THE BILLIONAIRE'S BROKEN VOW

CHAPTER 4

CELESTE

I got to Adrian's apartment—or should I say a penthouse. He loves downtown, away from the city, which is far from his family, and I couldn't help but want to know if there's any reason behind that.

While I was with Dominic, I've always known that he never really had a good relationship with his brother—In fact, I don't know much about him either.

But all that didn't matter because he was my ticket to getting back at Dominic and his family for what they did to me. I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell, expecting Adrian, but instead was answered by a middle-aged housekeeper.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

I smiled. “Hi, my name is Celeste Moreau. I'm here for a business meeting with Mr. Vance,” I explained.

“Oh, he mentioned he'd be expecting you today,” she opened the door further for me. “Please, come in.”

I entered and was immediately awed by the interior design of this place. I could tell that he had a theme going though—Dark luxury. It wasn't bad; it fit his personality anyway.

“Wait here, I'd have Mr. Vance down shortly.”

I nodded. She led me to the living room and went up to get Adrian. A few seconds later, he was done with her, and the sight almost left me breathless.

He wasn't in his typical suit. Instead, he wore a black tank top, showing all of his bulging muscles and biceps, and grey sweatpants.

For someone who's having a business meeting, I'd have expected him to dress a little more professionally—or decent at least.

But I didn't make a comment and just remained professional. “Good morning, Mr. Vance,” I stretched forth my hand to meet his. We shook hands, and the way he looked at me made me even more breathless.

I composed myself and let go of his hand. I cleared my throat and asked, “Where are we having the meeting?”

“Upstairs,” he replied.

My eyes widened like they were going to pop out of their sockets. “Are you talking about your room? That's highly unprofessional.”

He chuckled, and that did things to me. “I'm not talking about my room, Miss Moreau. I meant the rooftop. It's much better there to dispel all your naughty thoughts.”

I immediately started feeling very awkward and let out a humorless laugh. “You should've led with that in the first place then.”

He didn't say anything and just led me to an elevator. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and the faint breeze from above immediately brushed against my skin as we stepped out onto the rooftop.

It was beautiful — the kind of view you only saw in magazines. The city stretched endlessly below, lights flickering like tiny fireflies. A glass table sat in the center with two chairs, and beside it, a small bar cart filled with expensive-looking bottles.

“Wow,” I murmured before I could stop myself.

Adrian smiled faintly as he poured two glasses of champagne. “It’s my thinking place. I come up here when I need to remind myself that even from this high, things still look small.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just smiled and took the glass he handed me. “That’s… poetic.”

He shrugged lightly. “Occupational hazard. I spend too much time alone up here.”

I studied him quietly for a moment. He was so different from Dominic. Where Dominic was sharp edges and ice, Adrian felt like warmth—grounded and calm. Even the way he spoke made me feel less defensive, like I didn’t have to keep my guard up all the time.

“So,” I began, placing my glass down, “you wanted to discuss business.”

“I did,” he said, nodding. “But I think before we talk about numbers and contracts, I’d rather know the person behind Moreau Atelier.”

I tilted my head slightly. “Is that your way of saying you did research but still want to test me?”

He chuckled, and that sound made my heart skip in a certain way only one person could. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like hearing people tell their stories in their own words.”

I hesitated, but something about his voice made me answer honestly. “There’s not much to tell. I built the company from scratch after… losing everything.”

His eyes softened, though he didn’t press for details. “Loss builds stronger people,” he said quietly. “But it also leaves scars.”

I looked away, pretending to admire the skyline. “You sound like someone who knows that too well.”

“I do.”

When I turned back to him, he was leaning back in his chair, his expression distant. “My brother ruined many things for me,” he said. “Family ties, business opportunities, trust—you name it.” He paused, swirling the champagne in his glass. “Sometimes,” he added, voice lower, “the people we love the most are the ones who bury us first.”

The words hit me like a stone to the chest. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. It was as if he’d peeled open something I’d spent years trying to keep locked away.

I let out a soft laugh. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am,” he said simply. “And judging by that look in your eyes, so are you.”

I met his gaze, and for the first time in years, I didn’t look away. There was no judgment there, no manipulation—just quiet understanding. It was unsettling, but also strangely comforting.

“I used to think love was supposed to fix things,” I admitted softly. “Now I think it only exposes what’s already broken.”

Adrian nodded slowly, his eyes still on me. “Maybe. Or maybe love doesn’t fix us—maybe it just shows us what still needs to be healed.”

When we finally went over the details of the partnership, it felt easy—effortless even. His ideas were sharp, creative, and surprisingly aligned with mine.

“I should go,” I said, rising to my feet. “It’s getting late.”

Adrian stood as well and walked me to the elevator. When the doors opened, he turned to me and said quietly, “You don’t have to face the Vances alone, Celeste.”

I froze, my fingers tightening around my purse strap. There was no accusation in his tone, only sincerity.

“Who says I’m facing anyone?” I replied, forcing a smile.

He smiled back, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The doors closed between us before I could respond. As the elevator descended, I realized my heart was pounding—not from anger, not from revenge, but something far more dangerous.

For the first time in a long time, someone’s voice didn’t sound like manipulation. And that terrified me.