Chapter 9 Celeste
Celeste
Idon’t even remember leaving the arena.
One minute I’m backstage, vibrating with adrenaline and betrayal.
Next, I’m storming into the hotel lobby in heels sharp enough to kill a man, wrapped in a fitted pink blouse and a matching skirt that hugs every line of me.
My damp hair is still twisted up from my shower, my makeup fresh, and I look like I’m marching to war.
If I’m going to confront Orion about bringing Lucian into my world, into this, then I’m damn well going to do it in the armor I chose.
The elevator dings, and I stalk down the hallway on instinct alone. My fitted skirt caresses my thighs in crisp, angry rhythm. Every step is a reminder: I didn’t break, I rebuilt.
And now I’m here to tear someone’s face off.
I should’ve walked it off, screamed into a pillow, hit something that wasn’t my emotionally stunted brother, but I’m too keyed up, I’m livid. And now I’m standing outside Orion’s hotel room, staring at the keyless lock.
I glance down the hallway, make sure it’s empty, and kneel by the door. I dig a thin pick from my cross-body bag—an old habit I’ll never drop. Being helpless doesn’t suit me.
The lock clicks, and I ease the handle down and open the door, ready to deliver a dramatic monologue about courtesy and common fucking sense.
Cold metal presses against my temple the instant I step into the dark, a hard, clinical weight that makes the air taste thin.
“Move,” a voice growls, low and lethal. “And I will drop you.”
Jesus Christ.
This fucking idiot.
“Really?” I ask, my voice almost unrecognizable from the show I just put my heart and soul into.
He chuckles. “Don’t test me.”
“This is the thanks you give your younger sister after she gets you VIP passes to her sold-out world tour?”
He pulls the weapon back and lets the barrel drop. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I spin on my heel, duck low, and punch him square in the dick.
“AHHH—DAMN IT, CELESTE—”
He folds like a lawn chair in hurricane season.
While he’s groaning, I snatch the gun from his hand and flick the safety on like muscle memory. “You pull a gun on me again,” I say, tucking the weapon into my cross-body bag, “you’re losing more than your dignity.”
“You brOKE me,” he wheezes, collapsing onto the bed. “You broke my entire soul.”
“You’ll live, Drama Queen.” My heels click lightly against the thin carpet as I turn. “Also, you’re the one who taught me to pick locks. Actions, meet consequences.”
He’s still dying dramatically when I finally really look around the room.
It’s empty of the one person I am absolutely not ready to see.
Lucian isn’t here.
Good.
My heart unclenches a fraction. Then I notice something moving in the armchair.
Orion has a cat?
A fluffy, round, ridiculously adorable creature curled into a perfect loaf.
The soft desk lamp paints gold over the cat’s fur. The sweet loaf blinks up at me.
My armor cracks. I crouch on instinct, skirt tightening at my thighs, heels biting into the carpet. “Hi, sweetheart,” I whisper.
I can see the look in the cat’s eyes as if it’s trying to tell me, ‘I love you too.’
I scoop the cat up as gently as I can, and it melts into me like warm dough, nuzzling under my chin with a soft, grateful rumble that punches me right in the sternum.
Oh no. Poor baby—no—strong baby. The cat’s missing a back leg.
My throat tightens.
“Where did you come from?”
The ache in my chest turns sharp. I cradle the soft ball tighter than I probably should and bury my face in the softest fur for a long second.
“He’s Lucian’s Emotional Support Animal.” Orion croaks from the bed, still cupping his groin.
I turn and double blink at him. Lucian’s? Emotional Support Animal?
The cat, now fully tucked into the neckline of my top, purrs like he just discovered heaven. His little chin rests right above my heart, the sound soft and steady, like he’s trying to regulate my breathing for me.
Honestly, it’s working.
The afterglow of dick punching my brother fades, though. Fury trickles back in, and I start to feel a little guilty as I remember Orion doesn’t even know why I am angry.
How was he supposed to know I had an affair with his best friend? How was he supposed to know I gave his best friend and partner my heart, and he threw me to the side like I was nothing? How is he supposed to know, despite it all, I am still helplessly in love with Lucian?
What?
No, I’m not.
Fuck…am I?
Anger and grief stack on each other until my ribs ache.
I force my voice steady because yelling in a hotel room in front of a little angel cat and my brother feels theatrical even for me.
“Let’s establish a new rule: you do not bring anyone to my shows unless you tell me first. There will be no surprise guests.
If someone’s not pre-approved, you don’t get tickets. I mean it.”
Orion blinks, confusion on his face as he tries to read the woman in heels and silk and the wreck behind her eyes. “Cel—”
“No.” My tone cuts him off. I tuck my chin to keep my voice from fracturing. “I’m not going to explain. Not tonight, and not here, I won’t unpack it for anyone.”
He opens his mouth, searching my eyes. Relief and guilt flicker across his face, like he can see I’m devastated, not just angry, but I don’t want him piecing together more than he should. I don’t want the pity or the questions. I sure as hell don’t want him filling the silence with assumptions.
“Okay,” Orion says finally, soft and careful. He doesn’t push as he watches the burn on my face and, for once, chooses quiet over curiosity. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you first. I’ll—” He stops himself. He doesn’t need to finish.
That small act of his not pressing for more information feels like mercy. Like he’s setting a hand on my shoulder instead of digging the knife deeper.
The cat purrs louder, oblivious in the best possible way. He burrows his head into my throat, making the world small and manageable for a second. I let myself breathe, filling that moment with the hot, ridiculous comfort of a cat that decided I was home.
For half a second, I think about telling Orion everything.
The truth that’s been rotting in my chest for seven long months.
How Lucian isn’t just a ghost from another life; he is the life I can’t outrun.
He’s the apology that never came, or the goodbye I never wanted, and heartbreak I don’t admit still keeps me up at three a.m.
But then the bathroom door opens.
Steam spills out, curling into the room like a warning.
Lucian steps through the haze, towel draped over his head, black hair damp and curling at the ends.
His shoulders are bare, chest still damp with water, and those sweatpants—soft gray, low on his hips—should honestly be a felony.
He’s drying his hair, his back leaning against the door, not even looking up yet.
And just like that, I forget how to breathe.
My pulse spikes, heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free as a heartbreaking thought flits through my head. Is he wearing those sinful pants to hide the fact that he doesn’t have his prosthetic on? The normal person might just glance past it.
But I can’t.
When his head lifts, when those storm-gray eyes lock on mine, the world just… stops.
His cat keeps purring, soft and unaware, that he’s the only living thing in the room, not about to emotionally combust. I hold him tighter, fingers buried in his fur, like he’s the only barrier between me and the man who ruined me.
Lucian’s gaze flicks to his cat, then back to me. Slowly, like he’s cataloging every difference from our time apart and realizing it’s all still me underneath.
“Celeste?” he says, towel still half over his head. “What are you… What are you doing here?”
The words stumble out, hesitant, not the smooth, steady tone he used to cut through a room with.
I don’t answer. There is nothing I can say to him that doesn’t involve me screaming.
Lucian lowers the towel slowly, jaw flexing once as his eyes drag across the space between us. He leans forward, cautious, like he’s in the presence of a wild animal that might bolt.
The purring stops as the air around us changes.
“Easy,” Orion says from behind me. Like he’s feeling the tension between his best friend and me, his tone is the picture of forced calm. “Everyone breathe.”
Lucian’s gaze flicks toward him, confusion shadowing his expression. “You gonna tell me why your sister’s standing in our room?”
Orion gives a tired shrug. “She’s pissed, you’re confused, and I’m running on fumes.
Let’s just fix two outta three.” Orion nods toward me.
“Celeste, he’s seven months post-op, and his doctors signed off on my request last week.
His PT says he’s ahead of schedule, and he’s cleared to travel.
He’s been doing the work, I figured if you’re down a lead for security, you might as well bring someone I trust.”
I immediately start shaking my head as my body stiffens.
I freeze. “No.”
“Jamie’s out for parental leave,” Orion presses, already bracing for my reaction. “Lucian’s trained, capable, loyal as hell—”
I cut him off with a “NO” at the same time Lucian calmly says, “I’m not a fucking golden retriever.”
The words hit twice—mine sharp as glass, his quieter and calmer.
Orion looks between both of us before settling his assessing eyes on me as he arches a brow. “You wanna tell me why?”
Lucian’s eyes meet mine—calm, assessing, but I can see it. The hesitation and a flicker of guilt. The way his throat works like he’s swallowing words he can’t afford to say.
“Look, she doesn’t want me here,” he says finally, his voice low, careful. No smirk this time, just quiet defeat. “And maybe she’s right.”
Something in my chest fractures anyway.
“That’s literally what you fucking wanted.” I throw back before I can stop myself, my voice harsher than I intend, cracked around the edges.
His eyes flash with hurt before it’s gone in the next breath. He straightens, pulling the old armor back on. “I didn’t think you were going to be here,” he says, tone even but softer now. “If I had, I wouldn’t have come.”
Orion looks between us, brow furrowed. “Okay, clearly there’s some—whatever this is—going on, but I didn’t sign up to referee, and I don’t have the patience.
You’re both adults, sort it out later.” He scrubs a hand down his face.
“Right now, I need someone I trust watching my sister’s back. End of story.”
My jaw tightens. “You trust him with my life, but you didn’t trust me enough to tell me he was coming?”
Orion meets my eyes, deadpan. “If I’d told you, you might’ve said no. You’re saying it now.”
“No shit, I’m saying no!”
Lucian flinches slightly. He looks toward the window, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to make this harder for anyone. I didn’t come here for you.”
Orion sighs, the sound heavy. “I don’t know what happened between you two, and I’m not gonna ask. I just need you both to be professionals. He’s not here for you, Cel, he’s here for Ara.”
Lucian’s brow furrows. “Ara?”
Orion’s glance shifts to me, like he knows he’s just stepped in shit, but defiant at the same time because he is up to something he knows I will push back against.
Lucian’s head tilts, voice low. “Wait. You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
I don’t speak. I can’t.
He stares at me, eyes searching, the silence filling with all the unspoken things between us. I see the realization bloom and break across his face, the recognition, disbelief, maybe even a little awe.
His voice drops to a whisper. “You’re Ara.”
My silence is answer enough.
He swears under his breath, the air between us pulsing. “You… why didn’t you tell me?”
The question knocks the breath out of me. Not because of the words—but because of how they sound. Confused. He says it like it matters. Like I mattered.
“Would it have even changed anything?” It comes out quieter than I mean for it to. I hate that I sound like I’m asking him to lie to me.
He looks at me too long.
I know that look. That is the one that used to mean he was weighing his truth before he gave it to me.
When he finally speaks, it’s soft and brutal in its honesty. “No, but I made my choice. And I know it was the wrong one, but it never had anything to do with you.”
God.
I wish that hurt less.
Because somehow that’s worse than if he’d said I broke him too, at least then we’d both be bleeding the same way.
But this? This sounds like resignation and regret wrapped in distance. Like love that he buried deep enough to pretend it’s gone.
And I hate that I still feel it. That even now, even after everything, my heart still skips like it remembers how to fall for him.
I swallow hard and clear my throat before it cracks. “We leave at noon tomorrow,” I say, my voice clipped. “You can come if you want. Or not. We both know what you’d prefer.”
His mouth parts like he’s going to say something—maybe an apology, maybe something that would ruin both of us if he said it out loud.
But he doesn’t.
He just watches me, towel forgotten in his hand, chest still rising too fast, eyes dark with something I don’t want to name.
And I do the only thing I can. I give Lucian’s cat to Orion and leave.
God help me, I almost turn around.
Because the cruelest part of love isn’t losing it.
It’s still wanting it when you know it can’t save you.