Chapter five

Celeste POV

The door shut with a gentle sound, but the click felt deafening in my ears. My heart was still beating fast, echoing the fire left behind on my lips. Alexander’s kiss stole something from me,  something I thought I’d buried with Clara.

I stood stuck in a spot, leaning the edge of the mahogany bookshelf for support. My legs weren’t shaking, no, they shouldn't be. I can’t allow it. Not here. Not when I’d come this far. Not after six years of well constructed plans.

But the truth lingered in my chest.

He kissed me.

And I had kissed him back.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I had come here for revenge, not this. Not stolen heat beneath bitter silence. Not the thrill of being seen, not the ache of being touched.

I closed my eyes tightly and breathed deep, willing the tremor out of my bones. Alexander still thought I was Clara, his once meek housemaid turned resentful ghost. And I needed it to stay that way, at least for now. He couldn’t know the truth. If he did, everything would collapse.

A soft knock broke the silence.

I turned,

The door opened slightly, and there he was. Alexander Bologna. Storm-gray eyes shadowed by something unreadable. He didn’t come inside. He just stood there, one hand still on the door handle as if he is unsure he wanted to be here.

“You shouldn’t play with fire if you don’t want to get burned,” he said finally, his voice low.

I forced my face into a cold mask, the one I’d practiced in the mirror countless nights while Ethan slept beside me. “Then stop lighting matches,” I replied coldly, brushing past him toward the hallway.

But his hand stretched out, catching my wrist.

I froze.

He didn’t pull. Didn’t squeeze. Just held me there—barely a touch, and yet I felt it in my spine.

“Why did you kiss me back?” he asked, his voice raw and too quiet for anyone else to hear.

I turned my face away, not because I was afraid to answer, but because I was afraid of the truth in my eyes. “Does it matter?”

“To me, it does.”

That was the problem.

It shouldn’t.

“It was a mistake,” I whispered.

A lie.

He stared at me for a while before releasing me. “Then let’s not make it again,” he said sharply, though his voice betrayed the hurt he didn’t want me to see.

I nodded and walked away, feeling every step like shattered glass underfoot.

Back in my room, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling shakily.

What was wrong with me?

The plan was simple. Infiltrate the Bolognas. Use the marriage to access the truth. Expose them for what they did to Clara. Protect Ethan. Nothing more.

But Alexander wasn’t the cold, untouchable man I had used to imagine. There were cracks in his armor now, fractures I hadn’t planned for. Regret in his gaze. Confusion in his touch. And I… I was no longer sure if the game I was playing would end with me the victor or the casualty.

My bare feet whispered against the cold marble floor as I crossed the room, my fingers reaching for clara’s diary like a lifeline. The pages were thin, the edges curled from wear. I flipped to the last entry, tracing her faded handwriting with my fingers:

“They promised me everything, but I don’t believe them anymore. I think they mean to make me disappear. If anything happens to me, I hope Celeste finds this. I hope she understands that I tried to stay alive for Ethan. I tried…”

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them away. I couldn’t afford to cry. At least not tonight.

I opened the second drawer of my vanity, pulling out the manila envelope I’d hidden since we arrived. Inside were copies of forged medical reports, signed with Angela Bologna’s pristine signature. They proved Clara had been denied care. That her cries for help were ignored.

One step closer to justice.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

My phone vibrated.

Unknown Number.

Again.

“You’re getting close. But be careful, someone is watching.”

I froze.

My gaze lifted to the window.

Was it paranoia or instinct?

I moved slowly to the curtain, then peeled it back just an inch.

Across the courtyard, near the far wing of the estate, a shadow disappeared behind the hedges. It was too dark to see clearly. But I knew. Someone had been there, Watching.

I shut the curtain, my chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wasn’t just about me and Alexander. Or Angela and the past.

There were other eyes in this house.

Someone who didn’t want the truth revealed.

The next morning, the house continued with its usual mechanical rhythm. Staff moved like ghosts in designer uniforms. Angela’s heels clicked like gunshots in the hallways. But beneath the surface, tension brewed like a storm no one could see.

I dressed in silence, choosing a sleek navy dress Clara would never have dared to wear. I pinned my hair back. Painted confidence on my lips.

Let them watch me.

Let them wonder.

When I entered the breakfast room, Alexander was already there, sipping dark coffee with a scowl etched into his features. His eyes met mine across the table, curious, wary, and something else I couldn’t name.

Bianca walked in moments later, her smile too sweet.

She perched beside Alexander, her arm brushing his. “Did you sleep well, darling?”

I sipped my tea without a word.

He didn’t answer her.

Instead, he looked at me.

“I’ll have the staff prepare the guest wing for Ethan’s tutor,” he said. “He starts lessons next week.”

I nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

Bianca’s lips twitched. “Playing house already, are we?”

I smiled at her, all teeth. “Oh, Bianca. It’s not playing if I already have the ring.”

Her face fell for half a second, just enough to satisfy me.

But then her phone buzzed.

She glanced down.

And her expression changed.

She stood abruptly. “Excuse me,” she murmured, almost too low to hear.

Alexander frowned.

I watched her leave.

And I knew.

She had received a message.

The same way I had.

There were too many secrets in this house.

Too many players on the board.

And I was running out of time.

  That night, as I lay in bed, I saw a letter being slipped beneath my door. I picked it up with shaking hands.

Inside was a single photo.

Angela… her face turned slightly to the camera, smiling at a shadowed figure. But it wasn’t the man who caught my breath, it was the bracelet on her wrist.

Clara’s bracelet.

The one she was buried in.

Or so I thought.