Forced marriage: Mr Flynn darling wife

Chapter Three

CELESTE’S POV

I stood at the kitchen door, watching my grandpa leave, his departing figure a somber reminder of the unspoken truths between Luca and me. He knew things were tense, but there was no room for concessions on either side—not yet.

The dining room, once filled with polite chatter and the clink of silverware, was now quiet, echoing with the distant sounds of cars and muffled voices. I could hear Luca's deep, composed voice bidding the last guests farewell, his earlier words slicing through my thoughts like glass. “What did he mean by me trapping him?”

Determined to distract myself, I began clearing the table, stacking dishes with a rhythm that matched the chaos swirling in my mind. The sound of the front door closing announced Luca’s arrival, and my body tensed at the thought of facing him again. I forced myself to keep working, pretending his presence didn’t unsettle me.

Without thinking, I dropped the cloth and rushed to catch him before he disappeared into one of the many rooms.

Luca,” I called, breathless, hoping he wouldn’t ignore me. For a moment, he paused, his back rigid. Then, slowly, he turned to face me, his expression as guarded as ever.

“Um,” I stammered, searching for the right words. “I can move out, if that’s what you need. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in your own house because of me.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before it hardened again. “I don’t mind taking another room,” he said, his voice detached.

“It’s not about another room,” he added, his tone colder now. “The only way I’ll feel comfortable is if you leave my house—my life.”

The finality of his words rooted me to the spot, tightening my chest with an unexpected pain. I watched him walk away, each step taking him further from me—not just in distance but in spirit. I wanted to shout, to argue, to set things straight, but all I could manage was a heavy silence.

No, this is too much,” I thought, the sting of rejection cutting deeper than I’d anticipated. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be here, either…

I don’t know how long I stood there, motionless, before I found myself back in the kitchen. The dim room was cast in shadows as the daylight faded. I sank into a chair, burying my face in my hands, trying to steady the storm inside me.

A soft clatter pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see a steaming mug of coffee being pushed toward me. The aroma was rich and inviting, and without thinking, I took a sip. The warmth spread through me, grounding me in the moment.

“He’s not usually like that,” came a gentle voice.

I glanced up and met Helen’s kind eyes. She had been with the Flynns longer than anyone, even before Luca was born. The lines on her face spoke of years of service and secrets kept.

I raised a brow, silently asking her to continue.

She sighed and took the seat across from me, her expression tinged with sadness. “When Luca was young, he adored his mother. They were inseparable. But she was ill, even though you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She tried to stay strong— for him.”

Helen paused, as if choosing her words carefully. “Luca’s father, Mr. Flynn, brought another woman into the house during that time. She wasn’t kind to Luca, treating him poorly when no one was looking.

His mother, too weak and worn from her illness, couldn’t do anything to stop it and the guilt ate away at her.”

I felt my chest tighten, the picture Helen painted was stark and heart-breaking.

I sat up, listening intently, the coffee forgotten in my hand.

“One winter, Mrs. Flynn told Luca she was going out to get some snickers chocolate, —which was Luca's favourite.

She didn’t want him to know she was going in for surgery. Unfortunately, that night, there was a heavy snow storm, and Luca waited outside, believing she was coming back. Helen sighed again. But she never did. The surgery failed, and she passed away.” Helen finished as her voice trembled slightly.

I felt a tear escape, trailing down my cheek before I could stop it. The image of a young boy, standing in the cold with hope in his eyes, with a promise that would never come through, shattered something in me. Luca wasn’t cruel; he was terrified, wounded, bound by a past he couldn’t escape.

Helen reached across the table and clasped my hand, her touch warm and firm. “Please, Celeste. Bring back the old Luca. Help him believe in happiness again.”

I nodded, a silent promise forming between us. It wouldn’t be easy, but the task no longer seemed impossible.

— —

I woke the next morning with a new sense of purpose. The weight on my chest felt lighter, as if the night’s conversation had given me permission to hope.

After a quick bath, I stood before the mirror, studying my reflection while applying lotion. This wasn’t just about Luca; it was about proving to myself that I could do this.

I chose a pink designer suit worth over a hundred million, the smooth fabric clinging elegantly to my skin. If there was one thing I’d never compromise on, it was my wardrobe.

As I fastened the last button of my suit and slipped into my heels, I felt a surge of confidence. I took a final look in the mirror; I was not just Celeste; I was a woman who would fight for her place, for her happiness, and for the man she refused to give up on.

“If you think I’ll break, Luca, you’re mistaken,” I whispered, my reflection staring back with fierce determination.

The drive to the registry was smooth, my hands steady on the wheel as the city passed by in blurred lights and movement. I had made my decision, I was going to change my name and officially become Mrs. Flynn. It was a bold step, perhaps reckless considering the state of our relationship. But I knew one thing for certain: I wouldn’t back down. I would embrace the role of a devoted wife, and I would find a way to bridge the gap between us.

No matter how cold Luca is, no matter how many walls he built around his heart, I was determined to break through.