Chapter 16
779 Words
Celina
Silence became her shield.
After Elliot’s mother left—after truths detonated and rearranged her understanding of everything—Celina retreated into herself. She needed space. Distance. A plan that belonged to her for once.
Too many truths had surfaced too quickly. Too many of them felt like lies simply because they’d been withheld.
She let Mara help.
The assistant moved with gentle efficiency, offering distraction without prying—music humming softly, warm tea pressed into Celina’s hands, conversation kept light and grounded. It helped. More than Celina wanted to admit.
As Mara fastened the last crystal and stepped back, Celina barely recognised her reflection.
Wine-red silk hugged her curves like devotion, the fabric liquid against her skin. The neckline dipped daringly low, revealing just enough to feel dangerous. Slits climbed her thighs with sinful intent. Her hair was swept up into soft curls, loose tendrils framing her face, jewels catching the light with every breath she took.
She looked… powerful.
And terrifyingly vulnerable.
This is my move, she told herself.
My choice.
Elliot sat in the chair—the throne—in the shadows of his bedroom, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
He had never felt so powerless.
Not after boardroom wars.
Not after loss.
Not after years of holding the world together through sheer will.
All of it—undone—by a woman who refused to bend.
How did this happen? he thought bitterly.
Saturday morning. One conversation. One reveal. And suddenly his control lay in fragments at his feet.
He dressed slowly, deliberately. The tux was black on black—tailored perfection, quiet menace. When he straightened, the man in the mirror looked like a ruler of night, dangerous and immaculate, all sharp lines and contained fire.
A powerful king.
He paused at the elevator, nostalgia catching him off guard. Elevators had become… charged spaces. Moments of accidental closeness. Of stolen tension.
He smiled.
The doors opened.
He smelled her first.
Warm. Feminine. Familiar.
His body reacted instantly—heat, awareness, a pull so strong it felt physical. When he looked up and saw her approaching, something primal locked into place.
Her eyes met his—and she faltered.
Celina, so bold, so defiant, suddenly looked shy. Exposed. As if standing naked beneath his gaze. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat.
He didn’t dare move.
He let her come to him.
The second she saw him, everything else vanished.
The room. The day. The anger.
He stood there in black, devastating and dark, eyes burning with restrained hunger. The air around him felt charged, electric. She felt seen—every thought, every nerve ending suddenly awake.
Her body betrayed her instantly.
Warmth bloomed. Breath shortened.
She hated how easily he unraveled her.
Loved it too.
She was breathtaking.
The wine-red dress clung to her like sin, crystals outlining every curve, daring the world to look—and making him want to hurt anyone who did. The neckline revealed the soft swell of her breasts, a promise that made his jaw tighten. The slits bared long, elegant legs, each step an invitation.
Her lips were glossed, her skin luminous.
He had never seen her equal.
Someone will bleed tonight, he thought darkly. If they look too long.
They moved together without touching, gravity doing the work.
This thing between them—whatever it was—was no longer deniable.
The Bugatti purred beneath them as he drove, night swallowing the city.
“Very Bruce Wayne of you,” Celina teased, glancing around the sleek interior.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Careful.”
“Oh, come on,” she said lightly. “My boss picks me up in a supercar to attend a charity ball. I should be terrified.”
“You should be,” he replied calmly.
She laughed, emboldened. “All that money. All that control. Do you ever loosen the grip?”
He glanced at her, dark eyes heated. “Only when I’m tempted to spank the sass out of someone.”
The words hit her like lightning.
Shock.
Heat.
A shiver she couldn’t hide.
Her breath caught. “You wouldn’t dare.”
His voice dropped. “Test me.”
Silence fell—but it was thick with promise.
Before the venue came into view, he reached over, fingers brushing her knee—brief, deliberate, intimate.
“Celina,” he said softly, unexpectedly gentle. “No matter what happens tonight… I’m glad it’s you standing beside me.”
The sincerity in his voice stole her breath.
For the first time all evening, she had no clever reply.
And that frightened her far more than the night ahead.
- Writer
