Chapter 52
The reception hall was vast, crowned by a circular glass roof that poured daylight into every sleek edge and polished surface. The architecture was clean, modern, and deliberate—every line whispering wealth, every reflection a quiet reminder of control.
But as for this morning, this hall was quite the opposite of what it represented. It was not serene nor soothing; everything seemed out of control. Someone—or some people—were making a scene.
Celeste Marigny.
Of course, it was Celeste—standing tall and elegant as ever, the rays of the sun highlighting her platinum blonde hair, giving her silk black gown, which she accessorized with gold, a perfect complement to her skin and demeanor.
