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Chapter 28 - Chapter 28

They didn't say much on the drive home. Not because there was nothing to say, but because everything important had already been felt.

When August parked, he stepped out first, rounding the car to open her door out of habit. Celine smiled at that, small and tired, and took his hand as she got out.

She didn't let go.

Instead, her fingers slid naturally into the bend of his arm as they walked toward the house, her steps slower now, calmer. The porch light flickered on, casting a warm glow over them, the kind of quiet domestic moment that felt almost unreal after the week she'd had.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "I am. Really."

Inside, she leaned closer without thinking, her shoulder brushing his arm as he unlocked the door. For the first time in days, she felt… normal. Safe. Seen.

What neither of them noticed,

—was the dark sedan parked across the street., nor the faint click of a camera lens lowering. —nor the way the figures in the frame looked intimate enough to be misread.

From the shadows, someone watched as August opened the door for her. As she stayed close. As she stepped inside with him.

A final photo was taken just before the door shut. Then sent!!

Two people. One house. An angle that told a story neither of them had written.

Nolan studied the image in silence.

The light from his phone washed his face in pale blue as he stared at it, Celine's hand hooked into August's arm, the way her body leaned instinctively toward him, relaxed. Not staged. Not careful.

Real.

A slow smile crept across his face. Not warm. Not pleased.

Sick.

"Celine is mine," he said quietly, like a fact, like a verdict.

His fingers curled around the phone, knuckles whitening as he squeezed it hard, as if pressure alone could erase what he was seeing. The smile didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened.

He looked up. Then called.

"Get me everything," he said, voice suddenly clipped, impatient. "I want to know who this man is. Where he works. Who he talks to. What he protects."

The man on the other end hesitated just a fraction. "Everything?"

Nolan's eyes didn't leave the screen. "Everything," he repeated. "Friends. Family. Weak points. Strengths. I don't want surprises."

A pause.

"Understood," the man said.

The call ended.

Nolan finally leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. Outside, the city pulsed, indifferent, loud, alive. Inside, his mind was already rearranging pieces on a board only he believed he owned.

"She always runs," he murmured to himself, thumb brushing the edge of the screen. "And she always forgets one thing."

His smile returned, thin and certain.

"She doesn't stop belonging to me just because she walks away."

***

Celine POV:

Celine kicked off her heels the moment she stepped inside, dropping onto the edge of the couch with a tired groan.

"My feet are killing me," she muttered, rubbing at her ankles. "I swear, I think these shoes were designed by someone who hates women."

August chuckled as he walked past her, slipping the keys onto the rack by the door. He paused when he really heard the strain in her voice.

"All day?" he asked, glancing back at her.

She nodded, leaning her head against the back of the couch. "Since morning. Meetings, fittings, standing, walking—" She exhaled. "I'm never doing that again."

He didn't say anything at first. Just crossed the room and stopped in front of her.

"Sit back," he said casually.

She frowned at him. "Why?"

"I'll help."

She laughed once, tired and disbelieving. "Help how?"

Instead of answering, August bent down and squatted in front of her, gently lifting one foot into his hands like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"You've been on these all day," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Geez… no wonder you're complaining."

Her breath hitched, more from surprise than anything else.

"August," she said softly, "you don't have to—"

"I know," he replied, already easing the tension from her foot with practiced, careful pressure. "But it doesn't mean I won't."

She went quiet then. The kind of quiet that comes when someone finally feels looked after. Her shoulders slowly relaxed, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"…Okay," she murmured. "Maybe just for a minute."

He smiled to himself, focused on what he was doing, steady and gentle.

"That's what I thought."

She watched him for a moment, the way his hands moved with quiet focus, like he took pride in doing things properly. Slowly, the tension in her foot eased, replaced by a warmth that spread upward.

She let out a small sigh. "You're… surprisingly good at this."

He glanced up, amused. "Surprisingly?"

"Yes," she said, a corner of her mouth lifting. "I didn't take you for the type."

"The type who knows how to help?" he asked lightly.

"The type who notices," she corrected, her voice softer now. "Most people hear me complain and keep walking."

His hands stilled just a fraction, then continued, gentler somehow. "I heard you," he said simply.

That did something to her.

"Thank you," she added after a beat. "Not just for this. For today. For… showing up."

He shrugged like it was nothing, but his ears reddened slightly. "You've had a rough time. Anyone would need a break."

She shook her head. "No. Not anyone would do this." She hesitated, then smiled at him, real, unguarded. "You're good, August. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

He looked up then, properly this time, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. For a second, neither of them spoke.

"Well," he said quietly, clearing his throat, "if I'd known compliments were part of the deal, I might've charged."

She laughed, the sound light and genuine, and leaned back against the couch. "Worth every penny."

He finished, setting her foot down carefully. "There. Relief?"

She flexed her toes, surprised. "Actually… yeah. A lot."

"Good," he said, standing. "That was the goal."

As he stepped away, she watched him go, something warm settling in her chest, not excitement, not fear.

Trust.

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