The morning of Alexander's funeral dawned cold and overcast, the sky a blanket of somber gray. In her bedroom, Celeste stood before a gilded mirror, adjusting a strand of her tousled dirty blonde hair. Her lips curved into a faint smirk, a trace of mischief lingering even in the midst of solemnity. Her striking green eyes, framed by flawless lashes, seemed to hold secrets that could unravel a man in moments. Every move she made was deliberate, every glance a quiet promise of chaos.
It's been weeks since death of Alexander- her ex the one who always claimed to know her better than anyone else. Beside her, Nicolas, her current boyfriend, lounged on the edge of the bed, his sharp suit slightly rumpled. He studied her with a mix of amusement and irritation.
Nicolas brushed his slicked back brunette hair slightly and said "Celeste," his tone clipped, "don't overdo it. It's a funeral, not a performance."
Her eyes flicked to him through the mirror, her smirk widening. "I don't overdo anything, darling. I'm simply… being myself."
Nicolas adjusted his cuffs, his sharp eyes fixed on Celeste as she finished applying her lipstick. "By the way, Damon's back," he said casually.
She paused, glancing at him through the mirror. "Damon? As in Alexander's little brother?"
"The same," Nicolas replied, his tone clipped. "Though I don't see why anyone should care. The Allards have always been a shadow of what they pretend to be. Just like Alexander was."
Celeste turned slowly, her expression neutral, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. "Alexander," she said quietly, testing the name on her tongue.
Nicolas snorted. "Don't look so sentimental, Celeste. That boy was a nobody. A spoiled rich kid playing at being something more. He never had the weight to match your family's stature."
She raised an eyebrow, her voice cool. "Is that so?"
"Of course," Nicolas said firmly, stepping closer. "Your family's history stretches back to rulers and empires, Celeste. Alexander? He was a blip. The Allards haven't mattered in decades, and Alexander certainly wasn't going to change that."
Celeste leaned against the edge of the vanity, her lips curling into a faint smirk. "Funny. You didn't seem so vocal about your opinions back when he was alive."
Nicolas bristled but kept his composure. "I didn't have to say it. Everyone knew it. He tried too hard to prove himself, but at the end of the day, he was just another Allard—a name without meaning, without real power."
Her gaze sharpened, but her tone remained light. "And here I thought you weren't the jealous type, Nicolas."
"I'm not jealous," he shot back, his voice firm. "I'm realistic. I've been by your side since we were kids, Celeste, because we belong in the same world. A world of actual influence. Alexander couldn't even begin to understand that."
Celeste stepped closer to him; her expression unreadable. "Is that what this is about? Proving he was never a threat?"
Nicolas met her eyes, his voice dropping. "There was never a threat. Not from him. Not from anyone."
Her smirk softened, but her eyes glinted with something unreadable.
"If you say so, darling."
She turned, brushing past him as she headed for the door. "We should get going, don't you think? Wouldn't want to be late for the funeral."
Nicolas followed, his jaw tightening, the conversation lingering in the air between them like an unfinished thought.
The funeral was held in the grand gardens of the Allard estate, under a sky heavy with gray clouds. Rows of chairs were lined neatly on the manicured lawn, filled with influential figures dressed in solemn black. The air was thick with murmurs and the faint scent of rain.
Celeste stood beside Nicolas, her expression composed, yet her eyes flickered with an almost feline curiosity as she scanned the crowd. Nicolas, ever the preident's son, nodded politely at familiar faces but remained stoic, a hand resting protectively on Celeste's lower back.
And then she saw him.
Damon Allard, now a young man, stood near the edge of the gathering, his posture poised but distant. His black suit was sharp, understated, and tailored to perfection. His blonde hair caught the dim light, and his blue eyes—so much like Alexander's yet colder—seemed to take in everything and everyone with a quiet intensity.
Celeste's breath hitched for a moment, but she recovered quickly. Damon looked up, his gaze locking with hers as if he had sensed her presence. A small, unreadable smile flickered at the corner of his lips before he began to approach them.
Nicolas noticed the exchange and straightened, his grip on Celeste's waist tightening slightly.
"So, the prodigal Allard finally makes his entrance,"
"Be polite," Celeste murmured without looking at him, her voice smooth and calm. "It's a funeral, after all."
Damon stopped a few feet away, his presence commanding yet understated. He nodded to Nicolas with a faint smile.
"Nicolas....Larsen. It's been a while."
"It has," Nicolas replied, his tone neutral but edged with a subtle undertone of disdain. "I didn't expect to see you back so soon."
"It's family," Damon said simply, before turning his attention to Celeste. His eyes lingered on her, the faintest trace of a smirk playing on his lips. "Celeste."
She tilted her head slightly, a practiced smile gracing her lips.
"Damon. You've grown up."
He chuckled softly, his gaze unwavering. "Time has a way of doing that."
For a moment, there was silence, the air between them thick with an unspoken tension. Nicolas cleared his throat,
"Well, Damon, I'm sure you have plenty of other people to catch up with."
Damon ignored him, his focus still on Celeste. "It's good to see you here. Alexander would've wanted that."
Her smile faltered for a moment, but she recovered quickly. "He was important to me once. I couldn't stay away."
Damon nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read her thoughts.
"He was important to a lot of people. But not everyone here knows what that really means."
Celeste's gaze hardened just enough to be noticeable. "And you do?"
His smirk deepened, but his tone remained calm. "I'm learning."
Nicolas shifted beside her, his irritation barely concealed. "We should take our seats," he said, his hand guiding Celeste toward the chairs.
Damon stepped aside, his smirk fading as his gaze lingered on them for just a moment longer. As Celeste and Nicolas walked away, she couldn't shake the feeling that Damon's eyes were still on her, watching, waiting, and calculating.