Chapter 19 Revelations and Redemptions
Nick Malone
Days passed since Celeste’s rescue was successful. Nick and Graham still had loose ends to tie up in New York.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Outside, the muffled hum of the city pulsed in the night, but in here—inside Nick’s Brunswick apartment—it was something else entirely. A stillness that clung to the air, like the ghost that had passed still lingered.
The overhead lights cast long, muted shadows against the exposed brick walls, the space around him feeling smaller than usual. The kind of silence that settled in deep, wrapping around his ribs like an echo of everything that had happened.
And Nick knew better than to trust the quiet.
Nick stood in his living room, arms crossed, a whiskey glass untouched on the table beside him. His eyes burned into the man tied to a chair in the center of the room—one of Juliette’s personal security guards, a high-priced thug with a busted lip, a swollen eye, and a growing sense of panic.
Nick had taken his time getting to this moment. Had let the bastard sweat. Because fear? Fear made men talk.
The guy swallowed hard, shifting against the ropes that bound him to the chair. His fingers twitched, knuckles bruised from when he’d tried to take a swing at Nick earlier but missed hitting the brick wall. That mistake had cost him—now, he barely had the strength to lift his head.
Nick rolled his shoulders, slow and deliberate, his voice as cold as steel. “Let’s make this simple. You talk, you breathe. You keep wasting my time?” His fingers flexed, aching for another excuse to hit something. “I get creative.”
The guy’s eyes darting toward Graham, who stood near the door, arms folded, watching with that same blank detachment he always carried. No help there.
Nick leaned down, bringing their faces close. “Tell me what Juliette was really after.”
The man licked his lips, his nerves cracking. “She—she wanted power. Control. She wanted to be the heir of their father’s fashion world, but Juliette was crushed when Celeste was named the heir. That’s all it ever was.”
“Bullshit.”
“She played the game like a queen on a chessboard, moving pieces, pulling strings,” the guy continued, voice hoarse. “She wanted Celeste out of the way because Celeste was a loose end. And you?” He exhaled sharply. “You were the biggest obstacle of all. Juliette didn’t plan for your involvement.”
Nick already knew that much. “Who was backing her?”
The man hesitated.
Nick’s fingers shot out, wrapping around his throat. The chair creaked as the bastard’s air supply vanished.
“You’re running out of second chances,” Nick murmured.
The guy wheezed, eyes wild. “I—I don’t know his name!” He gasped, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. “She never said! But she wasn’t the one at the top! There’s someone bigger—someone with deep connections. He—he bankrolled her whole operation!”
Nick released his grip, letting the guy suck in air. He turned, his mind already racing ahead. Someone bigger. A real mastermind.
Juliette had been a pawn. But who was the king?
***
Celeste now safe, back in her penthouse, stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the marble countertop. The bruises had faded to shadows, but the memory of them lingered.
She wasn’t the same woman she had been before the yacht.
She wasn’t the woman who had spent a lifetime being careful, bending to expectations, playing the part of someone too fragile for this world.
She had fought.
And she had won.
Her fingers ghosted over her stomach, hesitation running through her chest.
How the hell was she supposed to tell Nick?
She sucked in a breath, steadying herself. She had made it through hell. She could do this.
Decision made, she turned and stepped back into the bedroom.
Only Nick wasn’t there yet. He was taking care of business and would join her shortly. Celeste made a deal with herself, she would tell Nick as soon as he walked through the door.
***
It was late, Nick finally returned to the penthouse. He was finishing up a call when, his eyes met hers. Dark. Wary.
Something wasn’t right.
He ended the call without another word. “We need to talk.”
Celeste’s stomach knotted. “I was about to say the same thing.”
Nick exhaled, running a hand down his face. “You first.”
She swallowed. No turning back now.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words felt too big, too fragile, spoken aloud.
Nick went still, but his testosterone still heightened from the interrogation he left hours ago.
His eyes locked onto hers. Seconds stretched between them, it seemed to be an eternity.
Then, before she could even prepare for his reaction, he moved.
Fast.
His hands caught her waist, pulling her into his chest, his grip firm, unshakable. His lips found hers—not soft, not careful, but with the kind of desperate claiming that left no room for doubt.
Nick pulled back just enough to search her face, his breath uneven. “Say it one more time.”
Celeste swallowed, her heart pounding against her ribs. “I’m having your baby.
”Nick’s forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “Mine.”
Her lips trembled. “Yes, who else would this baby belong to?”
His grip on her tightened. “No doubts. No second-guessing.” His lips brushed her temple. “You and me, Celeste. You got that?”
Tears burned at the edges of her vision. “Yeah. I got it.”
Nick exhaled a sharp breath, like he’d just won the lottery. Then—his mouth crashed into hers again, fierce, possessive, consuming.
The moment unraveled. Their hands were frantic—gripping, pulling, tearing fabric from overheated skin. A raw, unfiltered hunger consumed them, pushing them against walls, dragging them toward the inevitable.
Celeste gasped as Nick spun her, pinning her hard against the cool brick of the penthouse wall.
His hands pinned hers above her head, his body a solid, unyielding force against her back.
The rough scrape of his stubble burned against the delicate skin of her neck as he dragged his lips along the column of her throat.
"You've been running this mouth from the time I stepped through the door," he rasped, his breath hot, his voice edged with gravel. "Time to see if you can beg as well as you defy me."
A shiver ripped through her, but she didn’t fight him. She couldn’t. Not when he held her like this, caged between his body and the wall, his grip firm, his dominance absolute.
"Nick," she whispered, a plea and a challenge all in one.
He smirked against her skin. "That’s not begging, princess."
His hands left her wrists just long enough to turn her around, guiding her toward the bed. But before she could climb on, he gripped her hips, holding her in place.
“Wait.”
She barely had time to process before he reached into the nightstand. The quiet scrape of leather sent a shockwave through her system.
Celeste turned her head just in time to see the black silk and supple leather cuffs he pulled out. Anticipation coiled in her belly, hot and electric.
“You trust me?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
Her pulse thrummed. “Yes.”
“Good.”
He guided her onto the mattress, flipping her onto her stomach. His weight followed, pressing her down just enough to remind her that he was in control. With practiced ease, he wrapped the silk around her wrists, securing them to the headboard.
A thrill raced through her, her breath catching as he tightened the last knot. She wasn’t helpless—Nick would never do that to her—but she was his.
And she wanted to be his.
The bed dipped as he shifted, and then—his mouth. Hot and possessive, his lips dragged down the length of her spine, his tongue tracing fire across every dip and curve.
"Nick," she gasped, straining against the silk.
He chuckled darkly. "Now, that’s better."
His fingers trailed down her sides, slow, deliberate. Teasing. His mouth followed, placing open-mouthed kisses lower, lower—until her entire body was trembling.
"Patience," he murmured, spreading her thighs with an agonizing slowness. "We’ve got all night."
He took his time, his mouth and hands mapping every inch of her, drawing out every last moan, every last plea until she was a writhing, panting mess beneath him.
Nick grabbed her hips and lifted her to her knees. He thrusted his rock-hard cock into her wet and swollen pussy, sliding in slow and deep. His rhythm increased with each thrust. He didn’t let up.
Not until she was begging.
Until she let go and came for him. His temperature rising, his cock about to explode from the sheer grip of her lips.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. With one last hard thrust, he claimed her with his seed.
Nick fell beside Celeste gasping to catch his breath.
Celeste slid her freshly fucked body to meet the mattress.
And when he finally untied her wrists, pulling her into his arms, the world outside ceased to exist.
Because this?
This was a celebration.
This was theirs.
Forever. Nothing could take this from them.
***
Nick sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through Celeste’s hair as she dozed beside him, exhaustion finally dragging her under. His other hand rested protectively over her stomach.
He still couldn’t wrap his head around it.
She was having his child.
A slow, dangerous grin pulled at his lips. Nothing would ever touch them again.
A sharp knock at the front door shattered the moment.
Nick’s instincts fired hot and fast.
He grabbed his gun and padded to the door, glancing through the peephole. No one was there.
But at the foot of the door?
A small, pristine white box with a silk ribbon.
Nick’s pulse turned to ice. He opened the door with caution.
He crouched, flipping open the lid—
And there, nestled in satin, was a bottle of perfume.
The same perfume Celeste had worn the night of the fashion show.
A single white card was placed beneath it, the words typed in clean, elegant script:
“You were never supposed to save her, Malone. But don’t worry—I’ll be seeing her soon.”
Nick’s vision burned red.
The stalker wasn’t gone.
He was still watching.
Nick’s fingers curled around the box, the edges biting into his palm.
A slow breath.
A controlled inhale.
Then—Nick crushed the box in his grip.
Game on.