Trapped in the Lie

 

Celeste wasn’t sure what was worse—the way Lucian kept staring at her like he could see right through her, or the way Emelia watched her like she was waiting for her to fail.

Both were suffocating.

She sat stiffly in the oversized leather chair across from Lucian, his presence overwhelming even in silence. He wasn’t just a man who had lost his sight—he was a man who had lost everything and knew it. The weight of that loss pressed into the room like a storm about to break.

And she was stuck in the middle of it.

Lucian tilted his head, his fingers tracing the rim of his untouched whiskey glass. “You’re quiet, Vivian. That’s not like you.”

Celeste’s stomach lurched. Shit.

She forced a small laugh, keeping her voice light. “I figured you’d be happier if I shut up.”

He smirked. “That’s more like you.”

Across the room, Emelia leaned in toward Marcus Langley, Lucian’s assistant, her voice a sharp whisper.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Emelia murmured, her gaze cold as ice. “She’ll fail.”

Marcus, standing rigid beside the fireplace, said nothing.

“But,” Emelia continued, crossing her arms, “I hope she doesn’t. Because Lucian is my pride. I only want the best for him.”

Her words were polished, her tone smooth. But Celeste felt the insult in them like a blade. She wasn’t the best. She was the last resort.

Lucian’s voice snapped her back to reality.

“Tell me something, Vivian.”

Celeste’s breath caught. Here it is. The test.

Lucian leaned forward, his blind gaze locked onto her like he could still see. “Do you remember that weekend in Paris?”

Oh, hell.

She could feel Emelia’s stare drilling into her, waiting for her to slip. Celeste scrambled through everything she knew about Vivian Lancaster. The model. The socialite. The woman who had left this man behind.

What would she say?

Celeste forced a soft sigh. “Of course,” she said, voice steady despite her racing heart. “How could I forget?”

Lucian’s lips pressed together, thoughtful. Then—“What did we do?”

Double hell.

Celeste’s pulse pounded in her ears. Her mind spun, searching for anything.

And then, she did what she always did when she was cornered.

She lied through her teeth.

“We walked along the Seine,” she murmured, injecting warmth into her tone. “You complained about how cliché it was, but you held my hand anyway.”

Lucian’s jaw twitched. His fingers curled slightly on the table.

Celeste swallowed. Did she mess up? Did she say too much?

And then—he chuckled. A low, amused sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

“That does sound like me,” he murmured.

She had passed.

For now.

 

Marcus Langley had been working for Lucian Aldridge for nearly a decade. He had seen the man close billion-dollar deals with a single phone call, break down competitors with a few words, and memorize entire legal contracts after one read.

Lucian Aldridge wasn’t just smart—he was a prodigy. A man whose mind worked three steps ahead of everyone else.

And something about Vivian—no, about the woman pretending to be her—felt off.

Marcus kept his expression neutral as he studied her. She looked the part, sure. But something wasn’t clicking. Vivian was sharp, poised, and vain. This woman?

She was… careful. Like she was choosing every word as if walking through a minefield.

Lucian, oblivious to Marcus’s scrutiny, leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. “Vivian.”

Celeste turned her head quickly, her forced ease faltering for just a second.

Lucian smirked. A trap.

“You haven’t called me by my name once since you arrived.” His voice was smooth, but there was a thread of steel beneath it. “Why is that?”

Celeste’s stomach dropped. Shit.

Marcus watched as she recovered—too quickly. A real fiancée wouldn’t have hesitated.

“I…” Celeste forced a soft chuckle, reaching for the nearest wine glass even though she didn’t drink. “I figured you were mad at me, Lucian.”

Lucian’s expression didn’t change, but Marcus knew better. His boss had just caught something.

“Mad?” Lucian mused. “And why would I be mad, Vivian?”

Celeste took a sip of the wine, stalling for time. Marcus almost winced. Vivian hated red wine.

Another mistake. Another crack.

Celeste set the glass down. “Because I left,” she said simply. “And I shouldn’t have.”

Lucian tilted his head. He was listening. Analyzing.

Marcus exhaled slowly and stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Celeste could hear.

“Be careful,” he warned.

Celeste stiffened.

Marcus kept his eyes on Lucian, watching as the CEO’s fingers tapped an idle pattern on the armrest. That tapping meant he was thinking. Piecing things together.

“Lucian was called a prodigy for a reason,” Marcus murmured. “If you make one wrong move, he’ll know.”

Celeste swallowed hard.

She was already in too deep.

Celeste lay stiff as a board in the massive four-poster bed Emelia had assigned her. The sheets smelled expensive, like lavender and money—two things she’d never had in her life. But comfort didn’t come easy when you were tangled in a lie this big.

Somewhere down the hall, Lucian Aldridge—the man she was supposed to be fooling—was awake, too. She could hear the deep, restless sighs, the slow pacing of his footsteps across the floor. Blind, but never powerless. That much had been clear from the moment she met him.

She exhaled slowly, staring up at the ornate ceiling, her pulse an unsteady drum in her ears. One wrong move, and he’ll know. Marcus had warned her, Amara had all but begged her to reconsider, and even Emelia—who had handpicked her for this insanity—watched her like a snake waiting for its prey to slip.

But she had no choice. Noah’s hospital bills weren’t going to pay themselves.

She turned on her side, gripping the pillow as she replayed the moment from earlier that evening—Lucian testing her, his voice edged with suspicion. “Tell me something, Vivian.” His voice had been smooth, dangerous. “What was the last thing you said to me before you left?”

Celeste had barely swallowed down her panic before blurting out, “I told you I’d come back.”

Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence before he murmured, “You did.”

And that was the worst part. He had believed her. For now.

A shiver ran down her spine. He’s too smart for this.

Lucian Aldridge had been called a prodigy for a reason. He built an empire before thirty, saw through lies like they were made of glass, and even blind, he had an unsettling way of knowing exactly what was happening around him.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing sleep to come.

If she slipped up, even once… he’d destroy her.