Leon had always prided himself on being clear-headed. Practical. Detached when he needed to be. But in the weeks since breaking things off with Celeste, he'd felt anything but detached.
He'd tried to justify it — telling himself she wasn't who she claimed to be, that she was a liar, a fraud. Even now, the rumors had broken wide open, confirming what he'd suspected all along: Celeste was not Elise and Jean's true daughter.
So why couldn't he move on?
He found himself replaying every conversation they'd ever had, searching for clues in the way she laughed, the way she touched her necklace when she was nervous, the way she sometimes looked lost even in familiar places. There was something about that — something painfully real — that refused to let him rest.
This wasn't just another scheme or a social climber's lie. Deep down, Leon sensed there was more. That uncertainty dug into him like a splinter.
It was enough to send him looking. Quietly, without telling anyone, he started talking to people. Calling contacts in neighboring cities. Following tiny leads — a name here, a rumor there. Even the clinic where Celeste had first been found, he traced back, hoping to find a file, a witness, anything.
He tried to convince himself it was just curiosity. Tying up loose ends. But the truth was harder to admit: he needed to know.
If she wasn't Celeste… then who was she?
The old feelings still tugged at him in ways that made him uncomfortable. Leon didn't believe in fairy tales, yet every time he remembered the way she smiled at him — as if he was the only safe place she knew — something in him refused to let go.
He leaned back in the chair of his home office, staring out at the city skyline. The lights blurred in the window, smudged by rain.
There had to be an answer somewhere.
Maybe if he could put a name to her past, unravel where she truly came from, he could finally stop feeling like she still had a claim on him.
Because as much as he tried to deny it, Leon knew one thing for certain.
He wasn't done with her yet.