The atmosphere in the room shifted. After that embrace, everything grew quieter—softer. The golden glow of the lamp draped the space in warmth, as if soothing the tremors in Celeste's chest.
Alistair still watched her. His gaze wasn't that of a conqueror claiming what was now his, but of a man who had finally touched something he'd long guarded—Celeste's heart.
"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, not as an order or persuasion—just a plea.
Celeste nodded slowly. Their steps seemed to slow as they neared the bed. She no longer retreated. Tonight wasn't about reckless courage, but about trust that had finally begun to take root.
Alistair pulled back the covers, letting Celeste lie down first. He followed but didn't rush to touch her. He waited, as he always had.
Celeste turned, searching his face in the dim light. "Alistair…"
"Yes?"
"You'll stay like this, won't you? Even if one day I change my mind?"
Alistair smiled faintly, shifting closer. His large hand brushed her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone.
"I'll still be here. Even if you shut the door. I'll keep knocking—because you're the only home I want to explore."
Celeste fell silent. Those words weren't just flattery; they felt like a key unlocking a hidden part of her heart.
Without answering, Celeste turned toward Alistair, resting her head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady against her ear, slow and sure—as if assuring her that in this uncertain world, she had a place to lean on.
Alistair wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
"I want to learn you from the beginning," he murmured. "Not as the Celeste arranged for me, not as the woman who lost her memories—just you… the woman who chose me tonight."
Celeste closed her eyes. The nervousness in her hadn't fully faded, but now there was warmth to soothe it.
That night, no more words were needed. No urgency. Just their synchronized breaths, merging in sweet silence.
Gradually, Celeste's body relaxed. She fell asleep in Alistair's arms—for the first time feeling that perhaps… she wasn't alone anymore, a woman forced to endure a cruel world.
Perhaps she had found someone willing to shield her from the wounds of her past.
---
The night air was still, as if blessing the warm quiet between them. After his shower, Alistair's hair was still damp, water trailing along the sharp line of his jaw. But before he could dry it, small arms circled his waist from behind.
Celeste held him tightly, as if unwilling to let go. No words. Just their heartbeats answering each other.
Alistair froze, his breath catching. Celeste's skin was cool, but her embrace was full of sincerity. Then he turned, gazing at her face. Something in Celeste's eyes was different—not just warmth… but courage.
"Celeste…" he murmured, his fingers brushing her cheek. "Are you sure?"
She didn't answer with words. Just a slow nod, her head bowing as if shy of her own boldness. But she didn't retreat. Didn't flee as she once might have.
And that night, nothing dared disturb them. Not the old clock in the hallway, not the wind from the balcony, not even the shadows of future worries. There was only them.
Amid the luxury of linen sheets and the chandelier's soft glow, Celeste fought her own fears. She knew it wasn't her body she was surrendering tonight—but her heart. Not because Alistair was a billionaire, but because… she was starting to believe this might be the home she'd been searching for.
Alistair didn't rush. He didn't push. His touch remained gentle, full of reverence and patience. He let Celeste lead, step by step.
When he kissed her forehead with devotion, he whispered, "If you want to stop, just squeeze my hand. I only want you to feel… loved."
And that grip tightened—not to stop him, but to hold on.
Time seemed to slow. The night bore witness to a bond not yet sealed by law, but already growing in their hearts.