The pen trembled between her fingers.
Celeste stared at the neat line printed at the bottom of the page, which said 'Bride's Signature'
She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there.
It could've been minutes or an hour. All she knew was that her name was waiting to be written, and her hand refused to move. Her reflection wavered faintly in the glass cabinet across the room, a faint shadow of the girl who had once dreamed of being loved here.
The Dyer family home wasn't much, not compared to the grand houses on the richer side of town, but it had always felt larger than her. Everything reminded her that she was only allowed to exist in the spaces they didn't care to occupy.
Aunt Marianne's voice drifted faintly from behind her. "It's just a formality, dear. Don't make it look like you're being asked to sign your life away."
Her tone was light. A bit too light. Celeste almost smiled at that. Aunt Marianne had once spoken to her with that same careful sweetness, but it had been years ago, before everything changed. Before the kindness curdled into something else.
Beside her, Mr. Dyer sat with his usual, unreadable calm. His face didn't shift, not when Marianne spoke, or when Celeste's hand hesitated. It never did. He had mastered the art of silence, of existing as if detached from the cruelty that filled his house. His silence had always been the loudest thing in the room.
And then there was Lydia.
Celeste turned slightly, catching sight of her. Lydia offered her a small smile, the kind she always did when Celeste felt uneasy. For years, Lydia had been the only light in the house, the only person she could turn to. Celeste believed without doubt, because it was all she had.
And now, they were all looking at her.
Not with disdain, or the familiar mix of irritation and pity. But with something else entirely, something she had never seen before.
The sight unsettled her more than their cruelty ever had. They were asking her to sign. Just that. To write her name and make their problems disappear. She didn't even understand how it had come to this, how she, of all people, had become the center of their attention.
In this family, she had survived by being invisible.
She had learned how to make herself small, to speak only when spoken to, to bear things quietly until they no longer hurt enough to bleed. That was the only way she'd lasted under Marianne's roof.
But now, for the first time in years, all eyes were on her. And she couldn't tell whether it was a dream or a trap.
It all started two days. She remembered standing at the edge of the dining room, when Marianne first mentioned it.
"A marriage proposal," her aunt had said. "You should be flattered, Celeste. A man of his stature asking for you."
Celeste had blinked. "For me?"
Marianne's smile didn't falter. "Of course. Who else?"
Celeste almost laughed, but stopped herself. There was something absurd about it, a billionaire suddenly wanting her, the girl who was reminded daily that she was nothing but a charity case.
She remembered the way Lydia had gasped, pressing her hand over her mouth. "Wait, seriously? That's... wow, Cel!" She had said, her eyes wide with excitement. "You deserve this, really."
The words had startled her. You deserve this. No one had ever said that to her before.
"But... it doesn't make sense." She'd said. "If he's really that rich, why would he want someone like me?"
For a moment, Marianne had gone still, just long enough for Celeste to see the irritation flash through her. Then, she let out a gentle chuckle. "Because you're the eldest, dear. And he specifically asked for you."
The way she'd said it, as if explaining something obvious, had only made Celeste uneasy.
"But who exactly is this man?" She asked.
"You'll find out soon enough," Marianne replied smoothly, pouring herself more tea. "It's not something you should worry about. Just know that this is a good thing. A very good thing for all of us."
Celeste had nodded slowly, though she didn't understand. Every instinct told her it was wrong, too absurd, but then Lydia reached across the table, touching her hand.
"Cel," she said softly, "this could change your life. You could finally... have something of your own."
Her voice had been warm... convincing. Celeste wanted to believe her.
And she did.
Maybe this was how people's lives changed, in quiet and impossible ways, she thought. Maybe it was finally her turn, to stop being the one left behind. Maybe she was just overthinking.
It began with the curtains.
One morning, Celeste came downstairs to find the heavy old drapes replaced, soft ivory ones now swayed in the breeze. The old plates were gone, replaced with a matching porcelain set. At first, she thought she was imagining it. But then the small changes began to pile up.
Mr Dyer's car changed along with Lydia's, to brands she knew they couldn't afford. Celeste wasn't stupid, she noticed things. She noticed how Aunt Marianne's laughter had grown louder. How her wardrobe and Lydia's expanded overnight.
And yet, every time she asked about it, Marianne would brush it off as nothing. It didn't make sense. Nothing did.
Especially the way Marianne's voice softened whenever she spoke to Celeste now.
"My dear girl," she said one evening, placing a manicured hand over Celeste's. "You'll see soon. All this worry will seem foolish."
Celeste froze. My dear girl?
It had been years since anyone in this house had called her that. But then, something twisted in her chest something raw, foolish and hopeful. Maybe this was what love felt like, when it came too late. Or maybe it wasn't love at all.
Still, she wanted to believe it.
So she smiled, a small, obedient smile and pretended not to notice how Marianne hummed while setting the table, or how the laughter that filled the house seemed to grow a little too bright. Because if she questioned it, it might all disappear.
And she couldn't bear to go back to being invisible.
The room came back into focus slowly. The marriage certificate still lay open on the table, the same neat line waiting for her name.
Marianne sat across from her now, watching calmly. "You're overthinking again, dear," she said gently. "It's all right to be nervous. But this is a good thing, for everyone."
Lydia appeared at her side. "Here," she murmured, setting a glass down beside Celeste's hand. "You should drink something. You look pale."
"I'm fine." Celeste replied.
Lydia's smile didn't falter. "Just a sip, okay? It'll calm your nerves." Her fingers brushed Celeste's shoulder lightly.
Celeste stared at the glass, reaching for it, she took a sip.
Marianne reached for her hand, holding it between hers like something fragile. "You'll thank me someday, my dear girl."
The words slid through her like a lullaby. Her hands felt heavy. The room swayed, gently, and the page before her blurred. She thought of her mother, of how proud she'd want her to be, how she'd want her to trust the people she called family.
Maybe this was what she would want. Maybe this was what it meant to trust.
Her fingers trembled, but Marianne's hand guided hers.
"There," her aunt whispered. "Just sign your name."
The pen touched the paper. The sound was small, barely louder than a breath. And yet to Celeste, it sounded final. Like a lock clicking shut.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Marianne exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh. Her lips twitched, the kind that came from seeing a long plan finally complete.
"See?" she murmured, reaching to straighten the page. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Celeste blinked slowly. The room tilted a little, and the edges of everything softened. Lydia's voice came from somewhere beside her.
"You did the right thing, Cel," she said, happiness bubbling in her tone. "Everything will be better now."
Better..
The word echoed in Celeste's head. She tried to nod, but her body felt far away. She could hear Marianne saying something, words that sounded like comfort, but they faded into the background.
Celeste's gaze drifted to Lydia. Her sister was smiling, eyes wide with joy. But as her vision blurred, she caught a glimpse of something beneath that smile.
A glint, almost... triumphant.
Her last clear thought was how strange it looked on Lydia, that kind of smile.
Then the light blurred into darkness.
And everything went still.