CHAPTER 3 — THE FIANCÉE WHO WAS NEVER IN LOVE
CHAPTER 3 — THE FIANCÉE WHO WAS NEVER IN LOVE
Celeste stood at the top of the stairs as if she had walked into a room where the dead were supposed to remain dead.
Her hand rested against the railing.
Her face had lost every trace of the polished confidence she had worn at dinner.
For once, she looked exactly like what she was.
Afraid.
Marcus moved first.
He stepped between us.
"How did you get down here?"
Celeste didn't answer.
Her eyes remained on the steel door.
The door behind which my brother had just spoken my name.
I looked at her.
"You knew."
She swallowed.
"I knew there was a room."
"You knew Ewan was alive?"
Her silence answered for her.
My hands curled into fists.
Six years.
Six years of funerals.
Six years of grief.
Six years of believing I had failed my brother.
And she had known.
The woman I had planned to marry had known.
"How long?"
Celeste finally looked at me.
"I didn't know he was alive."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not."
"You said I wasn't supposed to find him."
"I said you weren't supposed to find this place."
"You knew."
"Yes."
Her voice broke.
"I knew about the room."
I stepped closer.
"How?"
She looked toward Marcus.
"Can we speak alone?"
"No."
"Elias."
"You lost the right to ask me for privacy."
She flinched.
That was when I realized something.
She wasn't afraid of Marcus.
She wasn't afraid of me.
She was afraid of whoever was behind that door.
I pointed toward it.
"What is in there?"
Celeste whispered:
"Everything."
"Everything what?"
"The truth about your family."
The words barely left her mouth before the steel door behind us rattled.
All three of us turned.
A second later came another sound.
Three knocks.
Ewan's signal.
Celeste closed her eyes.
"Oh God."
I grabbed her wrist.
"You knew."
She looked at me.
"I knew he wasn't dead."
The room went silent.
Marcus slowly reached for his weapon.
I released her.
"Tell me everything."
Celeste looked at the door.
Then at me.
"Not here."
"Here."
"Your father may be listening."
"My father is supposed to be dead."
Celeste's expression changed.
"That's the problem."
We moved upstairs.
Marcus stayed behind to secure the hidden room.
Celeste followed me into the library.
I closed the doors.
She stood near the fireplace, her hands trembling.
I'd never seen her like that.
Celeste Vandermark had built her entire life around control.
She knew what to say.
When to smile.
Who to flatter.
Which politician to greet first.
She could walk into a room full of enemies and make them believe she owned it.
Now she couldn't look at me.
I poured two glasses of water.
She didn't touch hers.
"Start with Ewan."
She took a breath.
"I met him six years ago."
"I thought you met me first."
"I lied."
My jaw tightened.
"Why?"
"Because I was sent to Chicago."
"By whom?"
"My father."
"To do what?"
She looked at me.
"Get close to you."
The words landed harder than I expected.
I sat down.
"Why?"
"Because of the Moretti Trust."
I stared at her.
She continued.
"Your father had spent years moving assets through companies no one connected to the family. But there was one part he couldn't touch."
"My inheritance."
"Yes."
"What does that have to do with you?"
"Everything."
She reached into her purse.
She removed a folded document.
Then placed it on the table.
I opened it.
It was a copy of an old trust agreement.
My name appeared on the first page.
So did my father's.
And beneath them was another name.
Celeste Vandermark.
I looked up.
"What is this?"
"A conditional transfer."
"Explain."
"If you married me before your thirtieth birthday, certain restrictions on your father's control would disappear."
I read the document again.
"Why?"
"Because the trust was designed to protect the family from exactly the kind of manipulation your father was attempting."
"And marrying you bypassed it?"
"Not exactly."
She paused.
"It gave him access."
I looked at her.
"You were going to make me sign something."
"Yes."
"What?"
"A marital authority agreement."
My stomach turned.
"How convenient."
"It wasn't supposed to be permanent."
"That's what everyone says before they steal something."
She looked down.
"I know."
I stood.
"Did you ever love me?"
She didn't answer.
"Celeste."
She closed her eyes.
"No."
The word was quiet.
But it hurt.
More than I wanted it to.
She looked at me.
"I never intended to fall in love with you."
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
"That's not an answer."
"I didn't."
"Then what was every dinner? Every conversation? Every time you told me you believed in me?"
"A performance."
The room felt colder.
"How long?"
"From the beginning."
I looked away.
Memories came back.
Our first dinner.
Her hand on mine.
The night she told me I was different from my father.
The night she cried in my arms after pretending to be strong all evening.
The first time she said she loved me.
All of it.
A performance.
"You were very convincing."
"I had to be."
"Why?"
"Because if you suspected me, I'd never get close enough."
"Close enough for what?"
She hesitated.
"To get the signature."
I looked at the document.
"What signature?"
"The one your father wanted."
I suddenly understood.
"The marriage contract."
She nodded.
"He needed your signature before the wedding."
"Why?"
"Because after the wedding, you would have become legally connected to the trust in a way that gave him access to assets he couldn't reach."
I stared at her.
"How much?"
She whispered:
"Almost nine hundred million dollars."
I said nothing.
Nine hundred million.
My father had built an empire around money.
But this wasn't about money alone.
It was about control.
"What happens if I don't sign?"
"Your father loses access."
"And you?"
"I lose everything."
"Your family?"
She nodded.
"My father told me if I failed, the Vandermarks would collapse."
"So you were willing to sacrifice me."
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
Then she added:
"But I didn't know about Ewan."
I looked at her.
"You knew enough."
"I knew he was alive."
"How?"
"Because I saw him."
"When?"
"Two months ago."
My chair scraped backward.
"You saw my brother two months ago?"
She nodded.
"Where?"
"At an apartment on the West Side."
"Why?"
"He contacted me."
"What did he want?"
She looked toward the window.
"He wanted me to stop the wedding."
"Why didn't you?"
"I couldn't."
"Couldn't?"
"My father had people watching me."
I stared at her.
"You expect me to believe you were a prisoner?"
"No."
She looked at me.
"I expect you to understand that I was a coward."
That was the first honest thing she'd said all night.
I sat down again.
"Tell me about Ewan."
She took a shaky breath.
"He said he had proof your father was alive."
I already knew that.
"What else?"
"He said the fire was staged."
"Who started it?"
"I don't know."
"Who ordered it?"
"I don't know."
She looked directly at me.
"But he told me something else."
"What?"
"He said your mother knew the truth."
I glanced toward the hallway.
"My mother?"
Celeste nodded.
"He said she had been trying to protect you since the beginning."
"From my father?"
"From everyone."
I was silent.
Then I asked:
"Why did you attack Delia?"
Celeste's face changed.
"I didn't mean to hurt her."
"She had blood on her face."
"I was trying to stop her."
"From what?"
"From reaching the hidden room."
"Why?"
"Because I thought someone was coming."
"Who?"
She hesitated.
"Your father's men."
I stared at her.
"You expect me to believe you were protecting us?"
"No."
"Then what were you doing?"
She looked down.
"I was trying to get the evidence before they did."
"What evidence?"
"The same evidence your brother left behind."
I stepped closer.
"You wanted to destroy it."
"No."
"You wanted to steal it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted leverage."
There it was.
The truth.
Not love.
Not loyalty.
Not sacrifice.
Leverage.
"You were going to use my family against your father."
"I was going to save my family."
"By destroying mine."
She looked at me.
"I didn't know how to do anything else."
I stared at her for a long moment.
Then I asked the question I had been avoiding.
"Did Ewan know you were going to marry me?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"He told me something I didn't understand."
"What?"
"He said, 'If Elias ever loves you, you're already lost.'"
I felt something twist in my chest.
"Why?"
"Because he knew you."
She wiped away a tear.
"He said you would always choose people over power."
I looked at the floor.
My brother had understood me better than I understood myself.
Then the lights went out.
The entire house went black.
Celeste froze.
Marcus shouted from somewhere downstairs.
"Elias!"
A gunshot exploded through the house.
Then another.
I grabbed Celeste and pushed her behind the desk.
"Stay down."
She obeyed.
More shots.
Glass shattered.
Footsteps rushed through the hallway.
Marcus fired back.
I moved toward the door.
Celeste grabbed my sleeve.
"Don't."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because they're not here for me."
"Then who?"
She whispered:
"They're here for the room."
Another gunshot.
Then silence.
I waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Marcus appeared in the doorway.
His face was bleeding.
"Three men."
"Where?"
"Two down. One escaped."
"Did they reach the conservatory?"
Marcus shook his head.
"No."
I looked at Celeste.
She was staring at me.
Her face had gone white.
"What?"
She whispered:
"Then we still have time."
"For what?"
"To get Ewan out."
I turned toward the hidden room.
We ran.
The steel door was open.
The room beyond was empty.
The chair was overturned.
A length of chain hung from the wall.
And on the floor lay a single bloodstained shirt.
I picked it up.
"Ewan."
Celeste covered her mouth.
Marcus searched the room.
"No body."
I looked at the open passage.
Someone had taken him.
Then I noticed writing on the wall.
Three words.
Written in blood.
TRUST NO ONE.
Below them was another message.
Four letters.
DAD.
My father's name.
I turned toward Celeste.
She was crying.
"You knew this would happen."
"No."
"You knew."
"I knew they would come."
"Who?"
She whispered:
"The man who hired my father."
"Who?"
She looked at me.
And for the first time, there was no manipulation in her eyes.
Only terror.
"Adrian Moretti."
My father's name.
Again.
I stepped toward her.
"You said he was dead."
"He is."
"No."
She shook her head.
"Your father isn't the man behind all of this."
I stopped.
"What?"
Celeste looked toward the dark passage.
"Adrian Moretti died twelve years ago."
"Then who is giving the orders?"
She took a breath.
"The man who has been using his name."
I stared at her.
"Who?"
She whispered:
"Your uncle."
The room seemed to tilt.
My uncle had supposedly died before my father.
He had been buried.
Mourned.
Forgotten.
Celeste stepped closer.
"And he has been preparing for your wedding for six years."
I looked at the blood on the floor.
Then at the empty chair.
Then at the photograph of Ewan.
Suddenly, I understood the real purpose of the wedding.
It was never about Celeste.
It was never about love.
It was never even about the money.
Someone wanted me married, isolated, legally bound, and emotionally blind before they made their final move.
And Celeste had been the key.
The woman I thought I was going to marry had never loved me.
But somehow, that wasn't the most terrifying truth I'd learned that night.
The most terrifying truth was this:
She had been trying to escape the same man I had spent my entire life believing was dead.
And somewhere beneath Chicago, my brother was still alive.
May you like
For now.
END OF CHAPTER 3
