Chapter 94 : Desperate Gambits

Chapter 94 : Desperate Gambits
Celeste’s POV

The walls of the estate felt smaller with every passing hour.

Each gilded frame, each velvet curtain that once whispered luxury now pressed in on me like the edges of a coffin. The silence wasn’t peaceful anymore—it was suffocating, thick with the weight of what I’d done and what was about to unravel. I could almost hear the clock ticking above the mantel, counting down the seconds until Adrian finally made his move.

The manila envelope had arrived days ago—I knew because I’d seen the courier leave his study, his expression pale, eyes downcast. The investigator’s work. Proof. Evidence. My stomach had turned to ice then, and it hadn’t thawed since.

He knows.

Not yet, maybe—but soon. And when he does…

I pressed my hand against the smooth, rounded curve of my prosthetic belly, the false child that had bought me time, sympathy, access. What had once been my greatest weapon now felt like a noose tightening around my neck. The silicone beneath my palm was cold, lifeless—mocking me.

If I lost this gamble, I lost everything.

The title. The estate. The security. Adrian’s name.

Without those, what was I? Nothing more than a discarded mistress clinging to fading beauty and dangerous ambition.

The maid entered quietly with a silver tray. “Your tea, ma’am.”

“Leave it,” I murmured, my voice sharper than intended. The girl set it down and scurried out. I barely noticed her go. My gaze was fixed on the mirror across the room.

My reflection stared back: flawless makeup, hair cascading in perfect curls, the silk gown draping over the illusion of pregnancy. I looked immaculate. Untouchable. But the longer I stared, the more cracks I saw beneath the perfection—the trembling lip, the faint smear of mascara from a tear I hadn’t meant to shed.

I leaned forward until my reflection blurred. “I can’t let it end like this,” I whispered.

I wouldn’t let it.

Adrian might have his investigator, his proof, his righteous fury—but I still had something he didn’t. I had the power to twist hearts, to play fear like an instrument, to make men feel. Adrian thought he’d hardened himself beyond manipulation, but I knew better. He wasn’t immune to me. Not entirely.

He had cared once—if not for me, then for what I represented: control, order, pride. I could still use that.

By the time I stepped out of my room, my plan had begun to take shape.

The drawing room gleamed under the pale afternoon light. Adrian stood near the window, reviewing estate accounts spread across his desk. The sight of him—so composed, so unbothered—made my stomach twist. That quiet indifference was worse than anger. It meant I was already fading from his concern.

“Adrian,” I breathed, my hand instinctively moving to my belly. “I… I don’t feel well.”

He didn’t even look up.

The chill that ran through me was instant and suffocating. Once, the sound of my voice could command his attention. Now it barely earned his disdain.

I pressed my palm against the wall for support, letting my breath come quick and shallow. Then, with a perfectly calculated stumble, I crossed the room—and collapsed at his feet.

The thud of my body against the carpet was followed by the delicate crash of porcelain—the teacup he’d been drinking from toppled, shattering into white shards.

“Adrian…” I gasped, forcing my voice into a quivering whisper. “The baby… please… help…”

For a moment, I thought it had worked. He was kneeling beside me, his shadow falling over mine. The concern in his movements almost looked real.

Almost.

Then I saw his eyes.

Cold. Measuring. Not the eyes of a man afraid for his child—or for me. The eyes of a judge preparing to deliver a sentence.

“We’ll have the doctor run a full exam,” he said finally, voice smooth as marble. “Blood tests. Ultrasound. Everything.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “That isn’t necessary,” I managed, letting a tear slide down my cheek. “It’s only stress, I swear—”

“Enough.”

The word cracked like thunder. He stood, towering over me. The quiet fury in his face stripped away any illusion I had left. “You wanted to play this game, Celeste,” he said evenly. “Now you’ll see it through. If you want me to believe this child exists, then prove it.”

He reached down, helping me up—not gently, not kindly. His grip was firm, impersonal, like he was lifting a broken doll he no longer cared to mend. He guided me to the sofa and set me down, then turned toward the door.

“I’ll send for the doctor.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The echo of the closing door left a ringing silence in its wake.

I sat frozen, the mask of weakness sliding off my face as my pulse thundered in my ears. My hands trembled in my lap, not from the act but from the fear clawing its way up my throat.

He knew.

Not just suspected—knew.

I pressed both palms against my belly, the silicone suddenly feeling like ice. The lie I had built my safety on was collapsing. I could almost hear it—crack by crack—until it would fall apart completely.

When I finally stood, the mirror across the room caught my reflection again. For the first time, I saw not beauty or cunning or victory—but desperation.

By nightfall, the panic had curdled into fury.

How dare he treat me like this? How dare he corner me after everything I had done for him, after everything I had sacrificed? I’d helped him humiliate Samora, destroy her peace, control her life—and now he wanted to discard me like a used glove?

No.

Not yet.

I poured myself a drink, the whiskey burning a trail down my throat. My hands still shook, but I steadied them with willpower alone. I needed a new plan—one last move to turn the tide.

There was only one person left who could help me.

Nathan.

The thought of him made something twist inside me—resentment, admiration, fear, all tangled together. He had been the one to pull me in, to promise partnership, power, revenge. He had fed me information, whispered strategies in the dark, made me believe we were equals.

But lately… something in him had changed.

Still, I dialed his number, each ring hammering against my nerves. When he finally answered, his voice was smooth, but colder than I remembered.

“Celeste,” he drawled. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “Adrian knows,” I said quickly. “He’s sending for a doctor—he’s going to find out. You have to help me. We can fix this.”

Silence.

Then, a soft laugh. Low. Cruel. “You always think you can fix things, don’t you?”

“Nathan—please,” I snapped, desperation bleeding through my voice. “You said you needed me. You said we’d do this together.”

He sighed, as though bored. “And you’ve done beautifully. Really, Celeste, your performance was exquisite. But like all acts, it has to end eventually.”

My breath caught. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the truth.” His tone shifted, smooth and venomous. “Once Adrian uncovers your little secret, I can’t protect you. I won’t need to. You’ve played your role, and quite well, but every pawn has its limit.”

“Pawn?” I whispered, my pulse roaring in my ears. “You used me?”

He chuckled—a sound that sent cold shivers down my spine. “You were useful. Don’t take offense. Everyone’s useful to me… until they’re not.”

I pressed a trembling hand to my chest. “Nathan, please—”

“Goodbye, Celeste.”

The line went dead.

For a long moment, I just sat there, the silence pressing against me like a scream. My phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the floor.

That was when it hit me—all at once, like a blade sliding between my ribs.

Nathan had never been my ally. He had never loved me, never trusted me, never cared whether I won or lost.

He had orchestrated everything.

The lies. The jealousy. The chaos.

I wasn’t a queen or even a strategist in his game. I was the pawn he’d sacrificed to draw Adrian’s attention away from his real plan.

And now my usefulness had expired.

I wrapped my arms around myself, the silk of my gown suddenly suffocating. My reflection in the window looked ghostly, pale, almost translucent—like a woman fading out of her own story.

In the distance, I heard the faint rumble of thunder. A storm was coming, and this time, I wouldn’t be standing when it hit.

My world—my carefully constructed illusion—was collapsing.

And for the first time in my life, I was completely, utterly alone.