In the lawyer's office, there was a quiet tension, time ticking in separate seconds, and lengths that reached from Celeste to Caspian. A streamlined, shiny table divided them, its tortuous surface relaying discord in their eyes. Celeste squirmed in her seat, knowing that Caspian's gaze was fixed on her. His creased suit and measured stance served to remind her how far apart their worlds had drifted. Just seconds before, she'd looked outside at the sun-scorched street, wishing for the way out of this place.
The attorney, grey-haired and unflappable, read dully through the final clauses of the contract. No mention of love or gentle give and take — just provisions for monthly stipends, clauses for public appearances, disclaimers for ownership of property. Celeste's heart raced in her chest as the lawyer outlined penalties for violating the terms. It seemed like every shred of independence she had would disappear as soon as she signed those pages.
Caspian was quiet, arms crossed. The thought was fleeting: was he enjoying her moment of surrender or simply closing a business deal? She attempted to read his expression, but he gave no legible cue. Instead, her mind returned to the foreclosure of her parent's home, and the last warnings tacked to her refrigerator. There was no other option, logic told her.
The point of her pen grazed the paper, and she exhaled, scribbling her name in tight, looping letters. She was rocked by a jolt of fear. This was it, the swapping of her freedom for some desperate security. Sweat had beaded on her temple when the attorney slid the document toward Caspian. He signed in bold strokes, without hesitation, then snapped the contract shut. And in that second, Celeste felt the cold knife of finality carve its way through the room.
They stood up, tension curling between them. The lawyer stepped away, leaving them alone beneath the harsh overhead lights. Caspian extended his hand. She gazed at it, remembering when their fingers laced with devotion, not an obligation. Absently, she took his proffered handshake. His palm was cool, and his grip was firm, but neither of them spoke.
Outside, they were wrapped in the oppressive heat of Arizona. The light deepened the panic that was already blossoming in her chest. Caspian was striding ahead, uninterested. Celeste hesitated for a heartbeat, drawing in the dry air and understanding the full weight of her choice. There was no road back to dissolve and dispel the contract she had just signed.
Later that night, Caspian paced his bedroom with restless steps, the walls lit by a pale glow spilling through the windows from the city lights outside. He wanted real sleep, but insomnia granted him no mercy. His eyes reflected hollows, etched with fatigue, a testimony to the memories that haunted him every time he slipped close to the edge of dreams. He finally forced himself to go to bed, pulling the covers tight around him, attempting to will his mind to silence.
An uneasy doze claimed him. Visions lurched toward him — jagged phantoms of an accident, cold hospital corridors, Celeste's tear-streaked face retreating into shadows. He shot up straight, gasping. His shirt was damp with sweat; his heart thumped like a captured animal. Groping on the nightstand, he grabbed the prescription bottle. The pills inside had lost their potency weeks earlier, but habit compelled him to cling to them as if they might ease his turbulence.
His breath was uneven, remembering how Celeste used to coo him into rest with whispers of comfort. He felt an ache so primal in his chest, part desire and part anger. She'd promised loyalty, only to disappear when his world fell apart. But now she was his, by contract, and the old wound bled on. He flung the useless pills onto the mattress, his jaw clenched with tension.
He paced the room and saw himself in the glass of the window: tall frame coiled with frustration, black hair undone, features cut with regret. Pride said this forced marriage was the ideal resolution to his corporate quandary, but the voice of regret spoke otherwise. He hated that he needed her, hated that she was still capable of stirring such primal longing in his heart.
He flung open the balcony door, stepping out into the warm desert night. The city lights shimmered below in glittering lines like he realized, not knowing of the secret pain he had. He breathed the dry air, looking for peace. If Celeste hadn't betrayed him, then why did his chest tighten at the thought of her gentle laugh or the way she once traced his fingers?
He leaned against the railing, the bustle of city traffic far below neglected. Sleep would remain elusive. Bitterness simmered, unwilling to be freed. She was here, though, on terms that were not truthful. He stepped back inside, alone again with the spirit of all they'd had together, one that no contract could completely restore.
Daybreak filled Caspian's mansion with the smell of coffee and a tingle of tension. Light flooded through the grand foyer, highlighting polished floors and high ceilings. House staff hustled, aware of their employer's temperaments. "Is this someone's dope?" Near the entrance, Valentina came in with a small package of fresh herbs in a soft cloth. Stepping forward, head high in a manner that spoke to her aristocratic bloodline, even as concern knotted her features.
Caspian, leaning against a marble pillar, raised an eyebrow at his mother's uninvited arrival. He appeared haggard, dark crescents attached to his eyes. "You never call first," he said quietly, taking the herbs. A faint quirk tugged on Valentina's lips. "You'd not have rest if I did," she murmured. She gently told him to soak the herbs in tea, swearing it might afford him a short reprieve from insomnia.
Before he had time to protest, footsteps sounded from across the foyer. Celeste appeared, looking uncertain. Her dress's muted colour was a stark contrast to the grandeur of her new surroundings. Valentina looked at her, memories of her past failures swirling in her brain. And although guilt ate at her heart, she offered her a polite nod, sliding Celeste a discreet envelope of small instructions: behaviour tips, charity event etiquette, unspoken rules of Hayes family life. Celeste's cheeks burned hot, gratitude and mortification swimming in her eyes.
Valentina's resolve faltered, reminding how she herself had stoked the whispers that pushed Celeste away from Caspian. Maybe providing some direction was a meagre expiation of her complicity. She haltingly cleared her throat and was about to speak when Talia walked in, looking sleek in a fitted skirt. Talia turned her frosty gaze on Celeste. "Settling in, I hope," she said, her voice lilting with mock civility. The air became heavy with tension, and each player realized how the tightrope that divided them had gotten thinner.
Valentina jumped in, cautioning Talia that those kinds of jabs didn't aid in the discussion. Talia shrugged and strolled off with nonchalant arrogance. Celeste sighed inwardly as she gripped the envelope. The pamphlet laid out the social obligations, sure, but it also served as her tentative lifeline in a household rife with secrets. Caspian's eye darted between them, a flash of uncertain awareness breaking through his apathy. Then, bathed in morning light, he turned away, his jaw clenched, ready to face whatever battle might bubble next. And Celeste there stood, envelope in hand, brooding whether such seeds of kindness could weather a brewing tempest.