22. Celina
TWENTY-TWO
CELINA
The Academy Awards were finally here—the big moment she’d been campaigning toward for the past two months with fierce determination.
Their limousine glided through Hollywood toward the Dolby Theatre, its tinted windows offering glimpses of the chaos waiting ahead.
Celina could already see the red carpet like a crimson river beneath the blazing California sun, photographers positioned like predators along its length with their cameras glinting with hungry anticipation.
She smoothed her hands over the emerald silk of her designer gown, feeling the fabric whisper against her skin.
The dress was a masterpiece of construction—strapless, with a bodice that hugged her curves before flowing into a train that would photograph beautifully against the red carpet.
The color made her green eyes luminous, and she knew without false modesty that tomorrow’s Best Dressed lists would feature her prominently.
But it wasn’t vanity driving her confidence tonight.
It was something deeper and more profound—the knowledge that she was finally who she was always meant to be.
“Ready for this?” Osias’s voice carried that particular Alpha tone that made her pulse quicken even after months of marriage.
She turned to find him watching her with those devastating blue eyes, and her breath caught despite herself.
He looked impossibly powerful in his custom tuxedo, the black fabric tailored to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his frame.
The tie was perfectly knotted, his dark hair styled with just enough precision to look effortless, and when he smiled at her—that slow, tender smile reserved only for her—she felt heat spiral through her entire body.
“I’m ready to enjoy everything we’ve fought for and accomplished together,” she said, meaning every word. “I feel like I can finally breathe.”
His hand found hers, their fingers intertwining with the easy intimacy of two people who’d chosen each other completely. Through their bond, she felt his fierce pride and unwavering love washing over her mixed with that ever-present Alpha protectiveness.
“I’m also excited that our two new films are already in production,” she continued, unable to keep the joy from her voice.
“A Promise to Keep is everything I hoped it would be when we first collaborated, and The Telling of Love and Forever...” She laughed, the sound bright with genuine happiness.
“Who would’ve thought that a fake story created to protect the pride would become the most authentic project of my entire career? ”
Osias’s thumb traced over her wedding ring. “Watching you direct me through my first acting experience has been...” His voice dropped to that low rumble that made her toes curl in her designer heels. “Educational.”
“Educational?” She arched an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it when you refuse to take direction and improvise dialogue that makes the entire crew blush?”
“I only improvise when the script doesn’t capture what my character would actually say to the woman he’s completely in love with,” he replied, his eyes darkening to that molten gold that meant his lion was close to the surface. “Some things can’t be written. They have to be expressed.”
The limousine stopped, and Celina felt her pulse quicken—not with the old anxiety that used to plague her at these events, but with anticipation. This was her night. Their night. The culmination of everything they’d built together.
Osias squeezed her hand, then released it to open the door before their driver could reach it.
He stepped out first, his movements fluid and controlled, then turned back to offer her his hand with the familiar courtesy that made her heart flutter every single time.
She placed her fingers in his and let him help her from the limousine, the emerald silk of her gown cascading around her like water.
The moment her feet touched the red carpet, camera flashes exploded around them with the intensity of lightning, but instead of the overwhelming assault she used to feel, tonight it felt like celebration.
“Mrs. Fellan! Mrs. Fellan!” The photographers’ voices blended into a cacophony of professional enthusiasm. “Look this way! How does it feel to be nominated for both Best Actress and Best Picture?”
Osias’s hand settled at her back, not possessive but supportive, and she felt his strength flowing through their bond as they began their walk down the carpet.
They moved together with a synchronization that only came from deep partnership, pausing at the designated photo areas, turning toward the cameras with practiced ease.
“You look magnificent,” he murmured near her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “Every man here is wondering how I got so lucky.”
They’d made it perhaps halfway down the red carpet when a familiar voice called out over the din.
“Celina! Osias!”
She turned to see Braxton approaching, and felt her mate’s entire body tense beside her. Through the bond, she sensed the complex mix of emotions—old hurt, cautious hope, and the iron determination that had been slowly rebuilding the bridge between the brothers.
Braxton looked every inch the movie star in his impeccably tailored tuxedo, his famous smile warm and genuine as he reached them. But Celina noticed what the cameras wouldn’t capture—the slight uncertainty in his green eyes and the careful way he held himself, as if prepared for rejection.
“Congratulations on the wedding,” Braxton said, his deep voice carrying none of the old bitterness that had once poisoned every interaction. “I’m sorry I missed the ceremony, but...”
He gestured vaguely, and Celina understood. The small, intimate gathering in Hawaii had been deliberately exclusive—pride members and chosen family only.
“Thank you,” Osias replied, his tone carefully neutral but not cold.
Progress, Celina thought with a flutter of hope.
“Good luck tonight,” Braxton continued, his gaze shifting to include both of them.
Osias’s shoulders relaxed fractionally, and when he extended his hand, Braxton took it without hesitation.
“I appreciate that,” Osias said, and Celina felt the sincerity through their bond.
The handshake lasted perhaps a beat longer than strictly necessary, and when they released each other, something had shifted. Not healed—that would take time—but softened.
“I won’t keep you,” Braxton said, stepping back with practiced grace. “The whole world’s watching tonight.”
As he melted back into the crowd, Celina turned to her mate and found something almost vulnerable in his expression.
“I’m proud of you,” she said softly, letting all her love flow through their bond. “For trying to heal what Rennick fractured. For choosing forgiveness over resentment.”
Osias’s smile was small but real. “You showed me it was possible. You showed me that some things are worth fighting to rebuild.”
They continued down the red carpet, posing for more photos, answering the occasional shouted question with the confidence that came from being completely secure in who they were and what they’d built together.
When they finally reached the entrance to the Dolby Theatre, Celina felt completely ready for whatever lay ahead.
“Ready to find our seats?” Osias asked, offering her his arm.
“Ready for anything,” she replied, meaning it completely.
Two hours later, the Dolby Theatre hummed with anticipation, its cavernous interior filled with Hollywood’s most luminous stars seated in precise rows like diamonds against black velvet.
Celina felt the familiar weight of expectation settling around her shoulders as she sat beside Osias in the third row, close enough to the stage that she could see the presenters’ expressions clearly, far enough back that the cameras wouldn’t catch every micro-expression that crossed her face.
The ceremony had been flowing past in waves of emotion—some her own, some bleeding through the mate bond from Osias beside her.
His steady presence anchored her as acceptance speeches blurred together and musical numbers filled the spaces between categories, but she could feel his protective instincts humming just beneath his composed exterior.
When the presenters for Best Actress took the stage—two previous winners whose names alone commanded reverence—Celina’s pulse quickened despite herself.
She’d won this award twice before, had stood on that stage and felt the weight of the golden statue in her hands, but the anticipation never diminished. If anything, it intensified.
Osias’s hand found hers in the darkness, his fingers intertwining with hers. Through the bond, she felt his unwavering confidence in her. The woman sitting beside him tonight bore little resemblance to the carefully managed actress who’d attended these ceremonies for decades.
“The nominees for Best Actress are...” The first presenter’s voice carried clearly through the auditorium.
Celina’s name was called third, accompanied by a clip from The Eden Chronicles that showed her most vulnerable moment as Victoria Snow—the scene where she’d channeled every ounce of her own grief over losing her mother into a performance that had left audiences breathless.
She watched herself on the massive screens flanking the stage and felt a strange disconnect, as if observing a woman she’d once been but no longer quite recognized.
The cameras found her in the audience, and she smiled—not the practiced expression she’d perfected, but something genuine and unguarded. Beside her, Osias squeezed her hand once, a silent reminder that whatever happened next, she was exactly where she belonged.
“And the Oscar goes to...” The second presenter fumbled slightly with the envelope, drawing out the moment until the entire auditorium seemed to hold its breath. “Tamara Sommers, for A Weeping Widow.”