Chapter Eight: The First Move
1635 Words
Celina’s POV
I couldn’t sleep.
Not with the weight of the betrayal pressing down on my chest. My father. The man who raised me, promised to always protect me. He’d handed me over like I was some pawn in a game I never signed up for.
Why did he do it? Why lie to me? Why didn’t he tell me the truth?
I lay awake most of the night, tossing and turning, but nothing made sense. The ache in my chest wouldn’t go away, and it gnawed at me like a reminder that I couldn’t trust anyone. Not even him.
I wasn’t going to let this break me. I couldn’t.
Then, somewhere around dawn, I think I finally managed to sleep.
The soft knock on the door pulled me from my sleep, but it didn’t make me stir immediately. I didn’t want to acknowledge the morning, but the sound was persistent, dragging me from the haze of dreams.
I rubbed my eyes and stretched, the cool sheets shifting beneath me. The air felt thick, the light too sharp for my tired eyes.
The knock came again, more insistent this time.
“Come in,” I called, sitting up in bed, my voice steady, even though I felt far from it.
The maid entered, carrying a tray of breakfast. She looked at me, hesitating for a moment before stepping forward.
“Your breakfast, ma’am,” she said softly, placing the tray on the bedside table.
I glanced at it, then back at her. “I’ll be eating in the dining room from now on,” I announced, my voice firm. I wasn’t going to let this place feel like a cage anymore. I was going to take control, starting with the simple things.
The maid looked surprised, almost shocked. She tried to put the tray back in her hands, as if questioning whether she had heard me correctly. Then placed it back on the table.
“No,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I won’t be having my meals in the room anymore. Take it to the dining room.”
She picked the tray back and nodded without saying a word and quickly exited the room. I heard her footsteps fade as she left, leaving me alone with the silence.
Good. I needed to make it clear that I wasn’t going to be treated like I was insignificant.
My thoughts had swirled—and still were, honestly—but my body needed the comfort of warmth.
I got out of bed, my feet felt cold against the polished floor. I moved toward the bathroom. I took a warm shower, letting the heat soak into my skin, hoping it would rinse away some of the thoughts I couldn’t silence. It didn’t. But at least I felt a little more like myself when I stepped out.
I stepped out, wrapping a towel around my hair, and looked in the mirror. Then I moved to the massive, pristine wardrobe that held more clothes than I would ever need. It was still impressive, I had to admit. At this point, it should’ve felt normal, but it still hit me—just a little—how much everything in this place reeked of power and control.
I didn’t let it distract me for long.
“I’ll show you what a wife means,” I muttered to myself as I chose a dress. Nothing too extravagant, just something simple and elegant. I didn’t need anything more.
I dried my hair, applied a bit of makeup—not to hide myself, but to armor up. I wasn’t going to be some passive participant in this marriage. I wasn’t going to let Damon think I was just another thing he could control.
I slipped into the dress—a soft ivory fabric that hugged my figure but flowed just enough to still feel elegant. Not flashy. Not overdone. Just... right. I faced the mirror again. The woman in the reflection was different. She wasn’t the girl who’d signed away her life on some piece of paper. She wasn’t anyone’s pawn.
I wasn’t going to let anyone control me.
I opened the door, expecting to see the guards stationed outside, but the hallway was empty. For a moment, I hesitated. Had they been told to leave me alone?
I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a trap. But I wasn’t going to second-guess myself.
I moved with purpose, feeling the cool air of the hallway against my skin as I walked, each step unhurried and intentional. Not sneaky, not rushed—just steady, like I had every right to be there. I looked free. Or at least, I made it look that way.
I wasn’t sure exactly where the dining room was, but I remembered seeing glimpse of it while passing. Somewhere near the living room.
I wasn’t about to wander aimlessly this time. I had a destination. A purpose.
I found myself in the living room. The massive windows poured light into the space. Shadows danced quietly in corners, and the walls wore art-like secrets. Then I saw them — two guards, not close enough to block me, but close enough to let me know they were watching—monitoring.
I didn’t falter. I walked past like they were part of the furniture, but I felt the heat of their stares.
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Damon’s POV
The knock on the door broke my concentration. I looked up from the papers on my desk, annoyed at the intrusion.
A maid entered, bowing her head briefly.
“Sir,” she said, “Madam Celina has requested to be served in the dining room.”
I raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t expected that. I stared at her for a moment, letting the words sink in.
She wants to be served in the dining room? I hadn’t expected this. Not today. Not yet.
“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice low.
“Yes, sir,” she confirmed.
I leaned back in my chair, tapping my fingers thoughtfully on the desk. What was she playing at? Was she testing me? Trying to push my boundaries?
I dismissed the maid with a wave of my hand, my mind kept turning. What was she planning?
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Celina’s POV
I found the dining room. It was bigger than I remembered from earlier glances—maybe because now I was walking in like I belonged. It looked like something from a luxury lifestyle magazine. High ceilings, polished walnut table stretching longer than necessary, gilded chandeliers casting soft golden light. It was quiet—too quiet, really. The kind that made you hyper-aware of your every movement.
And the shift in the air was instant. Every movement stilled. Every servant paused like someone had pressed a 'pause' button. For a split second, it was just me and the ridiculously long polished table.
I didn’t wait for someone to guide me. I moved to the seat at the head of the table—the one that clearly belonged to Damon but was currently empty. I sat slowly, smoothing my dress, aware of how quiet everything had gotten. Like even the air was waiting to see what I’d do next.
I lifted my chin, and I kept my back straight, pretending I couldn’t feel the weight of a dozen curious stares.
The dinnerware looked unreal. Shiny, polished, like something pulled from a magazine. The cutlery alone probably cost more than everything in my closet back home. Everything gleamed—perfect and untouchable. Except I touched it anyway.
The staff moved with careful precision—napkin spread gently on my lap, silverware adjusted, the first course laid out in front of me like I was royalty. Some creamy soup with herbs I didn’t recognize. No one spoke. They didn’t even look directly at me—just did their job.
The aroma of it all made my stomach growl, but I wasn't hungry. Not really. I was just… here.
I picked up my spoon, took a sip.
It was warm and rich—but I barely tasted it. I wasn’t really hungry. But I ate anyway, I didn’t rush the meal. I ate slowly and calmly. I was sure, just being here, in this room, at this table—it was a statement. A quiet one. One I wasn’t sure anyone had expected me to make.
Halfway through, one of the maids came around to pour wine into the crystal glass beside me, tilting it just right to pour without a single drop spilling. She started to step back when I looked up and said, “Thank you.”
She paused—just slightly—and met my eyes. Then quickly gave a small nod and stepped away.
It was a small moment, barely a second. But there was something in her look. Was it the thank you that surprised her? Or the fact that I was here at all?
Maybe no one ever said thank you in this house. Or maybe no one ever said it to her.
I took a slow sip of wine just as I heard footsteps behind me.
Damon.
I didn’t turn. I didn’t have to. I’d started to recognize his footsteps.
He was in a crisp dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from the shower. He looked like he had just stepped out of a billion-dollar ad campaign. His eyes locked onto mine, and then—lowered—to the chair I was sitting in.
His seat.
The room shifted, almost like the air held its breath. But I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
Instead, I picked up a piece of toast, took a calm bite, and reached for a slice of apple like I had all the time in the world.
- Writer
