Chapter 7
1824 Words
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“Wait—why are you like this?”
His voice hit the hallway like a half-shouted confession. Celeste kept walking. Her footsteps were sharp against the marble floor, the click of her heels echoing louder than his words. She didn’t slow. Didn’t even turn around.
“I’ve changed,” Eli called after her, breathless. “I promise, Celeste—”
She let out a slow sigh, more weary than angry now. The kind that said she’d already played this scene in her head so many times before. The kind that told him he was too late.
He jogged after her, grabbing the stairwell door just before it closed behind her. “Please. Just talk to me.”
Celeste descended the stairs in silence, her fingers grazing the cold railing, heels tapping rhythmically on the cement. The stairwell smelled like fresh paint and cheap disinfectant—clean, sharp, and empty. It didn’t match the mess boiling in her chest.
“I was stupid,” Eli said behind her, trailing a few steps down. “I know I was. But that doesn’t mean you should treat me like I meant nothing.”
At the third landing, Celeste stopped.
She turned slowly to face him, her expression unreadable. “You didn’t mean nothing,” she said. “You meant something. But that something ended the moment I walked in and found you in bed with someone else.”
His face flushed, guilt crawling up his neck like heat. “It wasn’t what you think.”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t insult both of us by pretending it wasn’t exactly what I saw.”
Silence pressed between them like a third body. For a long moment, he looked like a man drowning in a memory he couldn't escape.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he finally said, voice lower now. Softer. “You were... you were always too good for me.”
“I was never trying to be ‘too good,’ Eli. I was just trying to be loved.”
Her voice didn’t crack—but it came close.
He looked away.
“I tried to move on,” he murmured. “But when I saw you today—this new version of you—I didn’t know what to say. You’re so... different.”
Celeste tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Different?” she echoed.
“Colder. Sharper. It’s like someone turned your heart to stone.”
A smile ghosted her lips. But it wasn’t a kind one.
“That’s what happens,” she said, “when someone you love turns it into glass and drops it.”
He flinched. “Celeste—”
“You want to know what’s really different?” she stepped closer, her tone steel. “Since I left you, I’ve done things I never imagined. I’ve worn thousand-dollar dresses with knives strapped to my thigh. I’ve kissed men with blood on their hands to get information. I’ve aimed a gun at a man’s chest while smiling.”
Eli stared at her, horror blooming in his eyes.
She leaned in, just enough so he could hear her whisper, “And I don’t regret any of it.”
He swallowed hard. “What happened to you?”
“Life,” she answered. “Life happened. And Ash taught me how to stop letting it control me.”
At his name, Eli stiffened. “De Luca,” he muttered. “You really think he’s better than me?”
“No,” Celeste said. “He’s worse. But he never lied to me about who he was. He never tried to shrink me. He looked at me and saw the fire. And instead of running—he lit the match.”
Eli looked like she’d punched him. And maybe, in a way, she had.
“I would’ve loved you forever,” he said softly.
“And I would’ve died quietly in your shadow,” she replied.
There it was—truth. Final and undeniable.
She turned from him, the air around her heavier now. But she didn’t regret the weight.
As she moved down the stairs, his voice broke the silence one last time.
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t stop this time. Didn’t turn. Her only answer was a whisper, lost in the stairwell’s cold air:
“You should be.”
And with that, she disappeared around the corner—leaving Eli standing in a stairwell filled with echoes, shame, and everything he let slip through his fingers.
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The elevator doors parted like silent gates to a different world—one far removed from the courtroom stairwell where Celeste had last stood with her past clinging to her heels.
Ash’s penthouse welcomed her with shadow and sleek stillness. The scent of cedarwood and smoke lingered in the air, familiar and unsettling in how much comfort it now offered. The lights were dim, as they always were. Gold accents glinted off black walls. Nothing about the space was soft, except the silence—and even that could shatter.
She stepped inside.
He was already there.
Ash leaned casually against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Disheveled in a way that felt intentional. Like he’d come undone on purpose, but only just enough.
“You’re late,” he said.
Celeste brushed past him, her voice clipped. “Got held up.”
He watched her walk to the kitchen without a word, his gaze flicking to the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand trembled—barely—as she reached for a glass. She filled it with water. Not whiskey. Not tonight.
“You spoke to him,” Ash said.
She took a slow sip. “Briefly.”
He waited, arms folded, shadows swallowing half his face. She set the glass down with a quiet clink. Their reflection in the glass backsplash was a ghostly pairing—light and dark, heat and ice, ruin and reason.
“You want to ask if I’m okay,” she murmured. “Go ahead.”
“I don’t ask questions I already know the answer to.”
She scoffed under her breath. “Of course not.”
When she turned, he was already walking toward her. Not fast. Just with intent.
“I didn’t expect to feel anything,” she admitted, looking down at her hands. “But I did.”
He tilted his head. “Regret?”
“No.” Her voice was firmer now. “Just... the memory of being that girl. The one who would’ve begged him to stay. I hated her for a long time.”
Ash’s eyes softened—barely. “I didn’t meet that girl.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No. You met the version who had nothing left to lose.”
“Not true,” he said, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. “You still had fire. You just hadn’t learned how to use it yet.”
She didn’t know why it hit her the way it did. Maybe because no one had ever described her as something fierce. Something worth fearing. Something powerful.
“Come with me,” he said quietly.
He led her down the hallway and opened a door she hadn’t stepped through in weeks. The training room. Cool, silent, lined with velvet drawers and mirrored walls that forced you to face yourself whether you wanted to or not.
He nodded to the long drawer at the back.
Celeste walked to it without a word. Her fingers brushed the velvet before slipping under the lid. The drawer opened with a soft hiss, revealing a curated row of weapons—some sleek and black, others plated with gold or pearl-handled. Dangerous jewelry.
But her hand stopped on one.
The Glock. Her first.
And the memory came rushing back like a ghost made of steel and gunpowder.
She had been shaking the first time he handed it to her. Back then, she’d still been working full-time at the law firm, trying to pretend her world wasn’t being turned inside out. The courtroom had humiliated her that day—laughed her out with smirks and slams of gavels. Ash had said nothing on the ride home. But once they were alone in this very room, he placed the gun in front of her.
“This isn’t about killing,” he said. “It’s about not being the one who gets cornered.”
She stared at the weapon like it was a venomous snake. “I’m not a killer.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But you’ve been made to feel helpless your whole life. I’m offering you a choice.”
She hadn’t picked it up right away. Not until he came behind her, one hand on her hip, the other adjusting her stance.
“You breathe. You hold. You aim,” he said, his voice low against her neck. “And you decide who you want to be.”
Her first shot had been crooked. Her hands trembled. But she hadn’t missed the second time.
Now, in the present, Celeste’s grip on the gun was steady. Her fingers curved around it with familiarity, like it had always belonged to her.
Ash stood at a distance, watching.
“I remember,” she said, turning to him.
“The first time?”
She nodded. “I was scared.”
He gave a faint smile. “You were brave. Scared is what comes before that.”
She looked down at the weapon again, then placed it gently back into the drawer. She didn’t need it right now—not physically. She just needed the reminder. That she was no longer the girl begging to be protected.
“I don’t want to be numb,” she whispered. “I want to be sharp. Still me.”
Ash stepped forward, his fingers brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re not numb,” he said. “You’re focused. There’s a difference.”
“I keep hearing her voice,” she admitted. “That girl. His new one. She told me once that my eyes looked empty.”
Ash tilted her chin up. “They’re not. They’re full of fury. Full of memory. And full of choice.”
She stared into his eyes. Dark. Unyielding. And yet, he looked at her like she was something wild and sacred.
“I don’t want to be a weapon,” she said.
“You already are,” he murmured. “But you get to choose where to point yourself.”
Celeste smiled then—slow, dangerous, alive.
“I missed too much,” she said. “I won’t again.”
Ash’s hand slid down her back. “Then show me.”
And she would. Tomorrow. Next week. Forever.
Not because he asked her to.
But because this time, the power was hers.
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- Writer
