Chapter five:The window
1188 Words
The silence was louder than ever.
Celeste hadn’t spoken a word since the night before. She stayed curled on her bed, her limbs stiff, her chest tight with something colder than anger—fear.
Last night, she’d heard a woman scream. She saw blood on Damian’s sleeves. Not imagined. Not rumored. Real.
He killed someone. Casually. Easily.
And she’d slept just one hallway away.
She hugged her knees to her chest now, staring blankly at the window. The morning light did nothing to warm the icy pit inside her. Everything that had once felt like fire between them—the tension, the heat—now felt like a trap.
She wasn’t safe here.
She was never safe here.
A soft knock startled her.
She didn’t answer.
The door opened anyway.
Damian stepped in, dressed in dark grey slacks and a crisp white shirt, no tie. Clean. Controlled. Like he hadn’t choked the life out of someone just hours ago.
She stiffened.
He noticed.
“Not going to say good morning?” he asked, his voice neutral.
Celeste didn’t respond.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t push. He walked over to her table and dropped a sleek black card and a folded piece of paper beside her half-finished breakfast.
“What’s this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Your freedom,” he said, smirking faintly. “For a few hours.”
She blinked.
“You’re going shopping.”
That caught her off guard. “Shopping?”
He nodded. “We’re attending a dinner party tonight. You’ll need a dress. Something expensive. Elegant. And shoes.” He tilted his head. “Preferably ones you won’t trip in.”
She stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You’re letting me leave the house?”
“You’ll be escorted, of course. Two guards. Silent types. Don’t bother testing them—they’re former soldiers.”
Her heart sank for a moment. Then rose again.
Escorted wasn’t chained. Escorted meant public.
Damian walked toward the door but paused just before exiting.
“You’ll have two hours. They’re under orders not to stop you from browsing, but if you try anything stupid…” he turned to look over his shoulder, eyes sharp. “You’ll regret it.”
Celeste didn’t flinch. But her fingers curled into the blanket.
“I don’t care about the party,” she muttered.
He smiled — a small, knowing thing. “Then pretend. You do that well.”
He left without another word.
The door clicked shut.
Celeste’s mind raced.
A dinner party meant people. Crowds. Doors. Distractions.
It was the first chance she’d had to breathe outside his mansion, even if only for a few hours. It might be a trap. But it might also be her only chance to escape.
She climbed off the bed and picked up the card. Unlimited credit. She could buy anything.
But all she wanted was a way out.
She moved to the mirror, trying to steady her hands. Her eyes were rimmed with shadows, her hair wild from restless sleep. She looked like a girl who’d stared death in the face.
And maybe she had.
But that didn’t mean she had to die here.
She would go to that store.
She would smile.
She would buy a dress.
And maybe—just maybe—she’d find a way to vanish before the dinner Party.
-
The world outside felt… unreal.
Celeste sat in the backseat of a black luxury SUV, watching the city roll by through tinted glass. It was her first time outside Damian Moretti’s mansion in days, and yet everything looked the same—bustling sidewalks, honking horns, sunlight spilling across the pavement like it had the right to be warm.
She felt like a ghost behind the glass. Alive, but not free.
In the front seat, two men sat stone-still. One drove, the other kept eyes on the road ahead—but she knew they were watching her too. Suited. Armed. Silent.
The guards Damian assigned to her.
She glanced at the one in the passenger seat, a tall man with a rigid posture and a scar that ran from his jaw to the edge of his neck.
“You have a name?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
No answer.
She tried again. “Blink twice if you’re secretly on my side.”
Still nothing.
The driver let out the faintest breath. It might’ve been a laugh. Or a warning.
Celeste exhaled, sinking back against the seat.
No weakness. No humanity.
They were statues with guns.
The car pulled up in front of a sleek designer boutique in the high-end part of town. One guard exited first, scanning the area before opening her door. She stepped out, shielding her eyes from the sunlight, and tried not to show how disoriented she felt.
It had been days since she breathed fresh air.
She was handed a black card and escorted inside without a word. The boutique’s glass doors slid open with a hush, revealing rows of glittering gowns and women browsing in silk gloves and pearls.
No one batted an eye at her.
She was just another rich girl with her silent security team.
Celeste wandered through the aisles, running her fingers along lace and satin. A shop assistant approached with a professional smile.
“Looking for something in particular?”
“A dinner party,” Celeste said softly. “Formal.”
The woman’s eyes lit up. “We have just the thing.”
She was pulled into the dressing area, draped in options—black, emerald, silver, blood-red. She chose a deep navy gown with a plunging back. It was elegant, simple, and it felt like armor.
As she changed, her mind worked overtime.
She could slip out the back. Pretend to take a call. Lie to the assistant and ask for the restroom, then disappear through a staff door.
But every time she peeked through the curtain, one of the guards was there. Standing still. Eyes forward. Not looking at the dresses. Not looking at her.
Just waiting.
She tried again while trying on heels. “Hey,” she said lightly to the taller one. “If I offered to split the card balance with you… think you could turn around for five minutes?”
Nothing.
She bent down to adjust a strap, buying time, lowering her voice. “No cameras in here. I could vanish before Damian notices.”
The man’s gaze flicked to hers briefly, expression unreadable.
Then he looked away.
She stood straight. “You’re really not going to say anything?”
This time, the driver spoke from near the exit. “We don’t talk to his property.”
Her throat tightened.
Property.
She said nothing after that.
Instead, she paid for the dress, heels, and a pair of diamond earrings—Damian’s card didn’t even flinch. The store assistant complimented her beauty, wrapped everything in black-and-gold bags, and sent her on her way like she was royalty.
The driver opened the SUV door. She climbed in quietly.
The escape attempt was futile. She knew that now.
- Writer
