15: Tea With An Angel
1167 Words
The conservatory was a palace of glass and greenery — all light, scent, and illusion. Sunlight poured through the domed ceiling, filtering across the polished marble floor and the orchids that framed every corner.
Amara arrived in a pale dress, soft and unthreatening, her hair pinned simply. To the world, she was the perfect young wife — polite, quiet, fragile. Only her eyes betrayed the storm underneath.
Celeste Hollingsworth sat at the far end of the tea table, her silhouette reflected in the glass wall behind her. She was grace wrapped in silk — white hat, pearl earrings, a smile that had charmed half the city. When she looked up, her lips curved with something almost maternal.
“Amara,” she said smoothly. “You’re prettier than the papers suggest. Marriage agrees with you.”
Amara took a seat opposite her. “You flatter me.”
“I always do. It keeps people comfortable.” Celeste poured the tea herself — an old-world gesture of control. The china clinked lightly. “Milk?”
“None, thank you.”
They sipped in silence for a beat. The air was fragrant with jasmine, yet beneath it lingered something sharper — metal, perhaps, or menace. Celeste’s voice was honey over steel when she spoke again.
“You’ve had a difficult year. Poor thing — all that scandal, the sudden marriage, the loss of your reputation. It must be exhausting.”
Amara smiled faintly. “Exhaustion is relative.”
“Mm.” Celeste’s eyes glittered. “And yet, you’ve adapted. Not everyone survives the Cruz family’s storms. Most drown.”
“I learned to swim young,” Amara said. “In hospitals, you either sink or float.”
Celeste’s laughter was musical but empty. “So I hear. You were quite the compassionate nurse — always giving, always kind. That must be why Eduardo took an interest.”
Her tone sharpened slightly on Eduardo, just enough to draw blood without breaking the surface.
Amara kept her expression neutral. “He’s family now.”
“Ah.” Celeste tilted her head. “Family. Such a dangerous word among the Cruzes.”
Amara set her cup down. “Dangerous, perhaps, but binding.”
Celeste smiled — a crescent moon of secrets. “And that binding… is it love, or leverage?”
Amara met her gaze directly. “Depends who’s holding the rope.”
For a heartbeat, the older woman’s expression faltered. Then she laughed again, slower this time. “Oh, you really are Sebastian’s wife. I underestimated you.”
“I’m not his weakness,” Amara said softly. “I’m his mirror.”
Celeste leaned back, studying her like a rare painting. “You didn’t come here to exchange philosophy, my dear. You came because you think you have something. Something worth risking this little tea date for.”
Amara didn’t flinch. “You’re right.”
Celeste arched an eyebrow. “Then by all means — enlighten me.”
Amara reached into her bag and placed a single page on the table. It was a copy from the ledger — not the original, but convincing enough. The names, the codes, the trail leading directly to Hollingsworth Foundation, Project Lazarus.
Celeste’s fingers froze midair. For a second, her mask slipped — just a flicker of realization, then composure returned.
“Ah,” she said softly. “So that’s what this is about.”
“Veronica knew,” Amara said. “She found out before she died. She tried to stop Eduardo. You helped him cover it up.”
Celeste didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes drifted to the sunlight shimmering across her cup. “Veronica Cruz was a dreamer,” she murmured. “She wanted to heal the world, but she never understood that the world doesn’t want healing — it wants control. Eduardo gave it that. I merely helped him shape the illusion.”
“You built an empire on stolen lives,” Amara said, her voice shaking. “People died so you could sip tea in peace.”
Celeste’s smile thinned. “People always die for peace, darling. That’s the price of every civilization, every dynasty — even your husband’s.”
“My husband isn’t you.”
Celeste’s eyes glinted. “No, he’s worse. He’s what happens when guilt breeds in silence. Sebastian plays at morality, but he was part of it too.”
Amara stiffened. “That’s a lie.”
Celeste’s tone softened, almost pitying. “Is it? Who do you think cleaned Eduardo’s mess after Veronica’s death? Who made the ledgers disappear from the Cruz archives? Your precious husband was his fixer before he was your savior.”
Amara’s pulse raced. “You’re twisting the truth.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he simply didn’t tell you everything. You of all people should know — men rarely do.”
Amara wanted to deny it, to dismiss the words as poison, but a seed of doubt lodged deep in her chest. Sebastian’s secrecy, his guarded eyes, the way he’d avoided questions about Veronica — they all stirred now, whispering.
Celeste watched her reaction with cruel delight. “Ah. So he hasn’t told you. Good. Secrets make love more… interesting.”
“Enough.” Amara stood. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”
Celeste’s tone turned almost tender. “My dear, I already have. Every night, in ways you can’t imagine. But tell me — when you expose us, what then? Do you think the world will thank you? The press will crucify you. Eduardo will destroy Sebastian. And you — the little nurse who married into hell — you’ll be buried with us.”
“I’m not afraid,” Amara said, though her voice trembled.
Celeste smiled, serene and deadly. “Then you’re foolish.”
⸻
A rustle came from behind the glass wall. Amara tensed. Through the reflection, she saw two men in dark suits standing near the exit — silent, waiting.
Celeste rose slowly. “Run along now, before my patience wears thin. I won’t have you escorted unless I must.”
Amara gathered the paper and turned to leave, her heart hammering. Just as she reached the door, Celeste’s voice floated after her.
“Tell Sebastian,” she said, “that secrets buried with Veronica don’t stay dead forever. The dead always want witnesses.”
Amara froze — but didn’t look back. She walked out into the sunlight, every nerve alive with fear and fury.
Outside, a black car waited by the curb. The passenger window rolled down — Sebastian. His eyes met hers, searching for answers she wasn’t ready to give.
She climbed in, silent.
“Well?” he asked.
She stared ahead, her voice low and cold. “She said you buried more than ledgers, Sebastian. She said you buried the truth.”
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
And in the silence between them, Amara realized that Celeste’s most dangerous weapon wasn’t power or wealth — it was truth.
And now, she wanted it all.
- Writer
