Chapter 16
May 30, 2025
Celene POV
Nothing happened… well, nothing that could be explained without breathing heavier. I asked Damon to bring me home. That was all. And yet between the city lights and the gravity between us, everything changed.
His car was quiet, steeped in shadow. The hum of the engine and the occasional pulse of a red light were the only interruptions. Inside, the tension dripped slow, intoxicating. He didn’t speak. Neither did I. But the silence between us wasn’t empty—it was brimming. His body was so close I could feel the heat rolling off him in waves, and still there was that space. A charged dare neither of us wanted to name.
The first red light stopped us. I turned, slow, a breath from his jaw. “I could walk from here,” I whispered, voice low and heavy with meaning.
His eyes flicked to mine. “No. I’m taking you all the way.”
The way he said it sent something molten curling in my stomach, and a slow, aching wetness pooling between my thighs.
So I kissed him.
Just a brush. A question in the shape of my mouth. He answered with hunger. Lips crushing mine, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping my thigh. The light turned green. We tore apart but only just.
The next red light hit harder. I laughed softly, a wicked sound. “Another chance to stop,” I teased, hand sliding up his arm.
He didn’t stop. He reached for me instead, fingers trembling with restraint and desire. The kiss was hotter, sharper. His hand slipped to my waist, found the button of my blouse. Undone. One. Two. His breath caught.
By the third light, my blouse was gaping open, my skin lit by the pulse of passing traffic. I moaned into his mouth, fingers tugging at his tie, needing something to hold. He groaned, his control fraying fast.
The final stop was just outside my place. We weren’t even pretending anymore.
His hands were everywhere—greedy, reverent. My lips at his ear, my voice a whisper of sin. “Do you ever think about what happens when we stop pretending?”
“I think about it too much,” he growled.
I kissed him again, harder. Rougher. One hand in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder. The air between us burned. But then—
I stopped.
His breath crashed into mine. Hands still on my waist. “Why?” he asked, voice raw.
I smirked, chest heaving, slowly buttoning my blouse. “Because I can.”
And I left him there, dazed and hungry. Wanting. The silence I left behind was not emptiness. It was control. Mine.
***
The morning started like it always did—with control. I was up before sunrise. Trained. Reviewed reports. Rewrote half a pitch deck. When I walked into the Monroe lobby, my heels clicked with purpose. My lipstick was war paint. My suit, armor. Everything in place.
I didn’t inherit this job. I fought tooth and nail for it. And I made sure every inch of that glass tower remembered that.
But fate? Fate doesn’t care for control.
I was seconds from the elevator when I saw him—Rhys. Wrinkled suit, bloodshot eyes, desperation clinging to him like cheap cologne.
“Celene—wait.”
I didn’t.
But he blocked the elevator doors. “That night at the bar… I wasn’t lying. I meant every word I said.”
I stared at him like a blade. “Are you drunk right now?”
“No. Just—God, please. Just listen.”
He reached for me.
Mistake.
I shoved him back, palm to chest, power crackling. “You don’t get to beg your way back into my life like it’s some door you forgot to close.”
“Celene—”
“I’m not your savior, Rhys. I’m not your in-between. I’m not the bandaid you slap on between breakdowns with Bianca.”
And then—Click. Click. Click.
Bianca arrived in stilettos and smugness, holding a designer lunch bag like a trophy. “So that’s why you missed my birthday.”
“Bianca—this isn’t—”
“Don’t embarrass yourself.” She turned to me. “I guess when Daddy’s money isn’t enough, you chase someone else’s fiancé to stay relevant.”
I laughed. Dark. Sharp. “Oh honey, you brought quinoa and jealousy into your man’s office and called it love.”
Her smile faltered.
“You really want to do this here?” I stepped closer. “You think your security blanket and ring make you powerful?”
“Celene, stop—”
I wasn’t listening.
“You’re not mad he’s here. You’re mad because even drunk and broken, he still doesn’t choose you.”
Bianca’s mouth snapped shut.
I walked. I didn’t need cheers. I left behind silence—and I knew she’d hear it all day.
***
But power is fragile.
The moment I sat at my desk, it shattered.
“Is Monroe’s CEO Just a Pretty Pawn? New Evidence Suggests Strategic Nepotism.”
It hit like a knife between ribs. I stared at the headline. The leaked emails. The anonymous board quotes. Words like puppet. Placeholder. Name-only leader.
My hands clenched.
The whispers came fast.
Wasn’t she married to Rhys?
She only got the job because of Fernand.
She’ll be gone by Christmas.
I walked the hallway like it was a gauntlet. Pity in their eyes. Smirks that tried to look like sympathy. Each stare cut deeper.
I reached the Q&A and the final blow came.
“Was Ms. Monroe’s appointment a PR decision? Or is there substance behind the surname?”
I froze. The world tunneled. The lights felt too hot. The stares too sharp.
And then, there was him.
Damon.
He didn’t walk in. He arrived. Claimed the room. Took the mic without asking.
“Ms. Monroe’s strategy led a twelve percent surge in EMEA growth in one quarter,” he said. Calm. Cold. Deadly. “Her forecasts pulled us from collapse to stability in under four months. I suggest you read her work before you question it.”
He turned. Looked at them—really looked.
“She didn’t inherit this. She earned it. And if that threatens you, the problem isn’t her
