Chapter 5: Shadows of Secrets

Celeste

Killian's mansion rose from the hillside like something out of a gothic novel—all sharp angles and floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected the evening sky. Modern architecture that somehow felt cold despite its grandeur, as if the building itself had been designed to keep people at a distance.

The limousine wound up the long driveway, and I pressed my hands against my navy cocktail dress, trying to smooth away the wrinkles and my nerves. Claire had delivered the dress that morning with a note: "Wear this. Mr. Hart has planned a dinner with business associates. Do not embarrass him."

The pressure of those four words sat like a stone in my stomach.

Nora met me at the entrance, her professional smile firmly in place. "Miss Andrews, welcome. Mr. Hart is with guests in the main dining hall. I'll escort you."

The mansion's interior was exactly what I'd expected—expensive minimalism that prioritized aesthetics over comfort. Marble floors, abstract art that probably cost more than my family's house, and lighting so precisely arranged it felt staged. Everything was perfect and nothing felt like home.

"Remember," Nora said quietly as we approached massive double doors, "these are Mr. Hart's most important business contacts. They believe this is a genuine engagement."

Right. I was supposed to be the loving fiancée, not the desperate girl who'd sold herself to save her family. I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and tried to channel the poise I'd seen in movies about high society.

The dining hall took my breath away. A table that could seat thirty people stretched beneath a crystal chandelier that looked like frozen starlight. At least a dozen guests in expensive suits and designer dresses mingled with champagne flutes, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings.

And there, at the center of it all, stood Killian.

He wore a black suit that fit him like it had been painted on, his dark hair perfectly styled, those gray eyes scanning the room with the alertness of a predator monitoring his territory. When his gaze found mine, something flickered across his features—relief? Appreciation?

He crossed the room in long strides, and suddenly his hand was on my waist, warm through the thin fabric of my dress. "Celeste," he said, his voice pitched for the audience around us. "You look stunning."

The compliment felt rehearsed, but the way his thumb traced a small circle against my hip seemed unconscious, almost tender. My treacherous heart skipped a beat.

"Thank you," I managed, hyperaware of every eye in the room watching us.

"Come, I want you to meet some people." He guided me toward a group of men who looked like they'd been carved from ice—all sharp suits and calculating eyes.

"Gentlemen, my fiancée, Celeste Andrews." Killian's arm tightened around my waist, and I wondered if he could feel me trembling. "Celeste, this is Mr. Vaughn, CEO of Vaughn Industries."

The man who stepped forward had silver hair and a smile that reminded me of sharks. "Miss Andrews, what a pleasure. Killian has been quite secretive about you."

"I prefer to keep my personal life private," Killian said smoothly.

"Yes, well, we all know how private you are." Vaughn's eyes glittered with something unpleasant. "Though one wonders what inspired such a sudden engagement. You've always been so... particular about your arrangements."

The emphasis on that last word made my skin crawl. Killian's hand tensed against my waist, and I felt the shift in his energy—subtle but dangerous, like a lion deciding whether to pounce.

"Celeste is everything I've been looking for," Killian said, his voice deceptively mild. "Sometimes the right person appears when you least expect it."

"How romantic." Vaughn's tone suggested he found it anything but. "Though I'm surprised, given your... complicated history with commitment."

What complicated history? Before I could dwell on it, Killian was steering me away, introducing me to other guests whose names blurred together in a haze of titles and forced smiles. I played my part—smiled until my cheeks ached, made polite conversation, pretended I belonged in this world of wealth and power.

But I felt like a fraud. Like everyone could see through my borrowed dress and rehearsed manners to the scared girl underneath.

Dinner was an elaborate affair—seven courses of food so artfully arranged it seemed criminal to eat them. I sat beside Killian, watching him navigate conversations with the ease of someone born to it. He was charming when he needed to be, ruthless when challenged, and always, always in control.

Except for the moments when his hand would find mine under the table, his fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture that felt too real for an audience that couldn't even see it.

"You're doing well," he murmured during a lull in conversation, his lips close to my ear. "I know this isn't easy."

The unexpected kindness made my throat tight. "I'm trying not to use the wrong fork and start a scandal."

His lips curved in what might have been a real smile. "Trust me, these people have caused scandals far worse than improper fork usage."

Before I could respond, Vaughn's voice carried across the table. "So tell us, Miss Andrews, how did you and Killian meet? I'm dying to hear the story."

Every eye turned toward me. My mind went blank, panic rising like a tide. We hadn't prepared a story. Why hadn't we prepared a story?

"Through family connections," Killian said smoothly, his hand squeezing mine in warning or reassurance—I couldn't tell which. "Sometimes the best relationships grow from unexpected beginnings."

"How cryptic." Vaughn leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. "Though I suppose mystery is part of your charm, Hart. You've always been good at keeping secrets."

The way he said it made it sound like an accusation. Killian's expression never changed, but I felt the tension radiating through his body.

Dinner finally ended, and guests moved to the terrace for dessert and coffee. I excused myself to the powder room, needing a moment to breathe away from the scrutiny and pretense.

As I walked down the hallway, I passed two maids speaking in hushed tones near a service door.

"—another late meeting tonight," one whispered. "Third time this week."

"With her again?" the other asked, her tone suggestive.

"Who else? She's always calling, always needing something—"

They noticed me and fell silent, their eyes widening with embarrassment before they hurried away. My heart hammered in my chest. Were they talking about Killian? About Evelyn Chase?

I found Killian on the terrace, standing apart from the other guests, his phone pressed to his ear. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand clenched and unclenched.

"I said I'd handle it," he said sharply into the phone. "No, not tonight... Yes, I understand the urgency, but—" He paused, listening. "Fine. Tomorrow morning. Early."

He ended the call and turned, finding me watching him. For a moment, his mask slipped, and I saw something in his eyes—weariness? Frustration? But then it was gone, replaced by his usual controlled expression.

"Everything alright?" I asked.

"Just business." He crossed to me, and I noticed he carried a small velvet box. "I have something for you."

My breath caught as he opened it, revealing a sapphire necklace that caught the moonlight like captured ocean. The stones were the exact color of my eyes, deep blue with hints of gray.

"Killian, I can't—"

"You can." He moved behind me, and I felt his fingers brush my neck as he fastened the clasp. "It matches your eyes. I saw it and thought of you."

The intimacy of the gesture, the warmth of his breath against my skin, made my head spin. This was supposed to be business. This wasn't supposed to feel real.

"I have to make a call," he said abruptly, stepping back. "Nora will show you to a guest room. You should stay here tonight—it's late, and I don't want you driving home in the dark."

Before I could argue, he was gone, disappearing into the mansion with his phone already back at his ear. Leaving me alone on the terrace with a sapphire necklace that probably cost more than my family's debt and a chest full of confused feelings I had no right to have.

Nora appeared like a ghost, guiding me through the mansion's labyrinth of hallways to a guest room that was larger and more luxurious than any place I'd ever slept. "Mr. Hart's study is just down the hall if you need anything," she said. "Though he'll likely be on calls most of the night."

After she left, I couldn't settle. The necklace felt heavy around my neck, a beautiful chain linking me to a man I didn't understand. A man with secrets and late-night meetings and a complicated history no one would explain.

I found myself wandering the hallway, drawn by curiosity and something I refused to name as jealousy. Killian's study door was slightly ajar, light spilling into the darkened corridor. I knew I shouldn't look. Knew it was a violation of privacy.

But I looked anyway.

The study was surprisingly personal compared to the rest of the house—leather-bound books, a worn desk chair, and photographs on the credenza. My eyes caught on one in particular, partially hidden behind others.

Killian, younger, his smile more open than I'd ever seen it. And beside him, her hand on his arm, a beautiful woman with dark hair and knowing eyes. They looked... intimate. Happy. Real.

I picked up the photo with shaking hands, studying her face. She was stunning in a way that made my chest ache—sophisticated, confident, exactly the kind of woman who belonged in Killian's world.

Who was she? An ex? The "complicated history" Vaughn had mentioned? Was this Evelyn Chase?

And why did seeing Killian look at someone with such unguarded warmth make me feel like I was drowning?