Chapter 41 She Is My Wife
Lucien
“I’m trying to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life,” I told her. “You can’t marry him. My nephew and the rest of my family are only trying to use you. You have to call off this wedding.” Celeste did not answer. She turned and walked away from me, her steps sharp and angry.
I followed her, calling her name, but she did not slow. She went straight to her car and got in. The door closed. The engine started.
The next moment, I was somewhere else.
There was music, voices, the low hum of a crowded event. I stood still, trying to understand how I had gotten there, when Celeste suddenly ran past me. This time, she looked furious.
“Celeste,” I called, and followed her.
She disappeared, and then she was in her car again, and I was driving behind her.
She sped up. I did the same. The road stretched out in front of us, narrowing as the lights blurred. I told her to slow down, though I knew she could not hear me.
Her car swerved. Mine followed.
There was a deafening crash, metal tearing against metal, and then the world went
dark—
I jolted awake, and found myself in the hospital suite.
Celeste lay in a bed, asleep, unconscious from a concussion after the minor accident. The memory of the dream—crashing, screaming, metal twisting—clashed with reality.
What kind of dream had that been?
I walked over to her bedside, letting my fingers brush the blanket over her.
A shiver suddenly ran through me.
A bullet had pierced the car window. The brakes hadn’t worked. I knew it was a sabotage. That I had been the intended target, yet it could have killed us both.
The memory of the crash pressed on me. It wad arely a miss. Barely.
Jackson stepped in, closing the door behind him. It was thanks to him that we were here.
Before he could say a word, I dragged him back into the hallway. I couldn’t risk letting Celeste hear our conversation.
“The cops recovered the bullet. Lab will match it to a gun in a few days. I had them posted at the entrance of the ward, just to be safe,” he told me outside.
“Thank you, Jackson.”
He nodded. “Do you think they’re behind this?”
I let out a slow breath. “Her family? Well, they’re not out of the question. If they could frame their eldest son’s death, then they’re capable of doing anything.”
Jackson shook his head. “Meanwhile, I just found out that Brad Miller was one of Vanessa Ashford’s artifact couriers.”
“Interesting.” I murmured as my mind went back to the events at dinner. How Vanessa became uncomfortable when Brad’s name
came up.
“Do you think his death is connected to her?” Jackson asked.
I didn’t answer, because my mind was asking the same question.
Just then, a ruckus erupted at the ward's entrance. I could hear the familiar voice of Patricia Ashford and her son James. Loud and sharp.
A grin spread across my face as I turned, taking slow, measured steps toward them. I could feel the weight of their eyes on me like a sharp sting, they were frustrated that they could not see Celeste.
By the time I reached them, Patricia's face was twisted with fury. “I demand to see my granddaughter!” she snapped, her voice trembling with rage. “Do you know who I am?”
I met her gaze evenly. “ Of course I do,” I said. “But she is not yours to see right now. She is my wife.”
The words hit her like ice. Her gasp froze in her throat, disbelief etched across every line of her face.
“And for good reason,” I continued, keeping my voice calm. “A bullet went through the car window. The brakes failed. It was not an accident. She is unconscious because someone tried to kill her. To kill us. Until I know she is safe, there will be no visitors.”
Her face went pale, shock spreading across her features.
James just stood silently, expression unreadable, like stone. He did not flinch, did not react.
I let the silence stretch. “If that is all, you should take your leave,” I said.
I turned, walking back toward the ward door. Just then—
“Excuse me.”
I froze mid-step.
Did James Ashford just speak?
“I’d like to have a word,” he said, his voice calm and almost defeated.
We stepped onto the balcony. The hallway noise faded behind us, and for a long moment, silence hung between us.
He finally spoke. “What is the meaning of this?”
I said nothing. I just watched him. His face didn’t give anything away.
“I’ve heard you’ve been digging into your mother’s disappearance,” he continued, calm, measured. “You should stop.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A son isn’t allowed to look for his missing mother? Is that why someone tried to kill me tonight?”
His eyes didn’t move. “Do you have proof?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But you don’t exactly have a record of protecting the people closest to you. Your daughter was in that car. Or were you planning to get rid of her like you did your brother… and your ex-wife?”
His face remained unfazed.
He clearly knows I know everything.
I pressed further, “Your silence confirms all I need to know.”
He smirked, almost as if he knew he had won. “A person is innocent until proven guilty…I’m surprised a graduate of law school doesn’t know this principle.”
I scoffed, meeting him with a sharp gaze. “And some of us also know that the burden of proof doesn’t erase a body of evidence staring you in the face.”
His jaw tightened. He straightened, clearing his throat. “Focus on what’s in front of you. That’s all.”
I smirked. “Nice chat.”
I turned and slowly walked away, determination swelling in my chest.
Whoever was behind this attack, I’d find them, and drag them out to the ends of hell.