The drive back was quiet. Too quiet.
Celestia sat with her elbow propped against the door, chin resting on her hand, her gaze turned outward like the streetlights were more interesting than . Maybe tonight they were. Her reflection in the glass looked almost too still, like she’d been carved into silence instead of simply choosing it.
I didn’t press. I just drove. Knuckles loose on the wheel even though my chest was tight.
When we finally pulled into my place and I killed the engine, she didn’t move right away. Just sat there, like stepping out would make sothing more real than she wanted it to be.
Inside, it was the sa story. Shoes off. Bag dropped. Silence.
Duchess padded across the hallway like she owned the place, tail flicking lazily, letting out a single unimpressed ow before vanishing to the room. At least soone wasn’t weighed down.
I stole a glance at Val. She moved on autopilot, jacket sliding off her shoulders, hair falling forward. No sharp words. No smug grins. Just quiet.
The quiet scared more than anything.
"Val," I said carefully, breaking it. "You okay?"
"Yes," she answered, automatic. Then, after a beat, softer, like the word burned coming out—"No."
The honesty in it sat heavier than the silence had.
I nodded slowly, stepping closer. "Want to sit?"
She didn’t argue. Just followed to the couch and sank into the cushions. She tucked her legs up, curling like she needed the space to close in around her.
I sat beside her, elbows on my knees, waiting.
She spoke before I could. Her voice was steady at first, then cracked the longer it carried. "You know what’s funny? I’ve never really had a friend."
That made blink. I turned toward her. "What do you an? That’s not—"
"It is," she cut in, sharper than she ant to, then imdiately softened it. "It is, Kai. The people I grew up around... they weren’t my friends. They were just there. Rich kids with rich parents, orbiting because I was a Moreau. They always wanted sothing—status, power, the illusion of importance. If they stood next to , they looked important too."
She gave a bitter little laugh, one that scraped at more than her tears ever had. "Not one of them ever really cared about . Just the na. Just what ca with it."
I didn’t say anything. I knew she wasn’t finished.
Her voice grew smaller. "Marina... was different. She never treated like that. She didn’t care about what my last na could get her. She just... talked to . Teased . Asked about stupid things like what lip gloss I was wearing or if I thought her shoes made her look taller. Girl talk. Do you know how rare that is for ?"
I shook my head. Quietly. "No. But I can guess."
"She was my first real friend," Val whispered, staring at the floor. "You were the first person who ever wanted for . And Marina... she was the first friend who did. The first girl who made feel like I wasn’t just Celestia Valentina Moreau, I was... Val. Just ."
Her voice was quieter now, but sharper too. "And now it’s ruined. Because no matter what she says, no matter how much she swears she never acted on it—she still feels that way about you. Which ans every smile, every late-night ssage, every ti she laughed at sothing I said—part of will always wonder if it was real. Or if it was just her trying to get closer to you through ."
I swallowed, trying to tread carefully. "Maybe not ruined. Maybe you two can... I don’t know, talk it out. Work sothing out."
Her head snapped toward , eyes sharp. "No."
The finality in her voice was ice cold, no room for negotiation.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest, shoulders stiff. "I’m not sharing, Kai."
"Val—"
"No." Louder this ti. Then quieter again, breaking a little around the edges. "I’m not sharing you. Not even a piece. Not even the idea of you. I thought she was over you. She made believe she was. And maybe that’s my fault for believing it, but I did. I believed I had a friend."
Her voice wavered for the first ti, shaking. "Do you understand? I can’t do it. I can’t look at her and pretend I’m okay with it. And I hate it. I hate that it hurts this much. I hate that I care."
I reached out instinctively, but she flinched before I could touch her. Not pulling away. Just... bracing. Like even comfort might crack her open.
My chest ached.
"Val..." My voice was low, careful. "She’s not taking from you."
"That doesn’t matter." She looked up at then, and God, her eyes. Wide, burning, terrified in a way she’d never admit. "It doesn’t matter, Kai. Because I don’t share. Not you. Not ever. You’re the one thing in this world I won’t compromise on."
Her throat worked, swallowing hard, like she was choking down everything else she wanted to say.
I finally managed to touch her, my hand finding hers where it was curled into her lap. She didn’t pull away this ti. Her fingers tightened around mine so fast, so desperate, that it hurt.
---
For a while, we just sat there. Duchess reappeared, tail flicking as she hopped onto the coffee table, sitting like a little queen surveying her subjects. She owed again, softer this ti, like she could sense the weight in the room.
Val reached out absently with her free hand, running it over Duchess’s head. Her movents were careful, almost fragile, the opposite of her usual boldness.
I cleared my throat. "You want to watch a movie? Or... maybe eat sothing? Or we could play a ga."
She sniffed, pouting as she tilted her head toward . "I want..." Her lips pushed out further. "...ice cream. The expensive kind. From that shop downtown."
I raised a brow. "The one that costs more than actual groceries?"
Her pout deepened. "Yes. That one."
"Val, that’s a thirty-minute drive."
"Thirty minutes of showing off my handso chauffeur." She batted her lashes dramatically, even though her nose was still red from holding back tears. "Worth it."
I shook my head, sighing. "You’re ridiculous."
"You love it," she countered, voice wobbling between playful and soft.
And she wasn’t wrong. I did.
"Alright," I muttered. "Ice cream it is."
Her pout shifted into sothing smug. "And I want you to carry to the room later. Like a princess."
I snorted. "You’re heavy when you pretend to be dead weight."
"Don’t care." She sniffed again, eyes narrowing like she was testing how far she could push . "Princess treatnt, or I’ll cry."
I gave her a look. "You’re actually using tears as blackmail right now?"
"Yes," she said flatly, lips twitching at her own audacity.
I could feel the joke in it. The way she was reaching for sothing silly, sothing outrageous—not just to distract herself, but to distract . To keep from staring too hard at the sadness she didn’t want to see. She knew I’d worry if she looked too broken, so she pouted and teased instead, making her wants sound childish on purpose. And I let her. I let her pile on every ridiculous demand, because if pretending to be spoiled kept her from looking fragile, then I’d give her that.
"Fine," I sighed. "Ice cream. Carrying. What else?"
She thought for a second, then muttered, "Play a ga I’ll obviously win. Don’t even try. Let cheat if I have to."
I scoffed. "Cheating? Seriously?"
She didn’t even have to cheat to win, and we both knew it. She won most of the ti without even trying, like gas were just another place her brain worked faster than mine. Still, she tilted her head at , glassy-eyed but stubborn. "Yes. Be a good boyfriend and lose on purpose."
I chuckled despite myself. "Fine. I’ll lose."
"And..." She hesitated, biting down on her lip before adding, almost too quietly, "Stay with tonight. Don’t let fall asleep alone."
That one wasn’t a joke. That one wasn’t light.
I didn’t even think before answering. "Of course."
She pouted harder, as if embarrassed by her own vulnerability. "Good. Then it’s settled."
And that was how the night went—her asking, giving. One after another. I ordered the ice cream, even though the shop was overpriced and ridiculous. We played a ga, and I lost spectacularly because I let her cheat without even calling her out. When she held out her arms like a little kid demanding to be carried, I scooped her up without a word, even though my arms ached by the ti I reached the bed.
Every little thing, I did it all. Not because she forced , but because after a long ti, I was finally realizing how much she carried inside. How much she hid behind her smirks and pouts.
I used to think I knew her world. Celestia Valentina Moreau—rich, spoiled, bratty, the girl who had it all. Friends, status, beauty, a life most people would envy. A big brother who was her anchor.
But now...?
She didn’t have friends, not really. Marina was the first real one, and even that now felt like it might crumble. The ones she grew up around never wanted her for her—they wanted the Moreau na, the shine of it, the power of it. And Lucien... Lucien, the brother who should’ve been her safe place, her family... now probably hated her for sothing she didn’t even have a hand in.
She built walls out of sharpness, stubbornness and sarcasm because nobody had ever cared enough to look past them. And yet she was here, letting see her like this. Letting close enough to understand that her world wasn’t perfect at all—it was lonely.
The closer I got, the closer she let in, the more I wondered. What else didn’t I know about her? What other cracks did she hide so well the world never saw them?
And... how much was she carrying alone, even now, even sitting right next to ?
---
To be continued...
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