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Three
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2026-04-13 19:17:59Celeste's POV
Damien stopped inches away from me. He was so tall I had to tilt my head back to see him. He smelled of Tom Ford Oud Wood.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"I'm fine, sir," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Would you like a drink?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, his fingers were warm as they brushed against the skin of my wrist, his thumb pressing firmly against my pulse. He felt my heart racing, felt the fear and the fire I had spent a lifetime hiding.
"Howard," Damien called out, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Yes, Damien?" Howard hurried over, sweat beading on his forehead. "Is there a problem with the service? I’ll have her replaced immediately…"
"This girl," Damien interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, sharp edge. "What is her name?"
Margaret rushed over, her face twisted in an ugly sneer. "She’s nobody, Mr. Chen. Just a girl we took in out of charity. Her name is Celeste. She’s... a distant relative’s mistake."
Damien finally turned his head to look at Margaret. The look was so cold it could have frozen the champagne in my hands.
"A mistake?" Damien asked softly. "My research team is very thorough, Margaret. They don't find mistakes, they find facts."
He turned back to the room, raising his voice so loud that it echoed off the ceiling.
"I came here for the eldest Harrington daughter," Damien announced. He reached out and took the silver tray from my hands, setting it carelessly on a nearby table. He then took my hand in his, his grip possessive and absolute. "According to the birth records at St. Jude’s Hospital, Celeste Harrington was born on the twelfth of May. Vivienne was born in November of the same year."
The ballroom went deathly silent, you could hear the frantic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
"No," Margaret gasped. "That’s not... she isn't..."
"She is the eldest," Damien said, his dark eyes boring into my father’s. "And per the contract you signed an hour ago, she is my bride."
He turned to me, his face a mask of cold, beautiful ruthlessness. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear so only I could hear his words.
"Better being my bride than living in an environment where you aren't accepted," he whispered.
He pulled back, his hand tightening on mine as he looked at my father.
"Howard, get the girl a chair," Damien commanded, his voice like a crack of a whip. "From this moment on, your servant owns the roof over your head."
I looked at my father, who was now white as a sheet, and then at Vivienne, who was shaking with a rage she couldn't hide, my heart thumping loudly in my chest.
My father didn’t move at first, he just stood there with his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. The silence in the ballroom was so heavy I could barely breathe, but Damien didn't let go of my hand, his grip was like an iron shackle that told everyone I belonged to him now.
"I said," Damien repeated, his voice dropping to a low dangerous growl, "get her a chair. Or do I need to buy this entire hotel floor right now to make you listen?"
Howard scrambled, nearly tripping over his own feet as he pulled a soft leather chair from the head table. I sat down, my cheap maid’s uniform feeling like sandpaper against the expensive fabric. Margaret looked like she wanted to vomit, and Vivienne was vibrating with a rage so hot I thought her silk dress might catch fire.
"This is a mistake, Damien," Margaret hissed, her voice trembling. "She doesn't know how to speak, she doesn't know how to eat, she is—"
"She is my wife," Damien cut her off, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "And since you’ve treated her like a servant for years, you can spend the next hour making up for it. Howard, Margaret… go. Get her ready. I want the world to see the true Harrington heir."
“WHAT?!’
“Yes… you heard me.”
Whispers, murmurs and gossips flooded the ballroom.
The next two hours were a blur of humiliation for them and a fever dream for me. Howard was forced to lead me to the grand suite, acting like a doting father while the cameras of the press, who had been invited for Vivienne, flashed in our faces. He had to keep a fake smile on his face while he told reporters, "We’ve kept Celeste private to protect her, but she is the light of our lives now."
I wanted to laugh in his face, but I kept my mask on.
Margaret and a team of stylists were forced to strip me of my apron. They scrubbed the smell of bleach from my skin and dressed me in a gown that cost more than the house I grew up in. It was a deep, blood-red silk that clung to my body like a second skin.
They placed diamonds around my neck… Harrington family heirlooms Vivienne had once been promised. Margaret’s fingers trembled as she secured the clasp, but her gaze in the mirror was anything but unsteady. It burned into mine, cold, deliberate, and full of unspoken hatred.
"You think you've won," she whispered in my ear. "But he will throw you away once he’s bored."
"He might," I whispered back, looking at my reflection… a girl I didn't recognize. “But by then, I’ll have paid you back for all the mistreatment you’ve shown me.”
When I walked back into the ballroom, the gasps were audible. I wasn't the girl with the mop anymore, I was a queen standing next to the Executioner.
Damien stepped forward, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. For a second, just a second, the coldness in his gaze flickered into something else… something hungry. He took a pen from his breast pocket and turned to the massive table where the merger contract lay.
"Sign it, Howard," Damien commanded.
My father’s hand shook so much the pen rattled against the paper. He was signing away his pride, his secrets, and his daughter all at once. But he had no choice. With a shaky scrawl, the deal was done.
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Unwanted Bride Four
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