I woke up to the soft hum of the city outside my window, the early morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. My head was heavy, weighed down by the events of last night, 

but I forced myself to move.

Routine.

Structure.

Composure.

These were the things that kept me functioning.

I slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom, turning on the shower. The water was scalding, almost punishing, but it helped. Helped me focus. Helped me forget, even if just for a 

moment.

Afterwards, I wrapped myself in a silk robe, stepping toward my vanity.

My makeup was subtle but deliberate: a soft, matte base, a hint of blush to bring warmth to my cheeks, and a neutral lip colour that enhanced rather than overpowered. My eyes, however, were sharp—lined with precision, accentuated by just the right amount of mascara.

I chose my outfit carefully. A deep emerald, green blouse—silk, of course—tucked into high-waisted black trousers that elongated my frame.

A tailored blazer completed the look, cinched at the waist to remind me that power, even in fabric form, was something I could still control. My heels were sleek, adding just enough height to command attention but not enough to slow me down.

By the time I stepped into my car I had reconstructed myself entirely. Celeste Laurent, the poised, capable businesswoman. Not the daughter being sold off to save her family’s name.

The drive to work was smooth, the city a blur as I kept my thoughts at bay. I refused to let my mind wander back to last night, to the weight of expectations pressed against my skin like shackles.

Laurent Enterprises was housed in a tower of glass and steel, a testament to power and precision. The lobby was pristine, employees offering nods of respect as I walked through.

The world outside my office was the same.

The same city skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the same carefully maintained silence hummed through the corridors, and the same scent of polished wood and freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air.

Glass walls framed my private office, offering a clear but detached view of the workspace outside.

Sitting on my desk was a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers—peonies, white roses, and sprigs of eucalyptus arranged in effortless elegance. Beside it, a pristine box, the delicate ribbon tied in a way I recognized immediately.

Ava.

My lips curved before I could stop them, the weight of the previous night momentarily forgotten.

I approached my desk, fingers brushing over the flowers before reaching for my phone.

The call barely rang twice before she picked up.

“You didn’t even leave a note,” I said the moment the line connected.

Ava’s soft laugh filled my ear, and just like that, the tension in my shoulders melted.

“Oh? I thought you’d just know.”

I did. Of course I did.

My smile deepened as I sank into my chair, pulling the box closer. My fingers traced the edges before lifting the lid, my gaze sweeping over the selection—flaky almond croissants, delicate raspberry tarts, and buttery madeleines. My favorites.

“Do you have someone else sending you flowers and food at odd hours of the day?” Ava’s voice was teasing, but there was a sharper edge underneath it.

I took my time, tearing off a piece of the almond croissant and popping it into my mouth, letting the buttery layers melt on my tongue before answering.

“Maybe.” I knew exactly how to rile her up.

Silence followed.

And then, a quiet inhale.

“Oh?” Ava murmured, her tone dropped low, smooth, and dangerous.

I could feel it slinking through the phone, curling around me like an invisible hand at my throat.

I could practically hear her jaw clench.

My breath hitched.

“Is that what you do when I’m not around, Celeste?”

I swallowed. Something hot and electric skated down my spine.

“Ava.” My voice came out softer than I intended.

She gave a lazy hum, clearly not amused.

I bit the inside of my cheek, tamping down the shiver threatening to betray me.

“I’m joking.”

“Are you?” she countered.

A slow exhale left my lips. I shook my head, but she couldn’t see it.

Before I could answer, Ava’s tone softened, just enough to slip beneath my defences. “You seemed off after dinner yesterday.”

I stilled for a moment, my fingers idly tracing the rim of my coffee cup. If only she knew.

For a fleeting second, I considered telling her. But then—

A knock at my door pulled me out of my thoughts.

I glanced up as my assistant, Elise, stepped in. She was efficient, always poised—a crisp white blouse tucked into a navy pencil skirt, her black hair swept into a low bun. Professionalism embodied.

“Ms. Laurent,” she said smoothly. “Mr. Hernandez is here for you.”

The lightness I had felt just seconds ago evaporated instantly.

I exhaled softly, pressing my fingers against my temple before nodding. “Let him in.”

“I have to go. Duty calls.”

Ava made a small, unimpressed noise.

I rolled my eyes. “Goodbye, Ava.”

She chuckled, but I could hear the dissatisfaction in it. “I’ll see you later.”

The call ended.

I set my phone down, smoothing my blouse as I composed myself. The brief moment of warmth was gone. Now, I had to step back into the role expected of me.

Aziel knocked once before stepping inside, and immediately, I straightened.

He was impeccably dressed, as always. A tailored charcoal suit, a crisp white dress shirt open at the collar—carefully curated effortlessness.

His dark hair was neatly styled, his watch gleaming under the office lights. He looked exactly as he always did—like a man who had everything under control.

And now, he was supposed to be my future.

“Celeste,” he greeted smoothly, taking in the flowers and pastries with a small, knowing smirk. “Busy morning?”

I didn’t bother answering, instead gesturing for him to take a seat.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said coolly, reaching for my tablet.

Aziel chuckled as he settled into the chair across from me.

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened.

This was going to be a long morning.

For years, I had known I would marry someone like him. Someone who understood power, who saw love as an afterthought. Someone who would never ask for more than what was required.

So why did it feel like I was losing something?

I pushed the thought away, straightened my spine, and met his gaze.

“Shall we begin?”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either. It was the kind of silence that settled between people who knew their roles too well—where familiarity existed, but warmth did not.

Aziel sat across from me, flipping through one of the contracts with the same ease one might scan a dinner menu. His presence was deliberate but unintrusive, a quiet force that didn’t demand attention but claimed it, nonetheless.

I was used to men like him.

Men who had never needed to fight for a seat at the table because they had been born into it. Men whose lives had been curated to fit the mold of legacy, just as mine had been.

I turned my attention back to the documents, meticulously combing through every clause. 

This wasn’t just a business transaction anymore—it was personal. Our families had left us to work out the details.

A familiar vibration against the table cut through the quiet. My phone.

I glanced at the screen.

My fingers twitched against the pen I was holding, but I ignored the call, pressing my lips together and keeping my expression neutral.

I could feel Aziel watching me.

“You should take that,” he said casually, his voice low.

“It’s nothing.”

Aziel hummed, leans back in his chair, stretching slightly, his fingers tapping idly against the polished wood of my desk. The way he looked at me gave the impression that he saw more than I intended to show.

“You’re always this focused?” he asked, leaning back slightly.

“Is that a problem?”

“You know,” he says, his voice carrying that same smooth, easy-going cadence, “we’ve been buried in numbers for hours. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to keep me hostage in your office.”

I don’t look up from the spreadsheet I’m reviewing. “If that were the case, I’d have chosen a better method.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.” There’s a pause, like he’s considering his next move, then—“Come to lunch with me.”

That makes me glance up. His gaze is expectant but not demanding, the kind of confidence that assumes I’ll say yes.

“I’m fine,” I said returning to my screen. “I have work to get through.”

Aziel sighs, a long-suffering sound. “Celeste.” He draws out my name like he’s known me for years instead of days. “Even you have to eat. Let’s step out for an hour, clear our heads. I know a place.”

I don’t doubt he does—some sleek, high-end restaurant with perfect plating and impeccable service. The kind of place that expects conversation to be effortless, the atmosphere designed for easy indulgence. The kind of place Ava would hate.

I roll my pen between my fingers. As he tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve.

Just before I could turn him down for the second time.

My phone buzzed again.