POV: Celeste Moreau
She stepped off the private jet in Louboutins and silence.
Celeste Moreau didn't need an entourage. She was the event.
The warm New York air kissed her skin as her assistant scurried behind her, dragging a suitcase she'd never touch. Her black silk coat flowed behind her like a royal train. Every movement was calculated, every look deliberate.
She hadn't flown fourteen hours from Monaco to play nice.
She came to win back what was hers.
Lucien Vale.
Even the memory of his name sent a thrill down her spine. God, he'd been cold back then—dangerous, electric, untouchable. She remembered the first time she met him at a hedge fund gala in London: he was twenty-seven, already worth nine figures, and surrounded by powerful men twice his age who hung on his every word.
He hadn't even looked at her.
That had been the trigger.
Celeste never chased. Men came to her like moths to flame. But Lucien? He was the one man who didn't fall.
Yet.
She'd flirted, of course. Whispered in his ear. Gotten under his skin enough to make him look. They danced around each other like opposing empires, all heat and no surrender.
Then came the scandal in Singapore. The silence. His sudden exit from Europe.
Now he was back in New York. And single.
And Celeste didn't believe in coincidence.
She would finish what was started.
---
By 9:20 AM, she was at Vale Tower. Everyone turned as she walked in, her Chanel perfume leaving a trail like sin in the air. The receptionist fumbled over her name; she didn't wait. Security didn't dare stop her.
She knew the way to his office.
Her heels clicked in slow rhythm across the marble floor as she approached the frosted glass doors.
Lucien's assistant stood up abruptly. "Ma'am—do you have an appointment—?"
"I don't need one," Celeste said with a smile that could carve diamonds. "Tell him Celeste is here."
And then she opened the door herself.
Lucien looked up from behind his desk, dark brows lifting.
"Celeste."
"My name still tastes good in your mouth," she purred.
He stood, visibly surprised—but not displeased. "I thought you were still terrorizing the European banking sector."
"I got bored." She walked in like she belonged, her dress hugging every curve. "So I came for the one thing I never finished."
He said nothing.
So she smiled.
"You."
Lucien studied her carefully. He was older now, more composed, but that fire in his eyes hadn't faded. If anything, it had darkened—like coal pressed into diamond.
"Did you come here to make a scene?"
"Darling," she laughed, sitting on the edge of his desk and crossing her legs slowly, "I came here to remind you what you're missing."
She leaned forward, deliberately letting the neckline of her dress slip a touch too low. Her manicured fingers brushed lightly over his tie, straightening it.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you, Lucien. And I don't care who's in your bed now. Because I always finish what I start."
The silence between them thickened.
And then the door opened.
---
Sera Langford froze the second she walked in.
She held the signed Cavanaugh documents in one hand—and the sight of the woman draped across Lucien's desk in the other burned into her eyes.
The woman was stunning. Regal. Oozing sex and confidence. Her legs were crossed like a weapon. Her hand rested casually on Lucien's chest.
Sera's chest tightened.
She had no right to feel anything—but the sudden ache in her stomach told a different story.
Lucien looked up at her. His expression unreadable.
The woman—Celeste—smiled without even turning around. "And who's this little thing?"
Sera stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind her.
"Executive assistant," she said flatly, placing the folder on the desk without looking at either of them. "Your 9:30 is on line two."
Celeste stood slowly, smooth as smoke. "You're quite pretty. Do they always hire personal staff based on bone structure now?"
Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but Sera beat him to it.
"Only the ones who don't seduce their way through management first."
The air snapped.
Celeste arched a brow, amused. "Oh. She has claws. Cute."
Lucien's voice came sharp. "Enough."
Both women turned to him.
"Celeste," he said, eyes steely. "Thank you for the surprise. But I have work to do."
She looked at him for a long moment—lips pursed, head tilted.
Then she smiled, kissed him on the cheek—deliberately—and sauntered past Sera without another word.
Sera didn't flinch. But something in her gut twisted.
The moment the door shut behind Celeste, Sera turned to leave.
"Sera."
Lucien's voice stopped her.
She didn't turn.
"She's no one," he said. "Just noise."
Sera swallowed hard. "Doesn't sound like no one."
Lucien stood, his tone quiet.
"You're not jealous, are you?"
Sera turned finally, her face cool and composed—but her voice betrayed a crack.
"I don't get jealous."
He stepped closer.
"We'll see."