her return
769 Words
Chapter Seventeen: Her Return
She hadn’t seen Xavier all morning.
After last night—the way he touched her, the way his lips had devoured hers, the way his voice had broken when he said he couldn’t stay—she had expected something… more. A conversation. A look. Even guilt.
But there was nothing.
Just silence.
And then the house shifted.
She noticed it in the maids’ nervous chatter. The way everyone suddenly looked busy. The way her mother kept checking the mirror and fixing her hair.
Something was coming. Or someone.
By late afternoon, the grand living room was filled with soft music and the scent of roses. She descended the stairs just in time to hear the sound of heels clicking across the marble floor—and a feminine voice laced with confidence and charm.
“I told you I’d come back when you least expected it.”
She froze at the bottom of the stairs.
Standing near the grand piano, in a flawless white pantsuit and stilettos, was a woman. Tall. Elegant. Skin glowing like she’d just stepped off a magazine cover. Her lips were painted red, her hair in waves down her back.
And she was holding Xavier’s arm.
Celeste.
She didn’t have to ask. The familiarity between them, the ease of her touch, the way she leaned into him—it was all too clear.
This was the woman who used to own his heart.
The woman who once had all of him.
Jealousy rose like bile in her throat. It was sharp. Ugly. Painful.
Xavier glanced at her then—just for a second. His eyes found hers from across the room, unreadable but intense. Then Celeste leaned in and kissed his cheek.
He didn’t pull away.
Something inside her cracked.
She turned sharply, heading back upstairs, her stomach twisting. So last night had meant nothing to him? Just weakness? A mistake?
Was she just another game?
She didn’t come down for dinner. She didn’t answer when he knocked once, quietly, on her door.
She was done playing soft.
But fate had other plans.
Hours later, as she padded through the hallway in a tank top and tiny pajama shorts, she turned a corner—and walked straight into him.
Xavier.
He looked… tense.
His jaw was tight, shirt undone at the collar, hair slightly disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it. The hallway lights cast golden shadows across his face.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, voice low.
She folded her arms. “Why? Thought you’d be busy catching up with your perfect Celeste.”
His eyes darkened.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Speak the truth?” she snapped. “She kissed you. Touched you. You let her. What am I supposed to think?”
His hand hit the wall beside her head, trapping her between his arm and the door.
“I let her kiss me. I didn’t kiss her.”
She scoffed. “Same difference.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s not.”
His eyes were locked on hers now, and suddenly the air between them sparked with heat again.
“Do you want to know what I thought when I saw her walk in?” he asked, voice low, trembling with restraint. “I thought about you. Upstairs. In that damn red nightgown. Spreading your legs and whispering my name.”
Her breath caught.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you even when she touched me,” he said through gritted teeth. “You think she still owns a piece of me? She never had what you already do.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, heart pounding in her ears.
“So why are you still pulling away?” she whispered.
His gaze dropped to her lips.
“I don’t know how to stop.”
She reached up, fingers brushing his jaw.
“Then don’t.”
His hand tightened into a fist against the wall. She could feel the war inside him, the struggle between desire and control.
He leaned in slowly, almost touching, his breath hot on her lips.
“I’m going to break if you keep pushing,” he whispered.
“Then break,” she whispered back, lips barely brushing his.
But instead of kissing her, he pulled back, running a hand through his hair with a frustrated growl. “You’re driving me insane.”
Then he turned and walked away, again.
But this time, she didn’t cry.
Because she saw it in his eyes.
He was breaking.
And next time… she’d make sure he shattered.
- Writer
