Chapter 22 Zatanna
ZATANNA
By the next afternoon, I’ve chosen someone different.
Not another polished society princess with a charity board and a family name carved into old stone.
Not someone who would look perfect on paper and leave Aleksei cold.
If I’m going to pull off the impossible and get this man married in a week, I need to stop picking women who look like strategy and start picking women who might actually hold his attention.
The money is too much to gamble with.
Life-changing doesn’t even begin to cover it. That number has been lodged in the back of my skull since he said it, flashing behind everything else. Rent. Debt. My mother’s request. The kind of money that could buy me a future instead of just a little more time.
So no, I cannot afford to get this wrong.
That’s how I end up sitting across from Celeste Vale in a boutique hotel lounge that smells like lilies and money, a tablet in front of me, a notebook beside it, and my phone vibrating every eight minutes with increasingly annoying messages from Jake.
Need you in today if possible. Client wants rush audio.
Zee?
Can you swing by by 6?
Need that voice, babe.
I flip the phone face down without replying.
For once, Jake can wait.
Right now, I’m looking at the woman who could solve every problem in my life if she says yes.
Celeste is stunning in a way that doesn’t feel real.
Not soft, approachable beauty. Weaponized beauty.
Dark glossy hair worn loose over one shoulder.
Skin like expensive cream. Eyes so pale they almost look silver in the low light.
Her face is all clean, elegant lines, sharp cheekbones, a mouth painted the exact shade of fresh blood.
She’s wearing ivory silk and diamonds small enough to pretend they’re subtle, which of course means they cost a fortune.
She’s the kind of woman people stare at when she walks into a room.
The kind of woman I always assume sees right through girls like me and dismisses us in under a second.
Instead, she’s studying me with unsettling focus, one leg crossed over the other, fingers curved around a teacup she hasn’t touched.
She’d insisted on meeting me first.
Not Aleksei. Me.
At first I thought it was a power move, or some upper-crust ritual I wasn’t aware of. But when she’d said, very calmly, I’d prefer to speak to the assistant before I decide whether to meet the man, I’d heard something else in it.
Caution, maybe. Or curiosity. Or the kind of woman who knows men like Aleksei come with shadows and wants to look at the shape of the shadow before stepping into it.
Fair enough.
“You’re quieter than I expected,” Celeste says at last.
I blink. “Sorry?”
She smiles faintly. She sets her cup down. “You’ve met him, obviously.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Straight to the point. I can respect that.
I choose my words carefully. “He’s intense.”
Her lips curve. “That’s one word.”
I don’t disagree.
She leans back slightly, looking me over again like she’s evaluating more than just my answer. “Tell me something real.”
That catches me off guard. “I’m sorry?”
“Everyone says the same things about men like him. Powerful. Private. Dangerous. Efficient.” She waves one hand, dismissing the clichés. “What is he actually like?”
I hesitate.
Because what am I supposed to say?
That he eats women alive with his eyes and then pretends not to know their names? That he can ignore you all day and still leave your skin burning where he touched it? That somewhere beneath the ruthlessness there’s something almost unbearably careful, and that somehow makes him worse?
Instead, I say, “He notices more than he lets on.”
Celeste goes still for the briefest second.
Then she nods slowly, as if I’ve confirmed something for her rather than told her anything new.
“Mm,” she says. “I thought so.”
A waiter glides by with sparkling water and tiny pastries arranged like jewelry. I take one out of politeness. Celeste doesn’t touch anything.
My phone buzzes again on the table.
Jake. Again.
I ignore it and force myself back to the task at hand.
“So,” I say, “you asked to meet me first.”
“I did.”
“Can I ask why?”
Her gaze drifts over my shoulder toward the window, where rain streaks softly down the glass. “Because men in his position are usually surrounded by people who want something from them.”
“That’s not exactly rare.”
“No.” She returns her eyes to mine. “But assistants are often the only ones who know whether a man is cruel when no one is looking.”
The answer lands strangely deep. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect her to sound almost serious either.
“He’s not cruel,” I say before I can stop myself.
The words come too fast. Too sure.
Celeste notices. She tilts her head. “Loyal little thing, aren’t you?”
Heat flashes up my neck. “I’m just answering your question.”
She smiles again, but there’s something odd in it. Almost private. Then she says, “Does he sleep well?”
I stare. “What?”
“Mr. Vasiliev.” She folds her hands in her lap. “Does he sleep well?”
“That is a bizarre question.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.” She looks down at her untouched tea. “Men with enemies usually don’t.”
Something about the way she says it raises the hairs on my arms.
I tell myself not to be paranoid. Everyone with internet access and a taste for gossip knows Aleksei is complicated.
Still.
“That’s a very specific thing to say,” I reply.
She shrugs one delicate shoulder. “I’ve always preferred specificity.”
Another buzz from my phone. I nearly jump.
Jake again.
I mute the entire thread and slide the phone into my bag.
When I look up, Celeste is watching me with that same faintly amused expression.
“You’re distracted.”
“I’m working.”
“No,” she says softly. “You’re worried.”
The certainty in her tone puts me on edge.
I straighten in my seat. “About what?”
She smiles, all red mouth and cool eyes. “That depends. Are you worried about choosing the wrong bride for him…” She pauses just long enough to make my pulse kick. “Or are you worried about what happens if you choose the right one?”
For one stupid second, I have no response.
Because that is not a question a stranger should be asking me. Because it lands far too close to the truth. Because she says it like she already knows there’s something between Aleksei and me worth poking at.
I recover quickly. Or at least I hope I do.
“This meeting,” I say evenly, “is about whether you’d be interested in dinner.”
“And is he interested in me?”
There it is again. Another odd question. Not what are the arrangements, not what does he expect, but something more direct. More probing.
I force a professional smile. “Mr. Vasiliev is interested in finding a wife.”
Celeste’s silver eyes hold mine. “That wasn’t my question.”
For a second, the lounge feels colder.
Then she leans back again, graceful and gorgeous and somehow still slightly wrong, like a portrait with the eyes painted a fraction too knowing.
She’s beautiful, yes. Breathtakingly so.
But there’s something under the beauty I can’t quite place. Not enough to disqualify her. Not even enough to name. Just enough to make me pay closer attention.
I check my phone again.
No new messages from Aleksei, but the last one from his driver says they’ve just pulled in.
My pulse kicks. I look up at the woman across from me and force on my most polished, helpful expression, the one I reserve for pretending I’m not slowly unraveling inside.
“He’ll be here any second,” I say. “I arranged a private table upstairs. It’s quiet, discreet, and the staff knows to keep their distance.”
Celeste watches me over the rim of her glass, cool and unreadable.
I keep going because stopping would mean thinking too hard about what I’m saying. “And if things go well…” I swallow once. “There’s also a suite on the same floor.”
The words almost choke me. It takes everything I have to get them out without visibly flinching.
A suite. For them. For him and another woman.
I tell myself this is the job. The money is real. Life-changing. Necessary. This is what I agreed to. This is the timeline. The process. The transaction.
I also tell myself not to imagine Aleksei with his tie off, sleeves rolled up, hands on someone else. My stomach twists anyway.
Celeste’s mouth curves faintly, as if she can taste the effort in my voice. “How thoughtful.”
I stand and smooth my skirt. “Right this way.”
She rises with impossible grace, all silk and perfume and expensive composure, and follows me to the elevator.
I avoid looking at our reflections in the mirrored walls.
She looks like she belongs in places like this.
I look like a woman playing dress-up while carrying around a secret she shouldn’t have.
The elevator opens onto the upper floor with a soft chime.
The private dining level is even quieter than downstairs, all low lighting and dark wood and corridors that smell faintly of orchids.
I lead her to the table I booked, tucked in the corner beside a window overlooking the rain-slick gardens below.
The suite door is farther down the hall. I hate that I know that. I hate that I arranged it.
“There,” I say. “He should be up shortly.”
Celeste turns to me, silver eyes glinting in the candlelight. “You’ve been very efficient.” Something about the way she says it makes the hair rise on the back of my neck again.
Before I can respond, footsteps sound in the hall. I know that stride.
Aleksei appears at the end of the corridor in a black suit and a look on his face I don’t immediately understand. He’s moving fast, expression already dark from whatever night he’s had, but the second his eyes land on the woman beside me, he stops dead.
The silence is instant.
I look from him to her and back again.
His face changes. Not surprise exactly. Something worse. Anger, yes, but also recognition sharp enough to cut.
The woman next to me smiles. Not Celeste’s faint, cool smile. A different one. Slower. More intimate. More mocking.