If Celeste ever wrote a memoir, this moment would be titled: The Exact Second I Regretted Every Life Choice That Led Me Here.
Drenched, exhausted, and clutching a duffel bag that held everything she owned, she stood in the grand foyer of the Aldridge estate, shivering as rainwater dripped onto the expensive marble floor. The place screamed wealth—vaulted ceilings, chandeliers that probably cost more than her entire existence, and the distinct, crisp scent of money and power.
Too bad the owner of said money and power had the personality of a rabid dog.
A glass shattered against the wall just inches from her face, amber liquid splattering onto the pristine white columns.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
“Get. Out.”
The voice was lethal—deep, sharp, and laced with a kind of exhaustion that told her he wasn’t in the mood for visitors.
Lucian Aldridge stood across the room, his imposing frame shadowed in the dim glow of his study. Dressed in black slacks and a half-unbuttoned dress shirt, he looked every bit the powerful CEO he used to be. The only difference now? He was blind. And furious.
Celeste swallowed hard. Okay, so maybe walking in without knocking wasn’t my best move.
“I—” She barely got a word out before Lucian scoffed.
“Who let you in?” His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. “If Marcus thinks hiring incompetent staff is acceptable now, he’s fired.”
Her pulse hammered. “I’m not—”
“Go.” He turned his back to her, heading toward the bar cart. “I don’t need anyone here. I don’t want anyone here.”
Celeste squared her shoulders. Two million dollars. Two million dollars.
“I’m not a maid.” Her voice was calm, steady—completely fake, because inside, she was screaming.
Lucian froze. His grip on the whiskey bottle tightened ever so slightly.
Celeste exhaled, forcing confidence she didn’t feel. “I’m Vivian.”
Silence.
It stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until Lucian let out a slow, bitter laugh.
“Vivian?” His tone was mocking, almost amused. He set the bottle down with a soft clink. “So, you’ve finally decided to crawl back, huh?”
Celeste’s stomach twisted. She gripped the strap of her bag tighter. “Yes.”
Lucian’s head tilted slightly, as if he were trying to see something beyond the darkness that had become his world. “What changed?”
What changed? Well, for one, she wasn’t Vivian. And two, she had a dying brother, an empty bank account, and a deal with the devil.
But none of that was the answer she could give.
So she lied.
“I missed you.”
The second the words left Celeste’s mouth, Lucian went utterly still.
His sharp features tensed, his fingers flexing at his sides. And then, without warning, he reached out, his grip firm as his hand closed around her wrist.
Celeste sucked in a breath.
It wasn’t a painful hold—not exactly—but it was unyielding. Dominant. His thumb pressed against the rapid pulse at her wrist, as if measuring the truth in her heartbeat.
“Why the hell are you back?”
His voice was low, edged with suspicion, and just like that, every muscle in Celeste’s body locked up.
Shit.
She forced a small, carefully measured smile, though it did nothing to slow the frantic pounding in her chest. “I already told you,” she said lightly, her voice perfectly mimicking the woman he believed she was. “I missed you.”
Lucian’s jaw clenched. “Liar.”
Her stomach dropped.
She barely had time to react before he yanked her closer, eliminating the distance between them. The scent of whiskey and something darker—something him—filled her senses, and she found herself face-to-face with a man who couldn’t even see her.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t studying her.
His blind eyes narrowed, his free hand lifting slightly, hesitating. Then, slowly, he brought his fingers to her face.
Celeste bit her tongue so hard she swore she tasted blood.
She knew what he was doing. Confirming.
His fingertips barely skimmed the edge of her jaw before he dropped his hand, exhaling sharply.
“You don’t touch me for two years,” he muttered, voice thick with bitterness, “and now you want to act like nothing happened?”
Celeste’s throat went dry.
This was dangerous.
One wrong word. One wrong reaction. And he’d know.
She forced a nervous laugh—Vivian’s laugh, not her own. “Would you rather I pretend I don’t care?”
Lucian let out a humorless chuckle, but it held no warmth. His grip on her wrist loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.
“You’re up to something,” he murmured. “You always are.”
Celeste swallowed. “Lucian—”
“Save it,” he cut her off, his expression unreadable. Then, with a final squeeze, he released her.
She took a shaky step back, every nerve in her body still on high alert.
Lucian ran a hand through his dark hair, exhaling sharply. “You left me for dead, Vivian.” His voice was quiet, but the words cut deep. “So tell me… what do you want this time?”
Celeste forced her lips into a small, practiced smile.
Two million dollars and a miracle.
But instead, she said, “I just want to help.”
Lucian let out a humorless laugh, sharp and jagged like broken glass. “Help?” He tilted his head slightly, his blind eyes narrowing. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Celeste’s pulse thrummed in her ears. She needed to play this right—needed to keep her voice calm, familiar. “I know I hurt you,” she said, channeling Vivian’s detached confidence. “But I also know you, Lucian. You can pretend you don’t need anyone, but I can hear it in your voice. You’re exhausted.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it.
She took a careful step closer, the damp fabric of her dress clinging to her skin. She must’ve looked like a drowned stray standing in his opulent, gleaming mansion, but she didn’t let that shake her.
“Your mother called me,” she continued, keeping her voice steady. “She told me everything.”
Lucian scoffed. “Of course she did.”
He reached blindly toward the side table, his fingers brushing the crystal decanter. The sound of liquid pouring into a glass filled the tense silence.
Celeste watched as he lifted the drink to his lips, then paused.
“You’re lying,” he murmured.
Her stomach clenched.
“What?”
He set the glass down with a soft clink. “My mother didn’t tell you everything. She couldn’t have. Because if she had, you wouldn’t be here.”
Damn it.
Lucian wasn’t just bitter—he was sharp. Even blind, he could see right through people.
Celeste exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she countered. “Whatever you think I know, or don’t know, does it really matter?”
Lucian’s grip tightened around the glass. “It matters,” he said. “Because if you really knew how deep this went, you’d run.”
Her breath hitched.
Run? From what? From him?
Her heart pounded as a sliver of something dark and unreadable crossed his face.
Lucian Aldridge was many things—arrogant, cold, impossible—but he wasn’t the one Celeste feared.
No. It was the woman she was pretending to be.
Vivian Lancaster had left him when he was at his lowest. She had walked away from this mansion, from this man, and never looked back.
And now Celeste was standing in her place.
Wearing her voice.
Trapped in a lie she wasn’t sure she could escape.