---
Chapter 17: Fire Beneath the Surface
The sun was long gone, and the moonlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the CEO's office, washing the space in a sterile, silvery glow. The only sound was the low hum of the city outside and the ticking of the antique clock on the wall—until a sharp knock echoed across the room.
Leonardo didn't look up. He knew the rhythm of that knock.
A moment later, Celestia walked in, dressed in soft beige slacks and a cream blouse that glowed like moonlight against her skin. Her hair was pulled into a low, loose bun, strands framing her face in a delicate halo.
"You called me," she said softly.
He lifted his eyes from the documents in front of him, his gaze landing on her face like it always did—slow, burning, assessing.
"I did."
She stepped closer but didn't sit, her posture alert and hesitant. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her blouse.
"You left the studio without saying a word." Her voice was quiet, but there was a glint in her eyes—wounded pride, maybe. Or something deeper.
Leonardo leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. "Because I needed to think."
"About what?" she asked.
He stood, walking slowly toward the bar counter on the side. "About why your presence affects me the way it does," he said, pouring himself a glass of scotch. "About why I feel the need to keep you close… and the urge to push you away at the same time."
Celestia exhaled a shaky breath. "You think I don't feel it too?"
He turned to face her, eyes locked on hers.
"This…" she gestured vaguely between them, "whatever this tension is—it's confusing me too, Leonardo. But you're older, more experienced. You've built walls so thick around you that I don't even know if you want me to climb them or stay the hell out."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, bitter and soft. "I don't know either."
There was silence, thick and pressing, before she spoke again. "Then maybe stop running. Let whatever this is—run its course."
He stepped closer, his scotch forgotten on the table. His hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
"I'm not good for you," he murmured. "I'm broken in ways you don't even understand."
Her breath hitched. "Then let me understand."
The confession hung in the air between them—raw and unadorned. He watched her with something dangerously close to vulnerability.
Then, the intercom buzzed.
He blinked, retreating back into CEO mode. "Yes?"
His assistant's voice crackled. "Sir, there's a package for you… no sender, no markings. Security flagged it."
Leonardo's eyes sharpened instantly. "Have it brought up. Carefully."
Celestia watched his face change—softness replaced by the cold, calculating mask she saw him wear with the world. It terrified her and fascinated her in equal measure.
Moments later, a suited guard entered, placing a small wooden box on the table.
Leonardo nodded for everyone to leave. When the door shut, he ran his gloved fingers across the surface of the box—mahogany, hand-carved. Antique. He flipped the lid.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a single bullet.
Engraved with a rose.
His jaw tightened.
Celestia stepped forward. "What does it mean?"
"It means the past hasn't forgotten me," he muttered. "And it's sending reminders."
Her eyes widened as she leaned in. "The Rose Cartel?"
He gave her a sharp look, but there was no time to be surprised by her knowledge. He could see it in her gaze—she wasn't just a pretty face. She had been watching, absorbing, connecting dots in silence.
"You know more than you let on," he said.
"I watch. I read between lines. That doesn't make me dangerous."
"No," he said slowly. "It makes you valuable."
She didn't flinch under his stare.
He took her hand, pulling her gently toward the massive window. The city lights glittered below them like shattered stars.
"If I pull you into this world…" he said quietly, "it won't be red carpets and studio lights. It'll be blood and smoke. Secrets and betrayals. You'll lose your peace."
Her hand squeezed his.
"I lost my peace the day I met you."
The silence after that was electric. Not tender—electric. Fire curled in his gut as he looked at her. And she looked right back, never blinking.
He kissed her.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet.
It was raw. Powerful. A warning and a surrender all at once.
When he finally pulled back, their breaths tangled in the night air, he touched his forehead to hers.
"I can't protect you from what's coming," he whispered. "But I can promise I'll burn the world down to keep you breathing."
She nodded, eyes shimmering.
And outside, far away in the alley below, a figure in black lit a cigarette beside a van with tinted windows. Watching. Waiting.
The game had begun again.
---
End chapter 17