Celeste's Pov
The silence in Aron's bedroom stretched taut. Aron, still shirtless, sprang back as if burned, eyes wide with genuine shock. He scrambled off the bed, a flush creeping up his neck.
"What the hell?!" Aron roared, his gaze snapping from me to his family. "What is she doing in my room?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
Jayden snickered, earning a sharp elbow from Casper. Elara couldn't quite hide her smile. Even Father Victor let out a soft huff.
My cheeks burned. "What am I doing in your room?" I shot back, untangling myself. "Elara said the pipes were busted in the other room! This was supposed to be empty!" I glared at Elara, whose smile only widened.
Aron's eyes, dark and stormy, fixed on me. "Empty? For days, they said! I just flew in from Dubai!" He turned his furious gaze on Uncle Victor. "Why wasn't I informed? And what is she doing here at all, Dad?"
Uncle Victor stepped into the room, his expression serious. "Aron, control yourself. We'll discuss everything in the morning. For now, Celeste needed a room. And you, clearly, are not 'away for days'." He looked pointedly at Aron, then back at me. "Celeste, perhaps you could use Casper's study for the rest of the night. It has a pull-out couch."
"No!" I blurted. "I mean, no thank you. I'm fine here."
Aron scoffed. "You're fine here? After trying to claw my eyes out?"
"You broke into my bed!"
"It's my bed!"
"Enough!" Uncle Victor's voice, though quiet, cut through our bickering. "This is precisely the kind of unnecessary drama we don't need right now. Aron, Casper, Elara, Jayden, please go to bed. We will all convene for breakfast at eight sharp. Celeste, you stay here. Aron, if you could please try to act like a civilized human being and not accost our guest, that would be appreciated."
With an incredulous glare, Aron stalked past his family, grabbing a discarded shirt.
Elara gave me an apologetic smile, Jayden stifled another laugh, and Casper simply shook his head as they filed out. Uncle Victor gave me a significant look before closing the door.
The silence that descended was heavy. Aron stood by the window, his back to me, the rigid set of his shoulders speaking volumes. I pulled the sheets tighter, acutely aware of my bare shoulders.
"Fine," he bit out. "I'll take the couch downstairs. But we are talking in the morning."
I didn't reply. The scent of him still churned my stomach.
—-----
The grand dining room table, set for breakfast, conspicuously missed Aron. His absence was a silent declaration of war. Casper tried polite conversation, Elara offered concerned glances, and Nancy chattered about her dollhouse. Jayden kept shooting me amused glances. Even Uncle Victor's composure seemed strained.
The meal concluded. As Uncle Victor and Casper rose, I noticed their hushed conversation, their meaningful glances. They headed towards Uncle Victor's study, their low tones hinting at matters of great importance.
My patience, stretched thin for seven years, snapped.
"Uncle!" I called out, stopping them at the study door. "Casper."
They both turned, their expressions a mix of surprise and apprehension.
"I'm not waiting any longer," I stated, walking purposefully towards them, Jayden at my side. "I'm tired of the vague warnings, the secrets, the nightmares. I want to know everything. Why now? What's going on? What danger?" The questions tumbled out, raw and insistent. "You dragged me back here. It's time I knew the truth about everything that happened seven years ago, and why you believe my life is suddenly in danger again."
Casper glanced at Uncle Victor. Uncle Victor sighed, running a weary hand over his face.
"Celeste. This is not the time. We have... pressing matters."
"Pressing matters that involve my life, apparently!" I countered, crossing my arms. "Seven years, Uncle. Seven years of silence, of living a lie. And now, you pull me back into a world I thought I'd escaped, with cryptic warnings about 'timelines' and 'inheritances.' I deserve answers."
Uncle Victor looked at Jayden, then back at me, his gaze softening. "Come in, both of you."
Inside the study, the air was heavy with tension. Uncle Victor sat behind his desk, Casper standing rigidly beside him.
"You know what happened to your parents that night, Celeste," Uncle Victor began, his voice gravelly, his eyes holding profound sorrow. "You know they... died protecting you. And you know that we allowed the world to believe you perished too, to give you anonymity, to keep you safe from those who desired to see the Sinclair line extinguished."
He gestured vaguely to the tomes lining his shelves. "Your lineage carries a burden. Ancient burdens. And there are those who wish to see that burden extinguished. Those who have a deep-seated grievance against the Sinclair family, intensified when your father, Antonio, was named the primary heir to King Alexander's Serendian assets."
"Extinguished by whom?" I pressed. "Why now? Why did they attack my parents?"
Uncle Victor exchanged another look with Casper. "The enemies who struck before, they never truly gave up their ambitions. Your approaching twenty-fifth birthday, Celeste, marks a pivotal moment. The will of King Alexander, your grandfather, states that you, the direct heir, will only inherit the Sinclair estate—the palace, the businesses, the funds—when you turn twenty-five and are married. If you die before that, everything goes to a trust."
"And now, they know you are alive. Your protective cover has been compromised."
Uncle Victor's words sent a fresh wave of dread. Someone knew. The shadows had found me again.
"They see an opportunity. To force your hand into a marriage of their choosing, or to eliminate you entirely and secure the trust, and thus their victory."
"So, that's why you pulled me back?" I demanded, anger masking fear. "Because I'm a target? Because of some legal loophole they want to exploit?" The raw plea was unmistakable.
Uncle Victor's jaw tightened. "Not yet, Celeste. Not all the truths can be unearthed at once. Trust me. We brought you here because here, we can protect you. Here, we can understand the full scope of the threat. This is a battle you cannot fight alone."
He placed a hand on a closed leather journal. "The answers will reveal themselves, but you must allow us to guide you."
Answers felt tantalizingly close, yet withheld. I clenched my fists, frustrated but recognizing the genuine fear in Uncle Victor's eyes. He wasn't just being evasive; he was afraid for my life.
I stormed out of the study, Jayden following. The house felt suffocating. I needed air. I needed to process the fragmented truths, the heightened danger, the chilling realization that my ghost had been exposed.
I found myself drifting towards the manicured gardens, where I used to spar with Aron. The thought of him sent a fresh wave of irritation. He had stood there last night, furious and bewildered, seemingly oblivious to my seven years of silence and constant threat. His judgment. His anger.
As if summoned, a flash of movement caught my eye. Aron. He was at the edge of the training grounds, meticulously wrapping his hands, expression grim.
He looked up as I approached, his movements stiffening. His dark eyes met mine, a flicker of something unreadable quickly shuttered. His jaw was set, muscles taut. He didn't acknowledge me, simply picked up sparring pads.
"Well, well," I began, my voice laced with sweetness. "The Prince has finally graced us with his presence. Missing breakfast, are we? Some of us prefer to handle our awkward reunions over a croissant, rather than... in bed." I couldn't resist the jab.
He stopped, pads hovering. His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Some of us have responsibilities, Princess. Unlike others who simply vanish for years without a trace." His voice was low, sharp, loaded with accusation. The casual 'Princess' felt dismissive.
"Vanish?" My calm cracked. "Is that what you think? I vanished?" His audacity was infuriating. "Funny, I seem to recall a rather chaotic escape, a hail of gunfire, and an Uncle bleeding out, while I was being-"
"Oh, I'm well aware of what happened to Dad that night, Princess." He cut short my sentence. His gaze hardened, a dark storm brewing.
He took a step closer, the scent of his sweat reaching me. "I watched him almost die. But he lived. And some people have a strange way of repaying loyalty. Running and hiding without a backward glance. Leaving others to pick up the pieces." The unspoken accusation was raw: You left him. You left us.
My breath hitched. His words were a punch to the gut. "What in god's name are you talking about?" I scoffed. "What 'mess'? What 'consequences'? You think I wanted any of this?" My voice rose. "Unlike some, I didn't have the luxury of making assumptions from afar. I was living with the consequences. Alone."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to search mine, a flicker before it hardened again. "Alone? You had Jayden. And London. A world away from all this." He gestured vaguely at the palace grounds. "Quite convenient, wasn't it? To be so far from... the real impact."
"The 'real impact'?" I took a step closer, anger rising, fueled by his baffling, unfair judgment. The air between us vibrated. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
The tension was suffocating. His presence, so close, was both infuriating and strangely compelling. My gaze dropped to his chest, the raw power of his muscles. There was an undeniable pull, a dangerous familiarity that threatened to consume the anger.
He broke the intense stare, his eyes flicking over my face, then to my lips, lingering. A spark, undeniable and dangerous, ignited. He quickly averted his gaze, taking a deliberate step back, turning towards the punching bag.
"As you said, Princess," he bit out, dismissing me. "We clearly have nothing more to say to each other." He slammed the pads onto the heavy bag, the dull thud echoing his words.
I stood there, bristling, the unfairness of his vague judgment a bitter taste. He was angry. He was wrong. And I was left reeling, infuriated by his unspoken accusations. Part of me still wanted to prove him wrong, to make him see.
Frustrated, I turned and walked away. I found myself wandering down a less frequented corridor, towards a seldom-used library. The silence here was thick. I paused near a half-open door, hearing hushed voices.
"She cannot know, Casper. Not yet. The resistance would be catastrophic." It was Uncle Victor. His voice was low, urgent.
"But Dad, her refusal jeopardizes everything. The bloodline, the inheritance... our lives."
That was Casper.
My heart pounded.
"She needs to understand the gravity of the situation," Uncle Victor continued, his voice strained. "The enemies who wish to extinguish the Sinclair legacy are making their final move. The only way to secure the inheritance, to fulfill the ancient legal agreement that locks them out of their claim, is for her to marry Aron. And it must happen before her twenty-fifth birthday."
The blood drained from my face. Marry Aron?
The world tilted on its axis.