Chapter 8
May 30, 2025
Celene’s POV
Our eyes locked, and neither of us blinked. I held his stare without hesitation, determined not to be the first to look away.
Even in silence, this was a battle, and I had no intention of losing. His mouth parted slightly, as if a response had started to form, but nothing came. Not a word. Not even a breath.
We sat suspended in that moment, held together by something invisible and electric, like time had rewound itself. The past had walked in wearing heels, and the future now sat in his chair, waiting for him to say something, anything, that might change the tide.
I saw the way his jaw tightened, the flicker in his throat when he swallowed too hard, the way his fingers curled inward from the table, abandoning the rhythmic tapping he always did when thinking.
He looked… lost.
Not stunned.
Not angry.
Just wrecked, and trying so hard to keep it hidden. Good. This wasn’t for shock value. I wasn’t here to be remembered, I was here to remind him that I didn’t just survive. I arrived.
The rest of the room kept moving in the periphery, papers shifting, coffee mugs clinking, the faint buzz of nervous breathing, but I heard none of it.
There was only him, and me, and everything he never said sorry for. For a brief second, something tugged at my chest. Not rage. Not grief. Just a low, dull ache. Not because I still wanted him. But because I had loved him. Completely. Quietly. And he had made me believe that love was something to be ashamed of.
Then the door opened, and the spell broke. I looked away, only because I chose to, not because I’d lost.
Fernand, my father, entered the room with the kind of quiet authority that didn’t need to announce itself. He didn’t speak until he reached the front of the table, resting one hand on the chair beside me like it belonged to him, like this had all been planned in advance, and maybe it had.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said, his voice smooth and cool. “As you’ve heard, there are changes coming.”
No one moved. Someone blinked too fast. One man actually crossed himself under the table. Fernand glanced toward me and gave a small, definitive nod.
“This is Celene Monroe,” he said. “My long lost daughter. And your new interim CEO.”
The air thinned.
A pen clattered to the floor.
Somewhere down the line, a man exhaled the words “No way” under his breath, like we’d just stepped into a bad episode of Succession.
But I didn’t react. I didn’t smile. I didn’t blink. I looked across the table, found Rhys again, and let a slow smirk tug at one corner of my mouth.
Not useful now, huh? Not such a burden anymore?
The door opened again. A man entered, tall, elegant, painfully put together in a suit that whispered wealth.
Damon Ashcroft. I didn’t need an introduction. Fernand, though, gave one anyway.
“He’ll be assisting with the transition,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Of course he would.
Damon had been the one they all expected to inherit this kingdom. And now? He’d have to share the throne, with the scandal.
Damon’s eyes met mine.
There was nothing soft in them. I returned the look with equal detachment. No warmth. No welcome. Whatever this dynamic was going to be, we’d figure it out later. Right now, I had something more important to do.
I turned and walked toward the head of the table, my heels clicking against the floor with slow, deliberate rhythm. The kind of sound that punctuated silence. The kind that didn’t ask for space, it claimed it.
No one said a word. Not even Rhys. Especially not Rhys.
I pulled out the chair and sat slowly, pressing my palms flat against the polished wood. Every movement was calculated, every breath measured. When I finally looked up, I met the eyes of every executive in the room. Then I looked back at him.
Rhys was still trying to understand how the story had changed so quickly. His mouth was drawn tight, his brows low. His shoulders locked with tension I used to massage away at night. Now? I wanted him to sit in it. Let it weigh him down.
I leaned forward slightly, my voice cool, controlled, and absolute.
“Let’s begin.”
