The heavy clang of the steel door behind the event hall slammed shut—and with it, every trace of splendor was severed.
As if the night had been cut in half.
Noah held her tightly as they moved swiftly through the dark.
The scent of champagne, the click of cameras—all of it now far beyond reach.
Only the chill of the night air remained, slicing cleanly across their skin like a blade.
Celeste's breaths were growing more ragged.
Her steps faltered—barely finding the ground.
Her body was growing heavier.
Her temperature climbing fast.
"Celeste, stay with me. Can you hear me?"
Noah steadied his breath and pressed her forehead gently against his own.
She opened her eyes with effort, but what flickered there was unmistakable—a feverish daze, confusion, and a kind of fear no words could hold.
One hand rose to her temple, the other gripped the collar of his shirt, trembling.
"We need to go to the ER. I'll call Steve to bring the car. Just hold on—"
He reached for his phone—but her hand caught his wrist again.
"No… you… can't go to a hospital…"
"Celeste—this isn't about me right now!"
Noah frowned, scanning her face.
"You're not okay. I'm fine. We need to go. I'll handle it."
But she clutched his hand again, tighter this time.
Her fingertips were ice cold.
Sweat dotted her brow.
"Just... stay here... Just... for a little while..."
Noah was silent.
Her words broke between shallow breaths—but even so, she tried to hold herself together.
As he slowly slid the phone back into his pocket, his fingers brushed against something hard.
A keycard.
Smooth, cold plastic.
A gold-embossed crest glinting in the dark.
The card Aria Rosa had handed him earlier.
The one he'd nearly forgotten.
He lifted his gaze on instinct—and there it was: neon lights blinking into focus.
GRAND ROSA HOTEL
The name and emblem perfectly matching the card now glowing from the façade just across the street.
Celeste let out another small, broken sound.
Her shoulders trembled.
Her knees gave out entirely.
They couldn't stay out here.
Not for another second.
Noah drew in a slow breath.
And then, without a word, he pulled her tighter into his arms—and walked forward, quiet and unyielding, toward the hotel entrance.
**
Noah quietly slid the door lock into place.
As the latch clicked shut, the world outside fell away—sealed off in a single breath.
Silence unfurled through the suite.
In the hush of beige and deep umber, only her breath remained—sharp, shallow, alive.
He carried her straight to the bed, gently laying her down on the cool linen.
Her body radiated heat—visibly fevered—a sheen of sweat gathering across her brow.
Her eyes drifted, unfocused, suspended in the air, and her chest rose and fell in rapid waves, caught in the fever's grip.
The hair she had once pinned so neatly now tumbled loose, and the thin strap of her black dress had slipped, tracing a quiet path down the soft curve of her shoulder.
Her lips parted, and from between them poured breath—hot, endless, unmoored.
"Celeste,"
he murmured.
"Stay with me."
Her name broke gently from his mouth, and her lashes fluttered in response.
In the haze of half-consciousness, desire and thirst shimmered—undeniable.
Noah stood without hesitation and disappeared into the bathroom.
When he returned, a chilled towel in hand, he knelt beside her and pressed it softly to her brow and cheek.
At each cool touch, a faint exhale escaped her lips.
"Just a little longer… let's bring you back down."
His hands moved with quiet discipline—from her forehead, to her flushed cheek, to the slope beneath her throat.
But just as he reached to set the towel aside—her hand caught his wrist.
Delicate. But certain.
"…Kiss me."
His breath hitched.
His eyes wavered, just slightly.
And somewhere deep in his chest, something stirred—low, trembling, unmistakably alive.
She didn't say another word.
Instead, she simply lifted her gaze to meet his.
In her eyes, the lingering haze of the drug and something far more lucid—a truth unspoken but burning through.