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Four
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2026-04-13 19:22:28Celeste's POV
With a shaky scrawl, the deal was done. The air in the ballroom felt thin as Damien stepped toward the center of the stage. He didn't need a microphone, his voice had a way of cutting through the noise like a serrated blade. He adjusted his cufflinks, his dark eyes scanning the crowd of stunned socialites and reporters."The merger is complete," Damien announced, his voice smooth and cold. "And to celebrate the union of our companies, the wedding between myself and the eldest Harrington heir, Celeste, will take place in forty eight hours."
A glass shattered near the back of the room. Vivienne had dropped her champagne flute, the liquid soaking into her expensive shoes, but she didn't even notice. Her face was a mask of pure, ugly shock. The reporters went into a frenzy. Camera flashes exploded like a thousand tiny suns, blinding me as I stood there in my red dress.
"Two days?" Howard stammered, his face turning a sickly shade of gray. "But Damien, the preparations... the guests..."
"I don't care about the flowers or the cake, Howard," Damien said, looking at my father with total indifference. "I care about the contract. Be ready."
He didn't wait for an answer. He gripped my elbow and led me out of the ballroom. As we passed Margaret, she looked like she wanted to spit on me, her fingers digging so hard into her clutch that the leather groaned. I didn't look back. For the first time in seven years, I was leaving the Harrington hotel, and I wasn't carrying a mop.Two Days Later, the wedding was not a celebration, it was an execution.
It was held at The Grand Cathedral of St. Jude, a place of massive stone pillars and stained glass that reached toward the sky. It sat in the heart of the city, surrounded by iron gates and security guards. Outside, thousands of people gathered to catch a glimpse of the secret Heiress.
I stood in the dressing room, looking at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a white lace gown that felt heavy, like it wasn’t meant for joy. My face was perfectly made up… soft pink lips, dark, shadowed eyes. I looked like a bride, but inside, I felt like a prisoner being prepared for punishment.
Howard walked in, looking older than he had two days ago. He held out a bouquet of white lilies, his hand slightly shaking.
"Celeste," he started, his voice cracking. "I hope you know... this is for the good of the family."
"The family?" I turned, the heavy silk of my gown hissing against the floor. "You mean the family that made me sleep in a windowless room? The family that called me a mistake for twenty years? Don't pretend this is a sacrifice, Father. You sold me to save your skin."
He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. "Just... try to be a good wife. Damien is not a man you want to provoke."
"I learned how to survive you," I said, taking the flowers from his hand. "I think I can handle him."
The walk down the aisle was a blur of faces. I saw Margaret in the front row, her eyes red with fury. I saw Vivienne, who was clutching a handkerchief so tightly her knuckles were white. And at the end of the aisle, standing at the altar, was Damien Chen.
He looked lethal in a black tuxedo. He didn't smile as I approached, didn't look like a man in love, he looked like a man who had just won a very expensive bet.
The ceremony was short and cold. The priest’s words bounced off the stone walls, hollow and meaningless to me. When it was time for the kiss, Damien leaned in. His lips touched mine for a fraction of a second… dry, firm, and void of any heat.
"You're mine now," he whispered against my skin. It wasn't a sweet promise. It was a claim of ownership.
The sun was beginning to set over the city when the black Maybach pulled up to the private entrance of the Chen Global Tower, a home looking like a glass fortress that sat above the world, looking down on everyone else.
The elevator ride was silent. I watched the floor numbers climb higher and higher, my heart thumping frantically against my ribs. When the doors opened, I stepped out into a world of marble and shadows.
The penthouse was massive. It was decorated in shades of charcoal, slate, and cold white. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the glowing city below, but inside, the air felt frozen.
"Welcome home," Damien said, tossing his jacket onto a leather sofa. He walked over to a bar in the corner and poured himself a glass of dark clear liquid.I stood in the middle of the entryway, feeling small in my massive white dress. "Where is my room?"
Damien took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes tracking the way I fidgeted with my lace sleeves. He walked toward me, his movements slow and predatory. He didn't stop until he was standing right in my space, forcing me to look up at him.
"Let's get one thing clear, Celeste," he said, his voice dropping into that dangerous growl again. "This gown? The diamonds? The title of 'Mrs. Chen'? None of it is real."I stiffened. "I know it's a business deal."
"It's more than that," he said, reaching out to trace the line of my jaw with a cold finger, and I shivered at the touch. "I didn't marry you because I wanted a wife… I married you because your father needs my help to stand… he owes me. As long as you are in this house, you are my leverage. You are the chain I have around Howard Harrington’s neck."
He leaned in closer, his designer cologne surrounding me, "In public, you will be the perfect, devoted wife. You will smile when I tell you to. You will stand by my side at every event. But in private?"
He let out a short, harsh laugh.
"In private, you will stay out of my way… you will live in the guest wing, you will not enter my office, and you will certainly not expect any romance from me."
The fire I had been holding onto all day flickered. "So, I’ve gone from being a maid in one house to being a trophy in another? Is that it?"
"A trophy is kept in a case, Celeste," he countered, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You are an accessory, a political tool. Later in the future, I will decide what to do with you."
I felt a sting behind my eyes, but I refused to cry. I had survived Margaret’s slaps and Vivienne’s insults... I wouldn't let this man see me break.
"And if I refuse to play along?" I asked, tilting my chin up.
Damien’s glance felt burning as he stepped even closer, his chest brushing against the lace of my bodice. He reached out and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head back just enough to make me gasp.
"You won't refuse," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "Because the moment you stop being useful to me, I’ll send you back to that attic. And we both know Margaret is waiting for a chance to finish what she started."
He released me abruptly, making me stumble. He finished his drink in one gulp and set the glass on a glass table."There is a robe in the guest suite," he said, turning his back on me. "Take off that wedding dress… you look ridiculous in white."
He walked toward his office without looking back.
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