The penthouse elevator opened with a soft chi, revealing a dimly lit corridor that stretched into Dominic’s world.
The contrast between the noisy club and this private silence was jarring. It almost made her sway again.
Dominic wrapped his arm tighter around Celeste’s waist. His suit jacket was still draped over her bare shoulders. Her heels dangled from one hand, while her mascara-streaked face leaned against his chest like a tired child.
She was quiet now, her earlier defiance had lted long ago. She sounded more tender now.
He reached the door, punched in the code, and led her into the space with practiced ease.
The lights ca on low, with warm glows from the corners of the room, painting the marble floors and sleek furnishings in soft gold.
Celeste blinked and looked up.
"Is this your castle?"
Dominic glanced down, amused despite himself. "Sothing like that."
"Looks like a place that people shouldn’t cry in," she muttered, dragging her feet a little as he led her inside.
"You should sit."
"I should dance," she countered, grinning in a tipsy way as she twirled. She lost her balance and fell straight onto his expensive white couch. She gasped dramatically, and her arm flung across her forehead as she laughed.
"Don’t bleed drama all over my furniture," he said dryly, already kneeling to untie the laces of her heels.
"You’re always so serious," she murmured, watching him through half-lidded eyes. "Even when you’re helping . Why are you like that?"
He glanced up. Her hair was a wild ss, her cheeks flushed, and yet there was sothing devastatingly beautiful in the ruin of her.
"Because if I’m not serious," he said, pulling off her shoes carefully, "soone around you has to be."
She blinked, slowly. "Are you always saving girls in bars?" She sounded like soone standing between jealousy and casualty.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he stood, scooped her up again. He effortlessly carried her toward his bedroom.
"I can walk, you know."
"I know. I prefer this."
His bedroom was like the rest of the penthouse. Clean, masculine, and understated with wealth. King-size bed. Glass walls. Black and grey tones. There was no mix up anywhere.
He laid her down gently, and Celeste grabbed his wrist.
"Hey," she whispered. "Don’t go."
Her voice made him pause. She sounded extrely vulnerable and real. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the drink, or this was just a part of her he had never seen.
He sat beside her. "I’m not going. I’m just leaving to get you cleaned up."
She nodded slowly, eyes wide. "Okay. But stay close. Everything feels... floaty."
Dominic grabbed a clean towel from the ensuite, dampened it with warm water, and returned. He knelt beside the bed and began to wipe her face gently. Each touch he landed on her was so gentle like he was scared she’d break, or get tainted by him. She watched him, her eyes tracing every movent.
"You have really nice hands," she murmured.
"Celeste."
"What? I’m just saying... they’re not rough. They’re... safe. You touch like I matter."
His hand paused.
She continued. "Do I matter to you, Dominic? Or is this just another episode in your boring, rich-man life?"
He didn’t answer.
She laughed bitterly. "You never answer, do you? Always... walls. Thick, high, rich-man walls."
"You’re drunk."
"So? Doesn’t an I’m wrong."
He wiped the last of her makeup, then stood. He opened his closet and pulled out a crisp black shirt. When he turned, she was already pulling off her skirt, struggling to unhook it.
He turned quickly. "Christ, Celeste—"
"It’s not like you haven’t seen legs before, Mr. Grumpypants. I’m just trying to get myself comfortable." She eyed him.
He swallowed hard. "You’re impossible."
"You like it."
He tossed her the shirt without looking. "Put that on. I’ll wait outside."
She didn’t move. She stared at him deeply, and took in a long deep breath like soone who just left an extrely tight space.
"Hey, Dom."
He froze at the door. He wasn’t certain about so many things but he was certain he loved how his na sounded on her lips, and he wanted that forever.
"Do you think it’s possible to feel hosick for a person?"
He turned slowly. She was already in the shirt, curled up in the middle of his bed like she belonged there.
"Yes," he said softly.
"Even if you don’t really know them?"
He walked back and sat on the edge of the bed. She was lying on her side. Her eyes were still glassy but not from alcohol anymore.
"I feel hosick for soone every ti I leave them," she said.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You miss people too quickly."
"I know. That’s why I stopped telling them."
Silence wrapped around them.
"What happened to the ring?" he asked after a while.
She touched her bare finger. "Gone. I took it off to wash my hands or sothing... forgot to wear it again. Or maybe I didn’t forget. Maybe it slipped."
"Are you sad about it?" The ring was right there with him, in his pants pocket. He simply wanted to know how she felt about it.
She didn’t answer right away.
Celeste smiled, and parted her lips. "I think I’m more sad that I wasn’t sad. Isn’t that weird? I looked at my hand and felt... free."
He studied her carefully.
"That man didn’t deserve you."
She looked up at him. "And you do?"
"Maybe not."
Her lip trembled. "No one’s ever said that to ." She stretched her legs. "I an, be this honest to ."
"Then you’ve been around the wrong people."
A long pause.
She sighed softly, and stretched her hands with a low grunt. "Will you lie here with ? Just for tonight. Nothing weird."
He hesitated. But then he nodded. He walked around, kicked off his shoes, and lay down beside her fully clothed.
She scooted closer until their arms touched.
"I used to believe people could save each other," she whispered. "But now I think... maybe they just hold each other while they save themselves."
He turned to her. "That’s not a weakness. That’s courage."
She smiled faintly. "You always say the right things." She hated and loved it at the sa ti.
She rested her head on his shoulder. The rhythm of her breathing slowed, and slowly, she slept off.
Dominic kissed the top of her head, and stared at his ceiling all through the night.
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