Celestia had never been good at facing the truth. For years, she had carefully constructed her own world, built on lies, masks, and strategies—strategies to keep others at arm's length, to ensure that no one could get too close, and most importantly, to protect her heart. But that evening, as the last note of the piano echoed in the air, something shifted.
She sat in the dim glow of the candles, Adrian's hand resting lightly over hers, his warmth seeping through her skin, igniting a fire she hadn't realized had been extinguished long ago. For the first time, Celestia felt vulnerable—raw, exposed, but strangely... safe.
"I've been pretending," she whispered, her voice shaky, as if saying it aloud made the words more real.
Adrian said nothing at first, just looked at her, his gaze unwavering, waiting for her to continue. His silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was patient, understanding.
