Chapter 15
834 Words
Celina
Celina sat very still, the world clicking back into place in sharp, disorienting pieces.
The corner chair.
The rules.
Three questions.
Vacate the poolhouse.
She dragged a hand down her face, trying to ground herself in the present. Elliot Blackwood never asked. He set terms and waited to see who was strong enough to meet them without flinching. And somehow—annoyingly—he’d offered her the cleanest deal she was ever going to get from Mr Tall, Dark, and Troubled.
Still… the poolhouse.
Why that?
Her mind worked quickly, patterns snapping together. Squatting. Security. Liability. If he was responsible for guarding that estate—officially or unofficially—then her presence there wasn’t just inconvenient. It was a failure. A visible crack in the armor he lived by.
Ah, she thought. There it is.
She lifted her chin. “Fine.”
His gaze sharpened.
“I’ll move,” she said evenly. “As soon as I find alternative housing.”
The words had barely left her mouth when his phone buzzed.
He didn’t apologize as he answered it. “Frank.”
He listened in silence, jaw tightening, eyes never leaving hers.
“Yes,” he said finally. “Bring her belongings to the penthouse. Immediately.”
He ended the call and looked at her like the matter was settled.
Problem solved.
The fury hit fast and bright.
“You planned that,” she snapped. “You backed me into a corner.”
He didn’t deny it. “I removed a complication.”
“No,” she said, standing. “You created one. And don’t think for a second we’re not revisiting these living arrangements you just decided for me.”
Something like satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
“Your questions,” he said. “Ask them.”
Her pulse thundered. She wasn’t holding back now.
“Question one,” she said. “What are you hiding from me that makes you run every time things get real?”
For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then he did.
“I built that house for a future,” he said quietly. “A life that no longer exists. The sight of it reminds me of everything that never happened.”
He didn’t say who.
He didn’t say why.
But the ache in his voice was unmistakable.
Her anger softened into something heavier. Sadder. She pictured the mansion again—empty, preserved, frozen in time—and felt a strange, unexpected tenderness.
“Question two,” she said, softer now. “What do you want from me?”
That one hit.
She saw it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his control wavered just enough to reveal the cost of holding it together.
“I want you to stay,” he said. “Not because I’ve cornered you. Because you choose to. I want your fire in my world. Your defiance. Your honesty.” His voice dropped. “I want to feel like I’m moving forward instead of standing guard over ruins.”
Her heart cracked open.
Before she could ask the third question, a loud clatter erupted from the kitchen—voices, movement, the unmistakable sound of someone arriving.
Relief crossed his face. Irritation followed immediately.
“My mother,” he muttered.
Celina’s stomach flipped.
“Oh my God.”
She scrambled out of bed, searching frantically for something—anything—appropriate. She tugged on a sweater, ran fingers through her hair, smoothed imaginary wrinkles, panic spiraling.
Of course he has a mother like this.
But beneath the nerves was curiosity. A chance to see him through the eyes of someone who truly knew him.
She followed him out.
The woman in the kitchen turned—and froze.
She stared at Celina like she’d seen a ghost.
“Mother,” Elliot said stiffly. “This is Celina.”
A beat.
“My girlfriend.”
The words landed like a dropped plate.
Celina’s mouth fell open. Elliot looked equally stunned by what had come out of his own mouth.
“Oh!” his mother exclaimed, delight blooming instantly. “Finally.”
Finally?!
They spoke over Elliot as if he weren’t there—his childhood habits, his moods, how impossible he’d been lately. Then his mother smiled brightly at Celina.
“So,” she said, “you work in his building, don’t you?”
Celina blinked. “I—what?”
“The company,” his mother continued cheerfully. “Elliot owns it, dear.”
The world tilted.
The money.
The access.
The control.
Her boss.
She turned slowly to look at him.
Elliot was livid.
His mother, blissfully unaware of the bomb she’d detonated, clasped her hands together. “You’ll come to the family ball, of course. Elliot will bring you.”
It wasn’t a question.
He didn’t dare refuse.
Celina stood there in the wreckage of revelation and realization, heart pounding, mind racing.
Chaos had never felt so inevitable.
And she had a feeling this was only the beginning.
- Writer
