All Chapters of The Deal in a Wedding Dress: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Celeste The rain hammered against the cracked windows of our Victorian mansion like an unwelcome visitor demanding entry. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching droplets race down the surface while thunder rumbled overhead. How fitting that even the heavens seemed to weep for our family's misfortune. Our once-magnificent home stood like a tired old lady, her bones still elegant but her skin weathered and worn. The wallpaper peeled at the corners, and the hardwood floors creaked with every step, telling stories of better days when the Andrews name meant something in this small town. When our textile factory employed half the residents and our family dinners filled this dining room with laughter instead of worried whispers. "Celeste, sweetheart, come sit down." Dad's voice carried a weight I'd never heard before, heavy with something that made my stomach clench. I turned from the window to find him slumped in his worn leather chair, the one Mom had begged him to repla

Celeste My childhood bedroom felt smaller than I remembered, the pink wallpaper faded and peeling at the corners like old memories trying to escape. I sat cross-legged on my narrow bed, surrounded by the remnants of dreams I'd once believed in—sketches of wedding dresses scattered across my rumpled comforter, dog-eared romance novels stacked on my nightstand, and watercolor paintings of couples dancing in moonlight tacked to the walls. The contract lay before me like a death sentence, its crisp white pages mocking the fairy tale endings I'd once sketched in the margins of my notebooks. Killian Hart's signature was already there, bold and decisive, waiting for mine to seal our devil's bargain. A soft knock interrupted my brooding. "Celeste?" Dad's voice carried the weight of desperation. "Can we talk?" I quickly shoved the contract under my pillow. "Come in." He entered slowly, his shoulders stooped with the burden of our family's collapse. The man who used to carry me on his back

—Killian— "I'm sorry, Mr. Hart, but the florist left in a hurry." I stared at the hotel staff member, my jaw tightening with frustration. "What do you mean, left?" "She said there was a family emergency, sir. Apologized profusely and rushed out through the service exit about A minute ago." The young man shifted uncomfortably under my glare. "Should I... should I try to contact her? Get her to come back?" "No." The word came out harsher than I intended. "That won't be necessary." But as he hurried away, I stood frozen in the middle of my own gala, surrounded by Seattle's elite, and felt something dangerously close to panic clawing at my chest. She was here. She'd been here, in this room, breathing the same air, and I'd missed her. If it was even her at all. Three weeks ago, my assistant James had knocked on my office door with his usual morning briefing and a tablet in his hands. "Sir, there's something I think you should see," he'd said, his tone carefully neutral. James had

—Killian— I stood outside "Petals & Dreams" for ten minutes, watching through the window as she moved around the small shop like a dancer in her own private ballet. The afternoon light caught in her dark hair, and every gesture was achingly familiar—the way she tilted her head when considering a flower arrangement, how her fingers traced the petals with unconscious reverence. It was definitely her. Even after five years, even with the different name and the careful way she'd rebuilt her life, I knew every line of her body, every graceful movement that had once driven me to distraction. The question was: did she know I was coming? Rebecca had made the appointment for me under Hart Enterprises, requesting a consultation for an "intimate corporate gathering." Nothing that would raise red flags, nothing that would send her running before I had a chance to look into her eyes and hear her voice again. I pushed open the door, and the bell chimed softly in the floral-scented air. She loo

—Celeste— The Hart Enterprises "intimate gathering" was anything but intimate. I stood at the entrance of the Fairmont Olympic Hotel's grand ballroom, surveying the sea of designer gowns and perfectly tailored suits that filled the space. Seattle's elite mingled beneath glittering chandeliers, their laughter mixing with the soft notes of a string quartet. My floral arrangements—white roses and baby's breath with trailing ivy—created elegant focal points throughout the room, exactly as I'd envisioned. But none of that mattered now that I was here, in Killian's world, surrounded by faces from a life I'd tried so hard to forget. "Ms. Whitmore." Rebecca Morrison appeared at my elbow, resplendent in a midnight blue gown that probably cost more than my monthly rent. "Everything looks absolutely perfect. Mr. Hart will be so pleased." "Thank you," I said, smoothing down my simple black dress—the same one I'd worn to his gala weeks ago. Professional. Forgettable. Safe. "I should check on t