Chapter 52 Blockbuster Scene
\-Denise-
The drive back to my apartment was heavy with silence—partly shock, mostly fury at David.
He had crossed the line today. He should have listened. He shouldn’t have endangered me and Celeste like he did.
When we reached the building, the elevator ride was no different. My hands clutched my chest reflexively when his brushed against mine.
The only reason I had let him come up at all was because he had to drop my stuff off.
He tried to make a joke out of what happened, trying to lighten the situation. “It felt like a movie scene, didn’t it?” he chuckled.
I didn’t laugh. I didn’t flinch.
Damn it, I hate him so much right now.
When we arrived at my apartment, and he put the items down, I opened the door. Without a word, I gestured sharply for him to leave.
She blinked, confused. “So you're not going to say anything to me?”
I scoffed, my brow arching in annoyance. “What am I supposed to say to you? Clearly, today was a blockbuster moment for you. I wouldn't want to ruin that.” I crossed my arms.
His brows furrowed. “I'm confused. Did I do something wrong?”
I stifled a pained laugh, “What is your problem?”
His hands dug into his jean pockets, unfazed. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He shrugged.
I glared at him. I didn’t know if he was being oblivious, or if he was just avoiding the situation.
“You know, you were really acting weird today,” I told him firmly. “When Lucien stepped in, you acted like a dick and tried to override his instructions—”
“I was trying to save us,” he snapped. “I had it under control—”
“And Lucien wanted to help, you should have listened—”
“I had it under control, Denise. He should have stayed out of it,” he said stubbornly.
I chuckled dryly. So he had been avoiding the situation the entire time.
“In case you’ve forgotten, Dave,” I spat, “Lucien is her husband. You had no right to endanger her—us—like you did today!”
He stood stiffly, a mix of defiance and remorse in his posture.
“I was only trying to help,” he said, voice tight.
“You know what?” I shot back. “I’m just going to say it. I don’t care how it sounds. You came into her life as an event planner. Because of me, you two have gotten close. But today, you crossed the line. And if I’m being honest, I think you have a weird fixation on Celeste.”
He chuckled, a little bitter. “Don’t call it a fixation, Denise.”
“Then what is it?” I pressed, my voice shaking slightly with frustration. “Help me wrap my head around how you’ve blurred every line between professionalism and personal boundaries…how you’ve somehow inserted yourself into every facet of her life. Do you like her or something?”
“No. Not in the way you think,” he said quickly. “Celeste is my client—”
“Then start acting like that!” My voice broke. “Ever since we started dating, you’ve made me question myself. I care about her deeply and I will not let you come in between us—”
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes locking with mine. His voice softened, steady but earnest.
“Denise… this thing between us is real. I assure you, I’m not obsessed with Celeste. I’m not in love with her. You’re right—I crossed the line today. It wasn’t my place, and I shouldn’t have acted like that. I’ll respect myself, and her, going forward.”
He paused, taking a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “Sometimes… she feels alone. I see that, and I see it in myself too. I want to help her. That’s all.”
I studied him for a long moment, trying to read the sincerity in his eyes. Part of me wanted to believe him—but part of me was still furious.
“I… I hope so,” I said finally, my voice low. “Because if you ever cross that line again…”
He nodded, a small, almost apologetic smile, tugging at his lips. “I won’t. I promise.”
For a heartbeat, the room was quiet, until his ringtone pierced through the quiet. He reached for the phone from his pocket, brows furrowing as he glanced at the screen.
“I have to take this,” he murmured, walking into the living room.
I listened, watching his reaction shift from listening to pleading, and then disappointment.
When he hung up, his fingers skimmed his hair again.
“Fuck!” he spat.
I blinked, anxious.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice tighter than I intended.
“One of our clients canceled,” she said quickly. “Says she can’t have Celeste catering with rumors like this flying around.”
“Shit.” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Before I could protest, my phone buzzed frantically. Another call. And another. The line from the cake shop was relentless. The staff said that people posing as customers had attacked them, that there was chaos.
My heart sank, my mind picturing the worst.
The screaming in the background didn’t help much.
“We need to get to Gâteau Celeste, right now,” I told David, rushing out of my apartment.
By the time we arrived, the shop was empty. The “Closed” sign hung crooked in the window, the front glass splattered with eggs, and a trampled cupcake lay forgotten on the sidewalk.
My hands flew to my mouth. “What the hell…?”
A few onlookers lingered, murmuring, but for safety, we didn’t pause. We drove around to the back and rushed inside.
There, in the chaos, the assistant baker and another staff member hovered over the washer, holding a cold compress to his head.
“Are you alright?” I flew to his side, “Do you need to go to hospital?”
“No ma’am. I’m alright, just a headache.” He grinned.
How could he be grinning in a situation like this?
“This is bad,” I muttered, swallowing hard as the smell of burned baked goods mingled with the tension in the room.