The drive back was quiet, too quiet.
Celeste didn't turn on the radio. Her thoughts were loud enough.
She kept seeing his face when he opened the door—how tired he looked, like he hadn't slept well in days. Like the world had been pressing down on him and he'd finally cracked. And she had seen it… the vulnerability in his eyes when he admitted he was afraid.
Afraid of her.
Or maybe, of how real this was becoming.
She pulled into her driveway, turned off the ignition, and sat still for a moment, her hands still gripping the steering wheel. She should've been angry—really angry—for how he pulled away without warning. But she wasn't.
Instead, she felt something more dangerous: understanding.
Because wasn't she just as scared?
Inside her apartment, Celeste kicked off her heels and sank onto the couch. She glanced at her phone—no new messages—but she wasn't waiting anymore. She had done her part. She had shown up.
Her thumb hovered over her gallery and she scrolled up—past a few recent photos from work and the gala. Then she saw it: a photo Leon had taken of her weeks ago. Her back was turned, her head thrown back in laughter as she stood under a blooming tree.
He had called it "his favorite moment."
She saved the photo to a hidden folder.
She didn't know why.
Maybe because something was shifting. Slowly, gently.
She was falling.
But that scared her too—because Leon wasn't someone you could just date and leave behind. He wasn't safe. He wasn't light. He was gravity—pulling her in.
And Celeste, for all her strength, wasn't sure how to survive another heartbreak.
She stood and went to the mirror. She stared at herself—at the face that was now hers. Beautiful, elegant, different.
"I'm Celeste," she whispered to her reflection. "I don't chase. I build."
Her fingers brushed the locket around her neck—something the Moreau family had gifted her when she was "found." She had grown into the life, owned it. But moments like this made her question if it was still all hers—or if she was just pretending.
No. This was real. Her life. Her choice.
And Leon?
He would either rise to meet her… or be left behind.
Celeste grabbed a pen and her journal. She began to write:
Love isn't a fairytale. It's two broken people who choose each other every day, even when it's easier not to. If he's choosing me, I'll choose him too. But I won't chase him into his silence again.
She closed the book and leaned back.
This time, she would love smart.
And she would love deep.