Tied to my enemy

Chapter seven: Threads of Deception

The morning came gray and restless, the sky heavy with unspoken warnings. Celeste barely slept; every time she closed her eyes, she saw the man in her room—the shadow, the knife glinting faintly, the way Lysander’s fury had burned through the storm.

Now the mansion was swarming with security. Cameras were being installed in the hallways, guards posted at the gates. But none of it eased the tightness in her chest.

She stood in the library, staring out the tall windows at the crashing waves below. The sea looked endless, dangerous, free everything she wasn’t.

Behind her, the door opened quietly. Lysander’s reflection appeared in the glass, dark suit, sharp edges, the faintest trace of exhaustion in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he said softly.

She turned. “I’m not alone. I have guards outside every room.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His voice held something she couldn’t name—guilt, maybe or care he didn’t want to show.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Lysander,” she said, her tone careful. “I need answers.”

He exhaled. “I’m working on it.”

“Working on it?” She stepped closer. “A man broke into my room, and all you can say is you’re working on it?”

“I’m not going to feed you lies,” he said quietly. “Whoever’s behind this is powerful—and patient. This wasn’t a random attack. It was a message.”

Her stomach dropped. “A message to who?”

He met her eyes. “To me.”

The words hit harder than she expected.

“To you?” she whispered. “Why?”

He hesitated. “Because this isn’t the first time someone’s tried to use you against me.”

Celeste froze. “What do you mean?”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “Before we were married, I started investigating your father’s dealings. There were… irregularities. People he worked with who weren’t exactly legitimate. The night your father approached me for this marriage, I thought it was a coincidence. Now I know better.”

Her pulse quickened. “You’re saying my father—”

“I’m saying someone in his circle has been manipulating both our families for years.” He turned toward her fully. “And whoever they are, they want me to lose everything.”

Celeste’s hands trembled. “You should’ve told me this sooner.”

“I wanted to protect you.”

She laughed bitterly. “Protect me? By lying to me?”

His expression darkened, but there was regret there too. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.”

“Which is the same thing,” she said sharply.

“Celeste—”

“No,” she cut in. “You talk about trust, but you’re the one who built this marriage on secrets.”

For a moment, he said nothing. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sea. Then, quietly, he said, “You’re right.”

The words disarmed her.

“I should have trusted you,” he continued. “But I’ve lost too much because of trust. I can’t afford to lose you too.”

She wanted to stay angry. She wanted to throw the truth back in his face but there was something in his voice—something raw that made her chest ache.

“You’re not going to lose me,” she said finally, her voice soft. “Unless you push me away.”

Later that day, Lysander left for his downtown office, promising he’d return before nightfall. Celeste watched him from the balcony as his car disappeared down the drive.

When he was gone, she felt the house close in around her again—beautiful, cold, and full of secrets.

She wandered to his office, intending only to find comfort in his presence that still lingered there. But when she saw the folder on his desk the same one from before her curiosity overpowered her restraint.

She hesitated, then opened it.

Inside were reports, photographs, and copies of emails. Most of it was business correspondence, but one envelope caught her attention. It was addressed to Lysander Vale, the handwriting unfamiliar. Inside was a single photograph.

Celeste froze.

It was a picture of her taken weeks before the wedding. She was leaving a charity event, smiling at someone off-camera. But what chilled her wasn’t the photo itself; it was what was written on the back.

“She’s the key. Use her well.”

Her breath hitched.

She sank into his chair, staring at the words until they blurred. Who had sent this? And what did they mean by “use her”?

The door creaked open suddenly. Celeste jumped, slamming the folder shut.

It was Adrian, Lysander’s head of security—a man she’d met only twice.

“Mrs. Vale,” he said with a polite nod. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Her heart raced. “I was just… looking for something.”

“Mr. Vale gave strict instructions that no one touches his desk.”

Something in his tone made her uneasy. His eyes lingered on the folder, too long, too intently.

She forced a smile. “Of course. I’ll leave.”

She brushed past him quickly, but she could feel his gaze following her as she went.

That evening, Lysander returned earlier than usual. Celeste was waiting for him in the sitting room, the photograph hidden in her hand.

“Long day?” she asked carefully.

He loosened his tie, glancing at her. “You could say that.”

“Anything new about the attack?”

“Not yet.” His tone was guarded. “But I’m close.”

She took a slow breath. “Lysander, I need to ask you something.”

He looked up. “What is it?”

She hesitated, then placed the photograph on the table between them. “Who sent this?”

His entire expression changed. The easy control he wore like armor cracked for a second—just a second but it was enough.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your office,” she said steadily. “You didn’t mean for me to see it, did you?”

“Celeste—”

“Answer me,” she said, her voice shaking. “What does this mean? Use her well?”

He dragged a hand down his face, pacing once before turning back to her. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Then explain it to me!” she snapped. “Because right now it looks like I’m part of some plan you won’t tell me about!”

He stopped pacing. “The message came from someone connected to your father. Before the wedding.”

She felt her throat tighten. “So the marriage really was a deal.”

“It was,” he said quietly. “At first.”

The words hit her like a slap.

He continued, voice low. “Your father offered me a merger. Said marrying you would unite both companies and end the feud. But what he didn’t tell me was that there were people trying to take over from the inside. The photo was a warning someone wanted to use you to control him. I agreed to the marriage to stop them.”

Celeste stared at him, speechless. “So you used me to save yourself.”

He stepped closer. “No, I used the situation to protect you both. I didn’t know you then, Celeste. I didn’t expect—” He broke off, his voice rough. “I didn’t expect you.”

Tears burned her eyes. “You should’ve told me the truth.”

“I wanted to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But the more I knew you, the more I realized you weren’t just part of the deal anymore. You became… everything that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

She shook her head, backing away. “You can’t say things like that after lying to me for months.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You did by omission,” she said bitterly. “You took away my choice.”

He reached for her, but she pulled back. “Don’t.”

“Celeste—”

“Don’t,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “Because I don’t know if I’m angry at you for lying or at myself for wanting to believe you care.”

For the first time since they’d met, Lysander looked helpless. He stood there, silent, watching as she turned and left the room.

Celeste spent the night in the guest suite overlooking the ocean. She didn’t sleep. The waves crashed below, relentless, echoing the storm in her chest.

She loved him that was the cruelest part. She loved a man who had married her for power, then claimed it was for protection. A man who spoke the truth only when cornered.

And yet, when she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hands, his voice, his fear when he found her in danger. That wasn’t fake it was real.

But real didn’t always mean right.

The next morning, Lysander was gone before dawn no note, no message.

At breakfast, Adrian appeared again, a polite smile perfectly in place. “Mr. Vale asked me to escort you if you wish to leave the house today.”

Celeste frowned. “He didn’t tell me he’d be out.”

“He’s handling the investigation personally,” Adrian replied. “Said he’d return by evening.”

She hesitated. “And he asked you to watch me?”

“His exact words,” Adrian said smoothly, “were to keep you safe.”

She forced a smile. “Of course.”

But inside, unease coiled tight because when Adrian turned away, she saw the faint edge of a tattoo on his wrist the same symbol she’d glimpsed on the intruder’s hand the night of the attack.

Her blood ran cold.

She didn’t say a word, not yet.

But as she watched him leave the room, one thought burned clear in her mind.

Lysander wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

And this time, the danger was much closer than he realized.