Chapter 22 Season of Returns
Nick Malone
Paris—A Reckoning in the City of Fashion
The private jet cut through the night sky, gliding toward Paris with a smooth efficiency that belied the storm brewing inside Celeste.
She sat by the window, her fingers wrapped around a delicate crystal glass, the champagne inside untouched.
Below, the City of Lights sprawled, golden and endless, a stark contrast to the war raging inside her. Simply fear of the unknown.
Nick leaned back in his seat, watching her. He knew that look—the kind that spoke of battles fought in silence, wounds that hadn’t yet scared over.
Sabre, always in tune with Celeste’s emotions, stirred from his spot beside Nick.
With a soft huff, he rose, padded over to her, and settled at her feet, his large head resting lightly against her leg.
His deep brown eyes held that unwavering, soulful look—one that didn’t demand, only offered comfort.
Celeste blinked down at him, her lips parting slightly before she exhaled, running her fingers through his thick fur. “Thanks, big guy,” she murmured, her voice quieter, but steadier now.
Sabre let out a small, contented sigh, his tail thumping once.
Nick’s gaze softened, but he didn’t say anything. She needed this moment—needed to steady herself before facing what lay ahead.
She didn’t say a word as the plane touched down.
Didn’t speak as the sleek black car whisked them through the Parisian streets, past centuries-old architecture and glittering designer storefronts.
But the moment their driver turned onto Avenue Montaigne, Celeste inhaled sharply. Her eyes wide like a child on Christmas morning.
Nick didn’t have to ask why. Bellerose Paris—the European branch of her family’s empire—stood like a fortress of glass and steel, towering above the cobblestone street. The place that Juliette had once controlled, using it as her personal kingdom, was now Celeste’s once again.
But this trip wasn’t about the business. Not entirely.
The man she was about to face had nothing to do with boardrooms, contracts, or the fashion empire she had reclaimed.
He was almost blood.
The name on Juliette’s birth certificate.
The last ghost of her sister’s secrets.
And she was about to meet him for the first time, in a long time and this time as an adult.
***
The restaurant was exclusive, opulent, and filled with the kind of old money that didn’t need to flaunt itself. Low golden lighting reflected off polished mahogany tables, the soft clinking of cutlery blending with the hum of quiet conversations.
Juliette’s biological father sat at a corner table, waiting.
Nick clocked him instantly. Tall, silver-haired, with sharp blue eyes—the same piercing shade as Juliette’s. A man accustomed to power, to control, to secrets woven so tightly into the fabric of his life that they became indistinguishable from the truth.
But tonight, Bastien Laurent was just a man facing the consequences of his past.
Celeste approached with measured grace, her heels clicking against the marble floor, her spine straight as steel. She was every bit the woman she had become—untouchable, formidable. And yet, beneath it all, a storm brewed.
She stopped in front of him, unwavering. “Monsieur Laurent.”
Bastien rose slightly in greeting, his movements precise, refined. “Celeste.” His voice was smooth, steeped in Parisian elegance. His gaze swept over her, taking in the woman she had become. “You look like your mother.”
Nick, standing at her side, felt the barely-there hitch in her breath, the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
“I wouldn’t know,” she said coolly. “I spent my life looking at a woman who only ever saw me as a means to an end.”
Bastien exhaled through his nose, a measured response. “I regret that she made you feel that way.”
Celeste didn’t flinch. “She didn’t make me feel that way. She made it clear.”
His expression changed, but he masked it well. “And Juliette?”
A bitter smile ghosted Celeste’s lip. “I assume she took after both of you.”
Bastien inclined his head slightly. “More than you know.”
Celeste pulled out the chair opposite him but didn’t sit. Not yet. “You knew, didn’t you? That Juliette wasn’t my father’s biological daughter.”
Nick felt the shift in the air, the way tension coiled tight between them.
Bastien didn’t blink. “Yes.”
“And you never said a word,” Celeste’s voice low, dangerous. “Not to me. Not to her. You let my mother sell that lie. You let it shape everything.”
Bastien’s fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass, but he didn’t lift it. “I was told to stay away.”
Celeste’s laugh was sharp, devoid of humor. “And you listened?”
Bastien’s eyes darkened. “What would you have had me do, Celeste? I was a young man with a powerful enemy. Your father had more wealth, more influence. Your mother—” He hesitated. “She made her choice. I was not a part of it.”
Celeste shook her head, something cold settling in her chest. “You were a coward.”
Nick tensed beside her, his gaze hard on the man across from them.
Bastien didn’t deny it. “Perhaps.”
Celeste’s fingers now pressing against the smooth wood of the table. “Did my father ever know?”
A pause. Then, “No. Your mother made sure of that. But he may have questioned it from time to time.”
Celeste swallowed against the lump in her throat. “And what about that house? The one where you and my mother met? What business was really being run there?”
Something shifted in Bastien’s expression—an acknowledgment of a truth he hadn’t planned to share. “It was a private, known gathering place for the elite. Deals were made, alliances forged, secrets buried.” He met her gaze head-on. “It was where your mother secured her future.”
Nick’s jaw tightened. “You mean where she sold herself to the highest bidder.”
Bastien’s lips pressed together, but he didn’t argue.
Celeste inhaled sharply. “And you let it happen.”
His throat worked, a ghost of something unreadable crossing his face. “I was young, Celeste. Na?ve. I thought I could protect her. But she didn’t want protecting. She wanted power.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and weighted with all the unsaid things.
Finally, Celeste sat. “Why did you ask to meet me now?”
Bastien’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “Because Juliette is dead. And because, despite everything, you were always mine.”
The words knocked something loose inside her. But she didn’t let it show.
“Are you saying you are my father too?”
Bastien answered with a stern “No. You are your father’s child, but I loved you as if you were my own.”
“You have nothing I need, Laurent.” Her voice was steady, but it sat heavy between them. “I came here for answers. And now I have them.”
Nick, ever her shadow, ever her anchor, placed a hand on her lower back—a silent reminder that she wasn’t alone.
Bastien studied her for a long moment before he inclined his head. “For what it’s worth, I regret it.”
“Not enough,” she murmured.
“You waited too long to be a father. Don’t make the same mistake trying to be a man.”
Celeste’s lips parted, but then she stopped herself. Because she realized, in that moment, that there was nothing left to say.
Then, without looking back, she turned from the table and walked away.
Nick followed, leaving Bastien Laurent alone with nothing but his regrets.
***
Celeste was back where she belonged—on top.
The Bellerose name had reclaimed its throne in the fashion world, and tonight’s show at Paris Fashion Week was the final declaration of power.
The runway was set in the gardens of Palais Royal, a breathtaking masterpiece of light and elegance. Celebrities, designers, and the elite of the fashion industry filled the seats, cameras flashing, the buzz electric.
Nick watched from the shadows, his stance rigid, every instinct on high alert.
Because while Celeste was in her element, he was hunting.
Adrian Wolfe had resurfaced.
The trap was set. Nick intended to end it once and for all.
Nick was ending it.
The show began, models striding down the runway in a collection that screamed Bellerose dominance—elegant, untouchable, powerful.
Celeste took her final walk down the runway, the queen reclaiming her empire. Sabre, Bellerose’s Newest Fashion Sensation, by her side.
And then—
Nick saw him.
A figure slipping through the crowd, too deliberate, too focused.
Nick moved before the bastard could get close.
The moment Adrian reached for something inside his jacket—Nick took off.
Adrian slipped through the crowd out of Nick’s site.
Nick whistled for Sabre.
The sharp, commanding sound cut through the buzz of the crowd like a knife.
Sabre’s head snapped up, his entire body tensing with predatory focus. Without hesitation, he launched himself off the end of the runway, muscles coiling and releasing with breathtaking speed.
“Nick?” Celeste’s voice trembled, her eyes wide as she watched Sabre bolt through the maze of fashion elite, his powerful frame weaving between gasping guests and toppling chairs in his wake.
“Stay there,” Nick growled, eyes locked on his target.
Adrian Wolfe’s smug, self-satisfied expression twisting into panic as he realized the beast barreling straight for him was far from a mere show dog. His hand darted to his jacket, fingers grasping for something hidden.
But it was too late.
Sabre leaped, his massive body launching through the air with the precision of a heat-seeking missile.
His jaws clamped down on Adrian’s arm with brutal force, dragging him down to the polished marble floor.
A choked scream tore from Adrian’s throat, his free hand flailing as Sabre’s growl rumbled like thunder.
“Get this beast off me!” Adrian shrieked, his voice cracking under the pressure of Sabre’s unyielding grip.
The crowd scattered, screams rising, panic swirling through the air as security rushed forward. Cameras flashed, and the scent of fear was thick and pungent.
Then—silence.
A breathless, suspended moment where reality hung in the balance.
And then, as if the world collectively exhaled, the crowd broke out into wild, thunderous applause. Their cheers echoed off the walls, bouncing through the gardens like a living pulse.
“Sabre! Sabre! Sabre!”
The chant grew louder, voices merging into a single, overwhelming force. Men and women, fashion icons and business moguls alike, rose from their seats in a standing ovation. Phones recorded the spectacle, a thousand flashing lights capturing the modern-day hero who had just taken down a monster.
Sabre, chest heaving, remained rooted on Adrian's chest, his gaze never straying. His entire being coiled with unyielding protectiveness, his duty fulfilled with the precision of a legend.
Nick shoved through the security team, his stride predatory, his eyes murderous. “Sabre. Release.”
Sabre’s jaws unlocked, but his eyes stayed trained on Adrian, the low, guttural growl still rumbling from his chest.
“Good boy,” Nick praised darkly, his hand tangling briefly in the dog’s fur before jerking Adrian up from the floor. Adrian’s arm hung useless, blood seeping from puncture wounds that served as both punishment and warning.
“Should’ve stayed in the shadows, Wolfe,” Nick hissed, his voice low, lethal.
And then—Bastien Laurent stepped forward.
The older man stood toe to toe with Adrian, tilting his head. “You have very poor taste in enemies.” His voice was almost amused. “A mistake you won’t make again.”
With one smooth motion, he snapped a pair of handcuffs around Adrian’s wrists, wrenching his arms behind his back. “You thought you could come after her? You thought wrong.”
Adrian’s eyes burned with wild desperation. “You can’t—”
“Shut up,” Nick snarled. “You’re done.”
He turned his head just enough to catch Celeste’s gaze from across the chaotic runway. Her eyes were wide, still reeling from the violence that had erupted before her.
“It’s over,” Nick called out, his voice rising above the madness. His expression was fierce, unyielding. But the way his gaze softened when it landed on her was undeniable. “We got him.”
Celeste exhaled, long and slow.
For the first time in what felt like forever, her past finally lifted.
And she was finally free.
***
The afterparty was a blur of champagne, celebration, and whispered conversations about the Bellerose legacy.
Nick wasn’t a man who belonged in this world. But next to Celeste? He fit.
He wasn’t her protector anymore.
He was her partner.
And when Celeste introduced him—not as her security detail, but as Nick Malone, the only man she trusted with her life and her future—he knew exactly where he belonged.
Nick smirked, pulling her close. “Took you long enough to admit it, princess.”
Celeste grinned. “I guess I’m just full of surprises.”
Celeste turned to him, eyes shining. “This isn’t just a chapter, is it?”
Nick’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “Nah, princess.” He slid a possessive hand along her waist, pulling her closer. “I’m in this for the whole damn book.”
She laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Good.”
Nick instantly dropped to one knee, removed a small square box from his pocket, holding it up for all the world to see. “Celeste, I have loved you since that day when you collided into me, calling me intimidating. Please, princess, will you be my bride?”
Celeste pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes shimmering with tears and joy.
“Yes, Nick. A thousand times, yes.”
The word barely left her lips before the crowd erupted in a deafening roar, applause crashing around them like a tidal wave.
Cameras flashed in a relentless frenzy, capturing every angle of their moment, the blinding lights no match for the radiance in her eyes.
Strangers cheered, voices chanting their names, the air filled with celebration.
And through it all, Nick rose to his feet, wrapping her in his arms and sealing their promise with a kiss that left no doubt—she was his, and he was hers, forever.