Chapter Nine: The Weight of Tomorrow
The morning sun bled gold over the city skyline, but for Celeste, the warmth of daylight did little to erase the trauma of the night before. She sat quietly in the far corner of Damian's penthouse living room, a throw blanket wrapped around her trembling form. Her coffee had gone cold in her hands. She hadn't taken a sip. Her mind was replaying the image of the masked man — his twisted grin, the coldness in his eyes, the sharp sound of the knife slicing through the rope. She'd stared death in the face and if Damian had come even a second later...
Damian emerged from his room, already dressed in black tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt, rolling up his sleeves as he walked toward her. He'd barely slept. All night, he kept checking on her, standing guard like a shadow.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.
Celeste nodded, but her eyes betrayed her. "I didn't think I'd live to see morning."
"You did. And I meant it when I said—" He reached out, gently brushing her hand. "I got you."
She offered a faint, grateful smile. "Can we go to the station? I need to report this. Again."
"Already dressed for it," Damian replied, grabbing his keys.
---
At the Police Station
The police station was a blur of routine — officers moving in and out, tired faces buried in paperwork. Celeste's report was taken by the same detective who handled her previous complaint. He seemed skeptical at first, but when Damian stepped in to explain how he found Celeste hanging off the terrace with a severed rope, the tone changed. Urgency replaced doubt.
"We'll do our best," the detective said. "But without camera footage or fingerprints, it's going to be difficult. This guy knew what he was doing."
As they stepped outside, Celeste exhaled sharply. "He planned it. He was already inside my house when I called you. He must've known I'd panic and call."
Damian opened the passenger door for her. "He underestimates you."
She got in but stayed quiet. For now, fear was louder than courage.
---
The Visit
They had barely reached the parking lot of Celeste's workplace when a familiar voice called out to her.
"Celeste!"
She turned to find Keenan, the eldest son of her adopted mother, striding toward them. Dressed in dark jeans and a polo shirt, he had the same smugness he'd always carried — like he knew something others didn't.
Damian instinctively stepped beside her.
"I just came to check how you're doing," Keenan said, eyes flicking to Damian, then back. "But... there's something else."
Celeste stiffened. "What is it?"
Keenan hesitated for a moment, then dropped the news casually, almost too casually. "Mrs. Grayson died last night."
Celeste felt the wind knocked out of her. "What?"
"She passed in her sleep," he said. "Lawyer wants everyone at the house for the reading of the will. Said it's urgent."
---
The Will Reading
The room was heavy with tension. Celeste sat in the wide living room of her late adopted mother's estate, next to Damian, while Keenan, his sister Bianca, and their younger brother Julian whispered behind her. Their side-eyes and snide chuckles didn't go unnoticed. It was always like this — ever since she moved in as a teenager, she had been the outsider. The one who didn't belong. The charity case. The threat.
The family's lawyer, Mr. Alfred, cleared his throat.
"As stipulated by Mrs. Grayson's will," he began, "her estate shall be divided among her four children — including her legally adopted daughter, Celeste Grayson."
A hush fell over the room.
Mr. Alfred continued, "Fifty percent of her business holdings, personal assets, and shares shall go to Celeste Grayson."
"What?!" Bianca barked.
"This is crap!" Julian added.
Damian subtly reached over and placed a calming hand over Celeste's. She hadn't even blinked.
"And," Mr. Alfred pressed on, "there is a clause. Celeste Grayson is to be instated as CEO of Grayson Enterprises, on the condition that she gets legally married before the age of twenty-six."
Bianca scoffed. "She's twenty-four. That's two years. She can't even keep friends, let alone a man."
Julian laughed. "Ain't nobody marrying her unless they want money."
Keenan just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, saying nothing — but watching everything.
Mr. Alfred closed the folder. "The terms are final."
Celeste stood, trying to steady her breath. She didn't speak. She couldn't. All she could hear were her so-called siblings whispering behind her back.
"She's not going to find anyone."
"Two years? Let's see her pull a miracle."
"She'll lose it all. Watch."
---
Outside the Grayson Estate
As the sun began to set, Damian led Celeste to his car.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
She looked at him. Her eyes weren't just tired — they were wounded, bruised from years of trying to belong. "Do you think I'll die before I turn twenty-six?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Damian looked at her for a long moment, then reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"No," he said. "Because I won't let you."
And as they pulled away from the house, Celeste stared out the window, unsure of what scared her more — the masked man, or the weight of what her life was now tied to.