Chapter 105 Chapter 105
Chapter 105
Celine closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it for a second, letting the quiet of the apartment wrap around her. Ariana had already gone to bed, the hallway light switched off, leaving only the soft glow from the streetlamp outside her window. She kicked off her shoes, padded across the rug in socks, and dropped onto the edge of her bed.
Her phone sat on the nightstand where she’d left it. Screen dark. She stared at it like it might light up on its own.
It didn’t.
She reached for it anyway.
Unlocked it with her thumb.
Opened the photos app.
The first picture wasn’t one she’d meant to keep. She’d taken it without thinking Ethan mid-sentence at the café, looking down at his coffee cup while he listened to her ramble about Ariana’s latest reality-TV obsession. His mouth had curved just slightly, not quite a full smile, more like he was trying not to laugh out loud. His eyes were on her, though. Even in the photo, you could see it. Focused. Present.
She swiped.
Next one: him leaning back in the chair, one arm draped over the backrest, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The afternoon light had hit the side of his face, catching the faint stubble along his jaw. He’d been asking her something something small, something about her weekend and she’d snapped the picture while he waited for her answer. He hadn’t noticed. Or if he had, he hadn’t said anything.
She zoomed in a little. Traced the line of his collarbone where the top button of his shirt was undone. Nothing dramatic. Just Ethan. Relaxed. Human.
Her thumb hovered over the delete icon for half a second.
Then she closed the app instead.
She lay back on the bed, phone resting on her stomach, screen still glowing against her shirt. The ceiling fan turned slow circles above her. She watched it go round and round while her mind replayed the last message he’d sent.
If anything feels strange—anything at all—you tell me. Doesn’t matter what time.
She read it again in her head. The words were simple. Straightforward. But the way they sat in her chest felt anything but simple.
She’d answered fast I will. Promise. because she didn’t know what else to say. Because part of her wanted to believe he meant it. Really meant it. Not just the polite boss version of checking in. The real version.
She turned onto her side, pulled her knees up, hugged the pillow against her chest.
He’d driven her home himself. No driver. No black SUV waiting like the past few days. Just him, pulling up to the curb in his own car, engine idling while she unbuckled her seatbelt and tried to find the right goodbye.
You didn’t have to drive me all the way, she’d said.
I wanted to, he’d answered. Quiet. Steady.
She’d looked at him then really looked. Streetlight coming through the windshield, catching the side of his face. He hadn’t looked away. Just sat there, hands still on the wheel, like he was giving her time to say whatever she needed to say.
She hadn’t said much. Just thank you. Good night.
He’d nodded. Good night, Celine.
No “Ms.” No formality. Just her name.
She buried her face in the pillow for a second, cheeks warm.
She opened the phone again. Went back to the messages. Read the whole short exchange from tonight.
Are you okay?
Yes. I’m good. You?
Yeah. Just checking in.
Everything all right?
Long day. Wanted to make sure you got home okay.
I did. Thank you.
If anything feels strange anything at all you tell me. Doesn’t matter what time.
I will. Promise.
She stared at those last two words she’d typed. Promise.
She hadn’t meant it to sound so serious. But it had come out that way. And he hadn’t brushed it off. Hadn’t sent a quick emoji or changed the subject. He’d just… let it sit there.
She locked the phone. Set it on the nightstand. Turned onto her back again.
Her mind wouldn’t stop.
She thought about the way he’d cleared his throat twice when he first asked her to coffee. The way he’d rubbed the back of his neck when there was a lull in conversation, like he was nervous about filling the silence wrong. The way he’d listened when she talked about nothing important really listened, not the polite nodding people do when they’re waiting for their turn. He’d asked questions. Followed up. Like he wanted to know the answers.
She rolled over again, pulled the blanket higher.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew the lines. Boss. Employee. Professional distance. She’d spent months keeping everything neat and careful at work. Answering emails promptly. Calling him Mr. Castellan. Keeping her voice even.
But today yesterday, now had cracked something open.
She thought about the photo again. The one where he was looking at her while she talked. She hadn’t meant to capture that moment. Hadn’t even realized she’d pressed the button until the shutter sound went off quietly in her bag. She’d glanced down, seen the preview, and felt her stomach flip.
He hadn’t noticed.
She hadn’t deleted it.
She reached for the phone one more time. Opened the photo. Looked at his face in the soft café light. The small crease between his brows when he concentrated. The way his mouth softened when he smiled.
She locked the screen again. Set the phone face-down.
“Friends,” she whispered into the dark.
The word felt thin tonight. Not wrong exactly. Just… not enough.
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow was Monday. Back to the office. Back to desks and reports and “Mr. Castellan” Back to pretending nothing had shifted.
But something had.
She knew it.
He probably knew it too.
She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Sleep came slow.
When it finally arrived, it carried the
memory of his voice saying her name quiet, careful, like it mattered.
And the promise she’d made him.
I will.
She meant it.