CHAPTER 3

Celeste's POV

The heater inside Dominic Reynaud’s custom-built SUV hums quietly, blowing hot, dry air onto my shivering legs. I stare down at my hands, which are still trembling slightly against the wet fabric of my skirt. Across the leather console, Dominic sits with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, impatient beat against the steering wheel as we pull into the brightly lit, empty parking lot of a retro 24-hour diner on the edge of the downtown district.

The windows of the diner glow with a harsh, fluorescent yellow, casting long shadows across the rain-slicked asphalt. It is the absolute last place you would expect to find a billionaire real estate mogul at midnight, yet Dominic kills the engine without hesitation, pushes his door open, and steps back out into the rain before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt.

A second later, my door pulls open. Dominic stands there, holding his heavy suit jacket over his head to shield me from the downpour, offering a hand that looks far too steady for a man who almost ran me over ten minutes ago.

"Get out before you catch pneumonia," he commands, his tone flat and unyielding.

I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest. "I didn't ask you to save me, Mr. Reynaud. And I certainly didn't ask for a midnight diner date."

"It's not a date, Miss Harrington. It's a business meeting," he replies smoothly, stepping back just enough for me to scramble out of the low vehicle. "Unless you prefer sitting in a freezing car wearing ruined designer clothes while contemplating your eighty-five-thousand-dollar bank debt?"

My jaw tightens. The reminder of that number hits me like a physical blow, instantly melting away whatever pride I had left. I swallow hard, duck my head against the cold wind, and march straight toward the glass doors of the diner.

The bell above the door jingles cheerfully as we step inside, clashing violently with the heavy, suffocating weight in my chest. The place is completely empty except for an elderly waitress wiping down the counter with a stained rag. We slide into a corner booth upholstered in cracked red vinyl. A laminated menu sits right next to a sticky container of sugar packets.

Dominic doesn't even look at the menu. He places both elbows on the table, locking his dark, piercing gaze onto mine. "Black coffee," he tells the waitress when she shuffles over with a chipped mug. "And whatever she wants. Just order something, Celeste. We have matters to discuss."

"I don't want food," I snap, wrapping both hands around the ceramic mug of hot water the waitress drops off. "I want to know why you dragged me out here. If you're going to mock my financial ruin or offer me some charity case job at one of your properties, you can save your breath."

"Charity isn't in my vocabulary," Dominic says, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine—and it has nothing to do with the air conditioning blasting above us. "I told you in the car: I am looking for a partner. And you happen to have a very compelling reason to destroy Mark Vance."

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Destroy him? With what? My broken whisks and an eviction notice? Mark just married into the Montgomery family. He has millions of dollars backing his commercial ventures now. I am completely wiped out."

"Which is precisely why you need me," Dominic says smoothly, leaning forward. "My family has been pressuring me for months to settle down. They’ve lined up an arranged marriage with a woman I wouldn't even trust to water my plants—a corporate alliance designed to hand over controlling shares of Reynaud Holdings to people who care more about stock options than legacy."

I blink, the pieces slowly clicking together in my exhausted brain. "Wait. You're running from an arranged marriage?"

"Correct," he replies without missing a beat. "My family expects me to walk into a society wedding tomorrow afternoon and sign away my independence. But corporate law dictates that if I am already legally married to someone of sound mind and independent standing, the contract becomes null and void."

"And you want me to be your shield?" My voice rises in disbelief. "You want me to play pretend wife just so you can dodge your family's corporate trap? Are you out of your mind?"

"Think about it, Celeste," Dominic counters, his dark eyes flashing with intense calculation. "It’s a mutual destruction pact for our respective problems. You marry me for twelve months. In exchange, I clear every single cent of your eighty-five-thousand-dollar debt by sunrise tomorrow."

I freeze. The coffee mug slips slightly in my fingers, the hot liquid sloshing over the rim. "Every cent?"

"Cleared," he confirms steadily. "Furthermore, I will fund the creation of a brand new, high-end commercial pastry shop downtown—larger, better equipped, and infinitely more luxurious than the one Mark stole from you. Complete location ownership, zero bank loans, and 100% equity in your name."

My breath catches in my throat. The sheer magnitude of his offer feels entirely unreal, like a cruel hallucination brought on by shock and trauma. To walk away from debt, to never have to worry about commercial rent again, to build a bakery twice as magnificent as Celeste’s Confections... it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

"And what's the catch?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the hum of the diner's refrigerator. "Nothing in this world is free, Mr. Reynaud. What do you get out of this besides dodging a wedding?"

Dominic leans back against the red vinyl booth, a cold, hard smile touching his lips. "You play the part of a devoted, adoring wife in front of the media, my family, and high society. And as a bonus? We attend every major social gala, corporate dinner, and high-society function where Mark Vance and his new bride happen to be guests."

A slow, dark realization dawns on me. He isn't just offering me financial salvation. He's handing me a silver platter with a front-row seat to vengeance.

"You want me to rub our marriage right in his face," I say slowly, the fire returning to my veins.

"I want you to show him that the woman he threw away for pocket change is now wearing the most powerful name in the city," Dominic corrects softly. "So, Celeste Harrington... do we have a deal?"