Chapter 18 Survivor’s Resolve
Celeste Bellerose
The world spun in slow motion.
Juliette stood at the doorway, her pistol raised, aimed straight at Celeste.
Nick lunged.
A gunshot rang out.
Celeste braced for pain. The burning sting of a bullet. The moment her life would flash before her eyes.
But it never came.
Instead—Carmine moved.
Faster than Celeste thought possible, he threw himself between her and Juliette, his massive frame taking the full force of the shot.
The impact sent him staggering back. A red bloom exploded across his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, his body locking up.
Juliette’s expression twisted into pure rage. “You fucking idiot.”
Carmine’s knees buckled, but he stayed standing. Fighting.
His eyes met Celeste’s for the briefest moment. There was no fear. No regret. Just acceptance.
Then—his lips curled into a smirk. A final ‘bow of respect’ to the woman who deserved to free of Juliette. “Your safe now.”
He turned back to Juliette, bloody teeth flashing. “Guess I wasn’t your lapdog after all.”
Juliette screamed in frustration and fired again.
This time, Carmine went down.
A dead weight collapsed onto the floor, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
Nick kneeled to Carmine. His voice raspy, the sound one makes when it’s nearly their last breath. “I guess I owed you one.”
Carmine took his last breath, Nick closed Carmines eyes and thanked him for his heroic gesture.
Juliette turned back to Celeste, her eyes blazing. “You just can’t die, can you?”
Celeste’s entire body vibrated with adrenaline. With rage.
No more running.
No more waiting for someone to save her.
This time, she would end it herself.
Juliette took a step forward, but Celeste was already moving.
With a guttural cry, Celeste launched herself at Juliette, her entire body a weapon forged from months of fear, betrayal, and unchecked rage.
The force of the impact sent them both crashing into the furniture, Juliette’s silk-clad form slamming hard against the glass table with a shattering crack.
The gun went off—a deafening explosion of sound in the confined space.
The bullet ricocheted, slamming into the mahogany-paneled wall, splintering wood, missing Celeste’s head by mere inches.
She didn’t care.
Didn’t stop.
Didn’t hesitate.
She would not be a victim.
Juliette thrashed beneath her, snarling like a cornered animal, but Celeste had the advantage—rage. Pure, blinding, white-hot rage.
She grabbed a fistful of Juliette’s hair, yanking her head back with enough force to make her sister gasp.
Juliette clawed at Celeste’s arms, but Celeste didn’t let go.
Didn’t give her an inch.
With all the strength she had, she slammed Juliette’s head against the shattered glass table—once, twice—until the gun slipped from her grip.
It hit the floor with a dull thunk, skidding just out of reach.
Juliette shrieked, but Celeste was relentless.
Every slap, every belittling insult, every calculated betrayal—she returned it.
A punch to the ribs.
An elbow to the jaw.
Knuckles met flesh. Skin split. Blood smeared across their tangled limbs.
Years of resentment. Betrayal. Every ounce of pain her sister had inflicted—Celeste delivered it back.
Juliette was fast. But Celeste was desperate.
And desperation made her stronger.
She had Juliette pinned down, straddling her, pressing her forearm into her throat.
Juliette’s manicured nails dug into Celeste’s wrist, her legs kicking wildly. “Get off me, you bitch!”
Celeste’s breaths came fast, sharp. “You never wanted to be my sister, Juliette. You just wanted to destroy me.”
Juliette let out a strangled laugh, even as she gasped for air. “And I almost did.”
Celeste’s grip tightened. “Not this time.”
Her eyes locked on the gun.
Juliette saw the shift in her focus and went for it.
Celeste was faster.
She snatched the gun first, slamming it against Juliette’s temple with a brutal crack.
Juliette’s body went limp.
For a long, breathless second, Celeste just sat there, her hands trembling, her chest rising and falling in ragged gasps as she stared down at the motionless form of her sister.
Everything was too loud. The rush of blood in her ears. The crash of waves against the yacht’s hull. The distant sounds of gunfire somewhere beyond the room.
And yet, the world felt eerily still.
Juliette lay sprawled next to the wreckage of the shattered table, her blonde hair tangled, her designer dress torn, a thin trickle of blood smeared across her cheek where Celeste had landed her final blow.
This was it.
The fight—the years of power struggles, of whispered betrayals, of being the lesser sister, the black sheep, the disposable one—it all led to this.
And yet, a hollow pit opened inside her. The gun she was holding slipping from her grip, landing next to Juliette’s still body.
Juliette had always been the untouchable one. The one who pulled every string to get what she wanted.
Now? She was just a lifeless woman crumpled on the floor.
Celeste swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. She should feel victorious. She should feel relieved. But all she felt was exhaustion.
Her fingers curled into trembling fists against her lap, her knuckles raw from where they’d slammed into Juliette’s ribs. Her whole body felt bruised, heavy, by what had just happened.
What she had just done.
She had fought back.
A sharp pain jolted through her, a reminder that she wasn’t out of this yet.
She turned—Nick.
He was on his feet, his gun up, his gaze sweeping the room.
Their eyes met.
He exhaled sharply, his entire body relaxing at the sight of her.
“Nick—”
A crack split the air.
Another gunshot.
Nick shoved her out of the way just as a bullet tore through the space where she had been.
Juliette was still alive.
Bleeding. Staggering to her feet. Her eyes were wild, filled with nothing but venom and rage.
Nick didn’t give her the chance to fire again.
Boom!
One shot.
Juliette dropped.
Nick’s gun remained raised for a second longer, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled breaths.
Then—he lowered it.
Celeste was still staring at Juliette’s body, her breath shallow.
Then his hands were on Celeste. Checking her. Brushing bloodied strands of hair out of her face.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was rough, desperate.
Celeste swallowed hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. “No, not much”
His grip tightened on her waist, just for a second. Like he needed to hold her to make sure she was real.
Then—chaos exploded outside.
Gunfire. Boots pounding against the deck.
Nick’s team was moving in.
He grabbed her hand. “We need to go. Now.”
Celeste cast one last look at her sister’s lifeless form.
Then she turned and ran with Nick into the night.
***
The Eclipse was nothing but smoke and ruin by the time they reached the extraction point.
Gunfire still echoed in the halls. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the acrid stench of burning fuel. The deck beneath them shuddered, the yacht listing slightly from the sheer force of the chaos Nick’s team had unleashed.
Celeste clutched his arm as they moved, her body still thrumming with adrenaline, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She wasn’t broken. She wasn’t helpless. But she was damn sure ready to get off this nightmare of a ship.
“Keep moving,” Nick commanded, his voice sharp, controlled—but she could hear the underlying edge, the barely leashed rage that had been simmering since the moment she was taken.
Bodies littered the main deck. Some unconscious, some groaning, restrained by Nick’s men. Celeste barely recognized the guards from earlier, the ones who had held her down, shoved her against the wall. Now, they were the ones bleeding. The ones at Nick’s mercy.
They reached the upper deck, where a tactical team had secured the perimeter. A sleek, black speedboat, the lead vessel, was already idling at the stern, its engine purring like a beast ready to strike.
Graham stood at the helm, a rifle slung across his chest. His face was streaked with soot, his eyes sharp. “You look like hell, Malone.”
Nick grunted, hauling Celeste closer as he scanned the wreckage around them. “Tell me the charges are set.”
Graham smirked. “She’ll be sinking by morning.”
Celeste’s pulse spiked. They were going to sink the yacht?
Nick read her reaction instantly, his hand squeezing hers. “No evidence. No traces. No coming back from this.”
It was poetic, in a way. The ship that had been her prison would be nothing but wreckage at the bottom of the ocean.
But first, they had to get off it.
Another explosion rumbled beneath their feet, sending a violent tremor through the yacht.
Nick cursed, pulling Celeste toward the railing. “We’re out of time—get in the damn boat!”
Celeste didn’t hesitate. She climbed down first, her hands gripping the cool metal ladder as waves crashed against the hull. A pair of strong hands—Graham’s—hauled her into the boat.
Nick followed, moving with lethal efficiency. One final glance back at the yacht. One last look at the empire they had just burned to the ground.
Then, Graham gunned the engine.
The speedboat lurched forward, cutting through the dark waters as the Eclipse burned behind them.
Celeste didn’t look back.
She didn’t have to.
She turned to Nick. His arm was already around her, pulling her close, anchoring her. His heart pounded against her cheek, the rhythm steady, solid, a promise that she was safe.
Finally, back on solid ground, Celeste stood near the edge of the deck, her arms wrapped around herself as she watched the distant horizon.
It felt surreal.
Like waking up from a nightmare that had lasted far too long.
Nick appeared beside her, his presence grounding her instantly.
She didn’t say anything—she didn’t have to.
He turned toward her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her into him.
She exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead against his chest.
His arms tightened around her, his lips brushing the top of her head. “It’s over.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
It wasn’t. Not yet.
Juliette was gone, but the real mastermind still lurked in the shadows.
And the man who had stalked her from the beginning?
He was still out there.
For now, though—she let herself breathe.
Nick was here. She was safe.
The battle wasn’t over.
***
As the yacht continued to burn, a lone figure watched from a distance.
A boat, barely visible against the waves.
A man sat at the helm, his fingers drumming against the wheel.
His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.
“Not yet, Celeste.”
The boat’s engine rumbled to life.
And then—he was gone.