Chapter 5 Double Lives
Nick Malone
Nick didn’t sleep.
He sat in the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling windows, eyes trained on the city skyline, his gun resting on the table within arm’s reach.
Sabre lay at his feet, ears peaking at the occasional creak of the penthouse settling.
Every few minutes, his gaze turned toward Celeste’s bedroom door.
He had checked the locks twice, made sure the security system was armed, but it didn’t stop the unease clawing at his gut.
Adrian had been here.
That fact alone made Nick’s blood boil. The bastard had stepped into Celeste’s home, left her a sick gift, and walked out like he owned the place. That wasn’t just a threat—it was a message. “I can get to you anytime I want.” Sort of message.
Nick wasn’t about to let that slide.
The soft shuffle of feet pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced up as Celeste stepped into the living room, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair a tousled mess from restless sleep. Her movements were slower than usual, her usual bravado dimmed.
She stopped when she saw him. “Did you sleep?”
Nick smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Did you?”
She didn’t answer, just pulled the robe tighter around her. “I keep thinking about the roses. How long was he here? Did he touch anything? Did he—” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t like feeling like a goddamn puppet in his sideshow.”
Nick leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He wants you rattled. He wants you scared.” His voice dropped lower, steady and sure. “Don’t give him what he wants.”
Celeste met his gaze, a hint of doubt passing through her expression. “Easy for you to say. You don’t know what it’s like to live with someone watching your every move.”
Nick’s jaw flexed. “You think I don’t?”
Silence.
Celeste stopped and really looked at him. The sharp edges, the weariness carved into his features, the way he never fully relaxed even when the world was quiet.
“You weren’t always a cop, were you?” she asked softly.
Nick hesitated, then shook his head. “No.”
She crossed her arms. “And?”
“And some things are better left in the past.”
Celeste didn’t push. She just nodded, like she understood that unspoken wounds ran deeper than words. But something had shifted. A crack in whatever wall he had built between them.
And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
***
Nick spent the morning digging into Celeste’s life—not just what was public record, but the deeper truths beneath the glamorous facade.
He pieced together her past, her family’s tangled web of power and privilege, the way Juliette had been shoved to the side when their father had chosen Celeste to inherit the empire.
Juliette had been a rising star in the fashion industry before their father’s will changed everything.
Once the favored daughter, she had watched as Celeste took the throne, leaving her grasping for relevance in the shadows.
Publicly, Juliette played the role of the supportive sister, but behind the scenes? The cracks were there.
Jealousy. Resentment. And maybe something worse.
Nick frowned at the files spread across the coffee table. There were inconsistencies—Juliette’s schedule, her connections, her sudden financial struggles despite still living the high life. She wasn’t just dealing with personal disappointment. She was desperate.
Juliette Bellerose had once been the golden child, the one groomed to carry on the family name in the fashion empire their father had built from the ground up.
She had been poised, ambitious, and by all accounts, the perfect heir—until she wasn’t.
When their father made the shocking decision to pass over Juliette and leave Celeste in charge, everything changed.
Nick scanned the financial reports, transaction histories that didn’t add up.
On the surface, Juliette still lived in luxury—designer clothes, exclusive parties, a Manhattan penthouse that rivaled Celeste’s in opulence.
But dig deeper, and the cracks began to show.
Her name had popped up in a string of late payments, debt restructuring, and sudden asset liquidations.
A woman who had once been at the top of the world was now teetering at the edge.
And then there were the meetings.
Nick flipped to a surveillance photo taken outside an exclusive private club. Juliette, seated at a dimly lit corner table, deep in conversation with a man Nick recognized immediately.
Damon Kovac.
Kovac wasn’t just anyone. He was a fixer—a middleman for the powerful and corrupt, the kind of man who made problems disappear… for the right price. He had ties to multiple underground circles, including Adrian Wolfe.
Nick’s gut twisted.
Juliette wasn’t just struggling.
She was drowning.
And desperate people?
They made deals with the devil.
***
He looked up as Celeste emerged from her bedroom, dressed impeccably in a fitted black ensemble that screamed confidence. The dark circles under her eyes were hidden beneath flawless makeup, her chin lifted in defiance of the night before.
“You’re staring,” she noted, arching a brow.
Nick leaned back, smirking. “Trying to figure out how you function on zero sleep.”
“Adrenaline and coffee,” she quipped, grabbing a cup from the counter. She took a sip, then narrowed her eyes. “You’re in detective mode. What did you find?”
Nick didn’t sugarcoat it. “Your sister’s hiding something.”
Celeste stilled, her fingers tightening around the cup. “Juliette?”
“She’s been meeting with people off the record. People with ties to Adrian. And she’s got financial problems—big ones. Someone’s been keeping her afloat.”
Celeste let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “So what? You think Juliette’s working with Adrian?”
Nick didn’t answer right away. “I think she’s got more involvement in this than you realize.”
Celeste turned away, staring out at the skyline. “She wouldn’t.”
“You sure?”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, setting her cup down with a little too much force. “I don’t know anymore.”
***
The tension between them shifted as the day passed, their usual bickering morphing into something lighter, edged with amusement instead of animosity.
It was a strange dynamic—one moment, they were arguing over security protocols, the next, Celeste was teasing him about his inability to blend in at high-society events.
She leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as he went over files with the kind of laser focus that made her both impressed and annoyed. “You know, you stick out like a sore thumb in my world.”
Nick didn’t look up. “That so?”
Celeste smirked. “Oh, absolutely. The scowl? The constant assessing of every person in the room like you’re about to interrogate them? Very un-chic.”
Nick finally glanced up, arching a brow. “Un-chic?”
“You know—lacking style, grace, sophistication.” She gestured at him. “Take last night, for example. You stood in a room full of billionaires and models looking like you were mentally calculating how many concealed weapons were in the room.”
Nick snorted. “I was.”
She rolled her eyes. “And that’s exactly why you don’t blend.”
Nick set down the file, leaning back in his chair. “Forgive me for not sipping champagne and nodding along to conversations about overpriced handbags.”
Celeste gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know handbags are an investment.”
Nick scoffed. “If by investment, you mean something that costs as much as a used car and holds, what, lip gloss and a tiny dog?”
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, sipping her coffee.
Nick smirked. “And you’re spoiled.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Says the man who owns a bulletproof truck that probably costs more than my closet.”
Nick shrugged. “At least my investment won’t shatter if I drop it.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes. “I could say the same thing about your social skills.”
Nick let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “So, what’s the verdict, princess? Do I pass the high-society test?”
Celeste tilted her head, pretending to think. “You’re too blunt, too intense, and your suits? Way too practical. Not even a hint of luxury tailoring.”
Nick’s mouth twitched. “I wear what works.”
She smirked. “And that’s why they all think you’re my bodyguard and not my mysterious lover.”
Nick froze mid-reach for his coffee. “Mysterious what?”
Celeste just grinned. “Relax, Officer Malone. Just pointing out how easily people make assumptions. For all they know, you’re my scandalous new fling.”
Nick rubbed his hand down. “Jesus. I’m gonna need a drink.”
Celeste laughed, and for a moment, everything around her felt normal.
“So, what’s the verdict?” she mused, lounging on the couch as Nick went over more files. “Do I live up to the cold, spoiled heiress stereotype?”
Nick didn’t look up. “Cold? No. Spoiled?” He shot her a look. “You own a gold-plated espresso machine, princess.”
Celeste gasped in mock horror. “That is an unfair assessment! It was a gift.”
Nick snorted. “From who? The Sultan of Brunei?”
She grinned, and for a moment, the weight of everything eased.
But it didn’t last long.
Nick’s phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. He swiped to open the message, his entire body going rigid as he read the words and stared at the attached image.
Celeste frowned. “What?”
Nick turned the phone, showing her the screen.
A high-resolution photo of them, taken the night before. Him holding her. Their lips inches apart. The raw intimacy frozen in time.
Her stomach dropped. “Where did that come from?”
“No idea.” His voice was tight. “But the press has it now.”
Celeste’s mind raced. “Who took it?”
Nick exhaled sharply. “Better question—who leaked it?”
Celeste swallowed hard, the realization hitting her like a freight train.
Someone wanted them exposed. Wanted the world watching.
And that meant whoever was pulling the strings… only thought they were in control.