Semua Bab The Deal in a Wedding Dress: Bab 41 - Bab 50

CelesteThe house felt colder that morning.I’d slept little, caught somewhere between anger and exhaustion. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Evelyn’s smirk, heard her voice—He’ll end it soon.By the time I came downstairs, the sun had barely risen. Killian was already in the dining room, dressed for work, reading through a stack of papers. His coffee sat untouched beside him.“Morning,” I said quietly.He looked up. “You’re awake early.”“So are you.”He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You look pale.”“I’m fine.”He set the papers aside. “That’s the third time this week you’ve said that.”I forced a small smile. “Would it help if I said something else?”“Maybe if it was true.”I looked away, reaching for my tea. My hands shook just enough for him to notice. He leaned back, eyes sharp.“You’ve been sick,” he said. “You hardly eat, you barely sleep. What’s going on?”“Nothing,” I said quickly. “It’s just fatigue.”“Fatigue doesn’t make you collapse on the stair

KillianThe drive home from the gallery was too quiet. I kept glancing at Celeste in the passenger seat, watching the way her head rested against the window, her eyes half-closed. She looked fragile. Breakable.If something happened to you, I—I couldn't finish the thought. Didn't know how to."You need to eat something when we get home," I said, breaking the silence."I'm not hungry.""I don't care." My hands tightened on the wheel. "You're eating anyway."She didn't argue. That scared me more than anything.The mansion loomed ahead, and I pulled into the driveway carefully. Margaret greeted us at the door, her eyes widening when she saw my hand hovering near Celeste's elbow."Mrs. Hart, shall I prepare dinner?""Something light," I answered before Celeste could refuse. "Soup, maybe. And crackers."Margaret nodded, but her gaze lingered on Celeste with concern that mirrored my own.I watched Celeste start up the stairs, staying close behind her. Something in my gut twisted with warni

CelesteI woke to the smell of toast.Not burnt toast from the kitchen downstairs, carried up by Margaret on a tray. This was different—closer, warmer. The scent filled my room like someone had been cooking right beside my bed.I opened my eyes slowly, my head still fuzzy from sleep.Killian sat in the chair beside my bed, a plate balanced on his knee. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read—something between concern and uncertainty."You're awake," he said quietly.I blinked, trying to make sense of the scene. "What are you doing here?""I brought breakfast." He held up the plate—toast with butter, cut into neat triangles. "Margaret said you like it this way."I stared at him. At the toast. At his rumpled shirt and the shadows under his eyes that suggested he hadn't slept much either."You... made toast?""Supervised Margaret making it," he corrected. A hint of something—embarrassment maybe—crossed his face. "I wanted to make sure it was right."The gesture was so

CelesteI woke up freezing.Someone had stolen my blanket in the middle of the night.I opened my eyes groggily, reaching for the covers, and found... nothing. Just empty mattress and cool air.Then I heard it—soft, rhythmic breathing from the chair beside my bed.Killian was asleep, slumped sideways in the uncomfortable chair he'd been occupying for three days now. And wrapped around him like a cocoon was my entire blanket.He'd stolen my blanket.The great Killian Hart, CEO of a billion-dollar empire, had unconsciously hogged all the covers in his sleep.I should have been annoyed. Should have woken him up and demanded my blanket back. But the sight of him—hair mussed, face relaxed in sleep, clutching my blanket like a child—was too ridiculous not to find amusing.I cleared my throat loudly.Nothing."Killian."He mumbled something incoherent and burrowed deeper into the blanket."Killian, you stole my blanket.""Mmm... merger... no..."He was sleep-talking about business. Of course

CelesteThe house was too still after he left. Not the kind of quiet that comes after a storm—more like the hush before one, when the air is thick and every creak of the floorboards feels like a warning. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, the soup bowl cooling in my lap, the photo of Killian and Evelyn burning behind my eyelids every time I blinked.I told myself I wasn’t waiting up. I told myself a lot of things.Eventually, I wandered back to my room—our room, technically, though it still didn’t feel like mine. The bed was made with military precision, the blanket folded at the foot like it had never been stolen in a midnight war. I crawled under the covers and stared at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks in the plaster like sheep.Sleep didn’t come.At 2:17 a.m., I heard the front door. Soft. Careful. The way someone moves when they don’t want to be noticed. I sat up, heart thudding against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Footsteps on the stairs—slow, deliberate