords notice if I leave?"

Vincent's smile turns mischievous. "Tell them you have a headache. Or better yet, don't tell them anything. It's not like they pay attention to you anyway."

The words should hurt, but they don't. Because he's right. And because after tomorrow, everything will change.

I turn to leave, my mind already spinning with everything I need to do, everything I need to prepare for.

"Celeste," Vincent calls out when I reach the door.

I look back.

"Get ready for war," he says, his dark eyes burning into mine. "Because after tomorrow, they'll know exactly what's coming for them."

I nod once, then slip out into the hallway.

My mind is spinning, my heart is racing, my hands are still shaking.

But underneath all of that, there's one thought burning bright and clear, stronger than anything else.

I'm going to get back at them.

All of them.

Vivienne. Christopher. Mother. Father.

Every single person who made me feel like I was nothing.

And I won't stop until they're completely and utterly destroyed.

The war starts tomorrow.

And I'm going to win.