Lucien's POV:
The city had shed its soft dawn glow, now a hard, glittering reality under the full assault of the morning sun. Celeste was in the shower, the sound of the water a fragile domesticity in the stark expanse of my penthouse. I stood at the window, the tablet in my hands displaying the latest surveillance feeds.
Damien. In Naples.
The grainy images showed him meeting with Marco Rossi in a secluded villa overlooking the Bay of Naples.
Rossi's face, etched with years of ruthless ambition and a simmering resentment towards my father, was unmistakable. The exchange between them was animated, punctuated by Rossi's sharp gestures and Damien's desperate nods.
Adrien's intel was chillingly precise.
Damien had offered Rossi a substantial sum, along with detailed information about my movements, my routines, even the security protocols of my various properties.
His target?
Celeste.
Not just to hurt me, but to use her, as Adrien had predicted, as leverage, as a weapon.
Rossi, seeing an opportunity to finally strike at the Moreau legacy, had agreed.
The scent of betrayal, sharp and acrid, filled my senses.
Not from Damien – his weakness and predictable spite were tiresome. But from the realization that my past, the shadows I had fought so hard to outrun, were now reaching for Celeste.
The sound of the shower stopped. My muscles tensed.
I needed to tell her.
Not the full extent of the danger, not yet, but enough to make her understand that her life had irrevocably changed. That we had irrevocably changed.
She emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in one of my oversized shirts, her hair damp, her skin flushed. The vulnerability of the moment, mixed with the brutal reality on my tablet, twisted something inside me.
"Everything alright?" she asked, her eyes searching mine, sensing the shift in my mood.
I lowered the tablet, placing it face down on the sleek console. "We need to talk."
She walked towards me, her bare feet silent on the polished floor. "About Damien? About the Morettis?"
"About both," I confirmed, my gaze unwavering. I took her hand, my thumb tracing the delicate bones of her wrist. "Damien… he's not just licking his wounds. He's made a dangerous alliance."
Her brow furrowed. "With the Morettis?"
"Indirectly," I corrected. "He's approached someone else. Someone… with his own agenda against my family."
"Who?" The question was barely a whisper.
"Marco Rossi," I said, the name a hard weight in the air. "He's… volatile. Unpredictable. And Damien has offered him a way to hurt me."
Her eyes widened, a flicker of fear finally entering their depths. "How?"
I hesitated. I didn't want to see that fear, but I couldn't lie to her. Not anymore. "By using you, Celeste."
The color drained from her face. She pulled her hand away, taking a step back. "Using me how?"
"Leverage," I said, my voice flat. "To get to me. To weaken me."
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken terror. I watched her, her mind racing, the implications of my words sinking in. The safety she had begun to feel in my arms was shattering, replaced by the cold reality of my world.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"I'm going to protect you," I stated, my voice firm, unwavering. "That is my only priority."
"But how?" The question was laced with desperation.
"Things will change," I said, choosing my words carefully. "You can't go back to your apartment. Not yet. Not until this is… resolved."
A flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes. "I can't just… disappear."
"You won't disappear," I countered, stepping closer, cupping her face in my hands. "You'll be here. With me. Where I can ensure your safety."
Her gaze searched mine, looking for reassurance, for a lie. "And my clinic? My work?"
"It will have to wait," I said, my voice gentle but firm. "Your safety is paramount, Celeste. Everything else is secondary."
Tears welled in her eyes, a mixture of fear and frustration. "So, I'm a prisoner now?"
The word stung. "No," I said, my thumbs brushing away a tear that escaped her eye. "You are under my protection. There's a difference."
But I saw the doubt in her eyes. The freedom she had just begun to embrace was being curtailed, not by her husband, but by the man who had awakened her. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Rossi… what does he want?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"To settle old scores," I said, my jaw tight. "And Damien has given him the perfect weapon."
I pulled her close, holding her tightly against me. "I won't let him touch you, Celeste. I swear it. But you need to trust me. You need to let me handle this."
She clung to me, her body shaking slightly. "I do trust you, Lucien," she whispered, her voice muffled against my chest. "But I'm scared."
"I know," I murmured, stroking her hair. "But you're not alone. You're with me."
But even as I spoke the words of reassurance, a cold certainty settled in my gut. This was escalating faster than I anticipated.
Rossi was a wild card, and Damien's desperation had just made him a player in a game far more dangerous than he could ever comprehend.
The scent of betrayal lingered, not just from Damien, but from the ghosts of my past, threatening to consume the fragile new reality I had found with Celeste. And I knew, with a chilling certainty, that the reckoning was far from over. It had just begun to truly claim its price.