Chapter 8 Unmasking Intentions
Celeste Bellerose
Celeste’s fingers trembled slightly as she fastened the clasp of her necklace, exhaling slowly while examining her reflection in the mirror.
The morning light streaming through Nick’s apartment windows bathed her in a golden glow, doing little to mask the exhaustion clinging to her features.
Sleep had been a distant luxury. Too much had happened in too short a time, and now, standing in Nick’s bathroom, she felt the full force of it closing in.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, willing away the nausea that had become a near-constant companion. It had to be stress. It had to be. Anything else was too much to process right now.
***
Nick’s apartment was the polar opposite of her penthouse—small, practical, and lived-in.
The building itself sat on the outskirts of a quieter part of Brunswick, a no-frills neighborhood filled with mom-and-pop diners, auto shops, and the kind of corner bars that hadn’t changed in decades.
It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t polished either.
It was real. The kind of place where people knew their neighbors, where privacy was respected but trouble wasn’t tolerated.
Inside, his space reflected the man himself—functional, no-nonsense, built for necessity over aesthetics.
The living room was dominated by a well-worn leather couch, creased from use, a matching armchair facing a sturdy wooden coffee table.
Against one wall, a modest bookshelf held a mix of crime thrillers, military strategy books, and a few well-worn classics that had clearly been read more than once.
A black gun safe sat discreetly in the corner, locked tight, a silent reminder of the world he operated in.
The kitchen was just as practical—no marble countertops or imported espresso machines here.
The cabinets held protein bars, canned goods, and just enough fresh ingredients to suggest he cooked when he had time.
A coffee maker sat front and center on the counter, next to a row of meticulously arranged knives.
A single window overlooked the street below, where an old man walked his dog—the only movement in the quiet early morning.
The bedroom was minimalist to the extreme.
A large, unmade bed with plain gray sheets took up most of the space.
The only decoration was a framed photograph on the nightstand—Nick in uniform, surrounded by his old squad.
The picture was worn at the edges, like it had been handled one too many times.
In the corner of the room, Sabre’s designated spot was clear—a large, well-worn dog bed tucked beside the dresser. But he rarely used it. Instead, the K-9 lay near the foot of the bed, his sharp eyes tracking Celeste’s every movement as she adjusted her necklace.
She hadn’t expected to feel safe here.
But she did.
Nick leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her. “You’re really going through with this?”
Celeste turned from the mirror. “Canceling at the last minute would cause more problems than it would solve.”
Nick’s expression darkened. “The bastard left a message in your home. We found a listening device in your penthouse. And now, you want to prance down a runway under spotlights, making yourself a walking target?”
Celeste’s spine stiffened. “I won’t live in fear.”
Nick exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about fear, Celeste. It’s about strategy. He’s always one step ahead, and you’re giving him the perfect opportunity.”
She met his gaze, searching for something—understanding, compromise, anything to lessen the strain between them. “I know the risks. But if I start hiding now, when does it end?”
Nick didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her, his sharp gaze never waivering. Finally, he pushed off the counter and stalked toward her.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m coming with you.”
Celeste smirked. “I figured as much.”
Nick’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t make this easy, you know that?”
“I never claimed to.”
***
The venue buzzed with high-energy chaos by the time they arrived.
Celeste’s team moved with practiced efficiency, setting the stage for one of the biggest nights of the year.
Bright runway lights cast long shadows as models rehearsed, stylists made last-minute adjustments, and photographers swarmed, capturing every moment of pre-show prep.
Nick remained close, scanning the room with an intensity that sent staff scurrying out of his way. He wasn’t just her security now—he was her shadow, her anchor in the storm.
Sabre was right at her side.
“New rule,” Nick said, crouching to rub the K-9’s head. “You don’t leave her side. No exceptions.”
Sabre let out a low affirmative chuff, ears perking.
Celeste arched a brow. “Including when I walk the runway?”
Nick’s lips twitched. “Especially when you walk the runway.”
She smirked. “This is going to be a first in fashion history.”
And it was.
When word got out that Celeste’s security K-9 would be walking alongside her on the runway, the press went wild. By the time the show started, social media was buzzing with excitement.
#RunwayProtector#CelesteAndSabre#FashionMeetsPawfectProtection
Even some of the biggest names in fashion praised the unexpected move, declaring Sabre “the most stylish bodyguard” the industry had ever seen.
Celeste couldn’t help but laugh as she glanced at Nick. “You might have just created a new trend.”
Nick smirked. “Long as it keeps you safe, princess.”
***
Then she saw her.
Juliette.
Her sister stood near the entrance, draped in a designer gown, poised as ever. But there was something calculated about her presence, something too perfectly timed.
Celeste’s stomach twisted.
Juliette’s lips curved into a small smile as she approached. “Sister.”
Celeste folded her arms. “Juliette.”
“Still indulging your flair for dramatics, I see.” Juliette’s tone was light, but there was an edge beneath it. “First the scandalous headlines, now parading yourself under a spotlight while someone actively wants you dead. Bold choice.”
Celeste forced a smile. “Well, you know me. Always keeping things interesting.”
Juliette tilted her head, scrutinizing Celeste with a gaze that was far too analytical to be sisterly. “You look… unwell.”
Celeste’s spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”
Juliette gestured vaguely, as if trying to find the right words but not really trying at all. “Pale. A little gaunt. Like you haven’t slept in days, which—given the recent headlines—wouldn’t surprise me.” She arched a brow. “Stress taking its toll, dear sister?”
Celeste forced a smile, refusing to let Juliette see her flinch. “Well, dodging stalkers and fielding PR disasters does have a way of wearing a woman down. But I’m managing.”
Juliette sighed, shaking her head in mock sympathy.
“Are you, though? Because from where I’m standing, you look like you’re barely holding it together.
And I have to wonder…” Her voice dropped to a murmur.
“At what point do you start asking yourself if maybe, just maybe, this is all catching up to you?”
Celeste narrowed her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Juliette’s expression, there’s something behind her gaze. “You’ve made a name for yourself, Celeste. A powerful name. But power always comes with a price. You act like you're the mastermind, Celeste. But what if you've just been another pawn all along?"
Nick, who had remained silent up until now, stepped forward, his presence cutting through the air like a blade. “Sounds like you know more than you’re saying.”
Juliette’s lips curled in amusement. “Oh, Officer Malone. Still playing the ever-watchful protector?” Her eyes scanned over him, unimpressed. “Tell me, do you think standing so close to my sister makes her safer? Or does it just make her a bigger target?”
Nick didn’t blink. “I think anyone playing mind games with Celeste should tread carefully. I don’t take kindly to people who make threats—veiled or otherwise.”
Juliette smirked, but the slight tension in her jaw betrayed her. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of threatening my own flesh and blood.” Her eyes turned back to Celeste. “But I would advise her to consider the possibility that whoever is after her isn’t just some deranged admirer.”
Celeste felt a chill creep along her spine. “Meaning?”
Juliette exhaled dramatically, as if burdened by Celeste’s supposed naivety.
“You act as if this is all some tragic, random misfortune. But you’ve built something, Celeste.
A legacy. And legacies don’t come without enemies.
” She took a step closer, lowering her voice.
“How sure are you that Adrian Wolfe is the only one you should be worried about?”
Sabre took a step closer to Juliette, letting out a growl of warning.
“I’d take a slow step back if I were you. Slow and easy, Sabre doesn’t warn twice.”
“If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Juliette was surprised by Sabre's reaction and did exactly as Nick suggested, slow and easy.
“You really think everything is so simple, don’t you, Officer? That if you just put a man behind bars, the story ends.” She shook her head, amused. “This world doesn’t work like that. It never has.”
Celeste crossed her arms. “You love to hear yourself talk, but you’re not saying much, Juliette. What exactly are you implying?”
Juliette’s expression now calculated and cool. “Just that when the stakes are this high, no one’s hands are ever entirely clean, possibly including yours.”
Nick stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low warning. “If you know something about what’s happening to Celeste, it would be wise to speak now.”
Juliette held his gaze for a long moment before sighing. “I only know what everyone else sees. That my sister is all powerful, and danger follows power like a shadow.”
Celeste clenched her fists. “If you actually gave a damn, you’d stop feeding the media circus and start acting like my sister instead of my public executioner.”
Juliette tilted her head, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. “Maybe I am acting like your sister. Maybe I’m the only one reminding you that your perfect little empire isn’t as invincible as you think.”
Celeste stared at her, Sabre still at her side. She was searching for the sister she used to know. But that person was long gone.
She took a step back, her voice cold. “Enjoy the show, Juliette.”
Juliette hesitated, then she nodded. “Be careful, little sister.”
She turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a chill lingering in the air.
Nick leaned in, voice low. “She knows more than she’s letting on.”
Celeste took a steadying breath, turning away from the crowd and back toward Nick. But before she could speak, a low, rumbling growl vibrated from Sabre’s chest.
Nick stiffened instantly.
The K-9’s ears pricked forward, his deep brown eyes locked onto something—or someone—in the crowd. His body tensed, muscles coiled, ready to lunge.
Celeste followed his gaze, scanning the sea of fashion elite, photographers, and backstage crew. Dozens of faces. Nothing stood out.
Then, just for a second, she saw it.
A figure—dark clothing, hood low, standing just beyond the security barriers. Watching.
Nick shifted, already stepping forward.
But as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone.
Celeste’s pulse hammered against her ribs. “Nick…”
“I saw,” he said, his voice sharp, controlled. His hand brushed against her back—a subtle gesture, grounding her before she could spiral into panic.
Sabre’s growl faded, but his posture remained rigid, as if waiting for an order to pursue.
Nick’s entire body on high alert. “Security’s been doubled, right?”
Celeste nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Yes. Every entrance, every exit.”
Nick continued scanning the crowd one more time. He reached for his phone. “I don’t like this. I’m calling Graham. I want eyes on every camera feed in the building.”
Celeste forced herself to breathe. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just some stranger lingering too long.
But she knew better.
And then, her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
Her stomach sickened.
Nick caught the shift in her expression instantly. “What is it?”
She lifted the screen, dread pooling in her chest as she read the message.
“You shine so beautifully under the lights, Celeste. Pity you won’t enjoy it for long.”
Nick’s face darkened. His grip on her waist tightened.
They weren’t just watching.
They were here.