Celeste Ng Books Novels & Stories

Celeste had once been the architect of Verona’s darkest campaigns, funds laundered through war zones, intelligence sold to the highest bidder, and one infamous mission in Istanbul where three world leaders were blackmailed into silence. But she had vanished. No trails. No contact. Until now. Grace closed the laptop and pressed her hand to her stomach. A soft flutter responded her baby, growing stronger with each passing day. Nathaniel entered, loosening his tie. “You should sleep,” he said, sitting beside her. “I can’t,” she whispered. “Celeste isn’t just Verona’s ghost. She’s his contingency plan.” “You think he called her before he was taken?” “No,” Grace said. “I think she was always watc

SAM’S POV Celeste was far too interested in the spell book. Even though we have found everything we seek in it, she was still skimming through pages, trying to find answers to the chaos going on within her head. It was evident in her eyes. I believed there was nothing else waiting to be found in the spell book, but that assumption was immediately broken when a small book fell out of it as Celeste continued to roam through the pages. She was so invested in what she was doing that she didn’t even realize something had fallen out of the book until I made it known to her.

Celeste That night, I stayed in the library. The Palace pack house had gone quiet, the kind of quiet that made every footstep sound like a secret being told. Outside, the moon hung boldly, its light spilling across floors. Sylvester insisted on accompanying me, of course. He always did. “What exactly are you searching for?” he asked as I scanned the shelves. “Books on magic,” I replied without hesitation. He blinked, clearly taken aback. “Magic, my lady? That’s a dangerous kind of curiosity.”

They wore intricately designed headdresses, with gemstones that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. "What's that?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. Celeste's eyes flicked to the book, and for a moment, I saw a flash of something like fear in her eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a mask of indifference. "Oh, just an old book," she said, her voice casual. "Nothing important."

The moon light painted everything the color of late mistakes, and the stack of folders beside me leaned like they’d had too much to drink. I dug into the album like I was pulling a confession from a priest with something to hide. I dove in Celeste’s world: her trophies, stiff-backed photos, and winning smiles that hadn’t aged well. I’d flipped through most of them before, back when I thought grief meant lighting candles and sending sympathy notes. Now I was looking for shadows, the kind that didn’t pose. Page seven, third plastic sleeve—there she was. Celeste, mid-jump, a pretty little comet in white breeches, flying over a hedge like life didn’t come with a landing.

She hoped that this year she would be able to breed and bring forth a new generation to protect the forest. But she could not believe her own ears when she could hear the beat of the hoofs of her own sister. How was that even possible? Celeste was dead…she had long gone in body and soul to the Moon Goddess….then how now?? Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;

Celeste asked as she dragged her bag towards Matthias. “Are you sure that it’s just helping?” “Yeah!” “So, you still have to answer it. I’m not going to do everything, baby.” Celeste pouted. She did not expect Matthias to be cautious. “Oh…” “Then, Uncle Jonathan, help me~” her long eyelashes fluttered as she looked at Jonathan with her doe eyes. She took out her books and placed them on top of Jonathan’s lap. Each book was stacked on top of the other. And lastly, as the cherry on top, she put her cute butterfly pencil case on top of her books.

“I don’t interrupt. I just watch her, my sister, the queen of Matica, looking so lost in the same room where she has always seemed most certain. She moves toward one of the tall shelves, her fingers brushing lightly over the spines of old books. “Maybe there’s something I’m missing,” she murmurs absently. Her touch stirs a small cloud of dust, and then—suddenly—a heavy book slips free. It lands on the floor with a soft thud. Something smaller falls with it, a leather-bound journal, its spine cracked, its edges worn. Celeste bends down to pick it up, but I’m already moving closer. My heart stutters when I see the mark pressed into its cover.

The villa’s sunroom smelled faintly of old books and fresh citrus. Celeste sat cross-legged on the low couch, a loose linen wrap knotted at her waist, hair pulled back with a clip that kept slipping free. The breeze rustled the sheer curtains behind her as she flipped through the second draft of Still Life.

Back then, Celeste used to handle these kinds of tasks herself. Yet now, she seemed more like a guest, showing less concern for Jordyn than before. Hannah noticed this and, with a resigned nod, went upstairs. "A new book?" Celeste was so engrossed in the book that she didn't realize Trevor was already downstairs. She nodded. Trevor stretched out his hand. "Can I take a look?" Celeste went still for a moment. "Don't you have it?" It was the newest journal in the AI field.