Adeline’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer—slow, deliberate, like she already knew how this would end.

Then she tilted her head, the corridor lights catching in her hair.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said softly, almost kind. “Don’t you think… we look alike, little sister?”

Little sister.

Not a rival. Not even a threat.

Just a replacement that stayed too long.

Heat rushed to my face—sharp, humiliating. The hallway suddenly felt too tight, the air too thin.

She was still smiling.

I couldn’t stand it.

So I turned and walked away before I said something I couldn’t take back.

**

Back inside, the noise of my colleagues filled the room—laughter, glasses clinking, the low hum of people who didn’t know anything had shifted.

It didn’t fix anything.

But it dulled the edge.

For a while, I sat with them, pretending I was still untouched by all of it.

Then the door opened.

The sound cut clean through the room.

Dominic stood there.

For a second, he didn’t move. His eyes scanned the space—faces, exits, instincts first—before landing on me.

Something in his expression changed.

Not relief.

Not concern.

Anger.

Tight. Controlled. Already decided.

“Celeste.”

My name didn’t sound like mine.

Before I could answer, he stepped back into the hallway.

“Outside.”

I hesitated for half a second.

Then I followed.

The moment I crossed the door—

His hand struck my face.

Hard.

The impact snapped my head to the side, the sound echoing against the narrow corridor.

Silence followed.

It was the first time Dominic Hale had ever hit me.

I looked at him, stunned, my cheek burning where his hand had been.

He didn’t look away.

No regret. No hesitation.

Just anger.

“Why did you push Adeline?” His voice was low, controlled, but edged. “She twisted her ankle. I told you I’d handle it when I got back, and you still chose to act like that?”

My breath caught.

Push?

“What are you talking about?” I said, barely above a whisper.

Footsteps approached.

Adeline.

She came into view slowly, careful, unsteady—like every step mattered. Her sleeve was slightly stained, her posture fragile.

And then—

she stumbled.

A perfect fall.

Dominic moved instantly.

He brushed past me like I wasn’t even there and caught her before she hit the ground.

Like it was instinct.

Like it had always been her.

“I told you I’d bring her to you,” he said, his voice already softer as he held her. “Why did you come out here alone?”

Adeline shook her head gently against him. “It’s nothing serious. She probably didn’t mean it.”

Her eyes flicked to mine.

Brief.

Precise.

Then away.

“I’m fine,” she added. “Don’t be too hard on her.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—carefully placed: “If Garrick hears about this… it might complicate things.”

At my brother’s name, something in Dominic’s expression shifted.

Just for a second.

Then it hardened again.

“She’s Garrick’s sister,” he said flatly. “He trusted me with her. If she’s out of line, it’s my responsibility to correct it.”

Correct me.

I let out a small laugh before I could stop myself.

It sounded wrong. Hollow.

“Correct me?” I repeated. “What exactly did I do wrong, Dominic?”

He turned to me fully now, eyes sharp.

“You knew there were no cameras in that hallway,” he said coldly. “So you thought you could get away with it.”

For a moment, I almost didn’t recognize him.

Not because it hurt—

but because of how easy it was for him to believe it.

“If there were no cameras,” I asked slowly, “how are you so sure it was me?”

Adeline shifted slightly in his arms, her voice soft.

“Why would I lie?” she said. “You think I’d accuse you for no reason?”

Dominic didn’t even look at her.

He was still staring at me.

“I’ve known Adeline since we were kids,” he said. “She doesn’t lie.”

A beat.

Then—

“And you do?”

Something in me went completely still.

Seven years.

Seven years—and this was what I was worth next to her.

My voice came out quieter than I expected.

“So that’s it?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

The silence said enough.

I turned away.

“Celeste.” His voice sharpened. “Stop.”

I didn’t.

My cheek still burned. My chest felt… empty. Like something had been pulled out without me noticing when it left.

At the front, I didn’t go back inside.

Didn’t explain.

I paid the bill in cash, left a message with the staff for my colleagues, and scribbled a quick note on a receipt:

Something came up. Continue without me. It’s on me.

Then I walked out into the night alone.

Dragging my tired body back to the Whitestone estate, I stopped at the gates longer than I should have.

Iron bars. Armed guards. The faint smell of gun oil mixed with pine from the surrounding hills.

Home.

It used to feel like one.

Now it felt like a place I was already leaving behind.

Seven years lived inside those walls.

Dominic Hale’s voice in quiet rooms. His footsteps in the halls at ungodly hours. His shadow beside mine during late-night meetings and long drives through territory lines.

All of it had once meant something.

Now it just… didn’t.

I stepped inside anyway.

The main hall was silent. Too clean. Too untouched.

Every corner held pieces of us—things that shouldn’t have mattered, but did.

Custom pieces I made for him. A silver lighter engraved with both our initials. The matching communication pins we used during operations. Small, stupid things that were supposed to mean we were on the same side.

Proof, I once thought, that I belonged beside him.

I pulled out a storage crate from the back room.

And started packing.

One by one.

The coat he threw over my shoulders one winter night when a deal went bad.

The whiskey glasses we used during quiet evenings when the world wasn’t on fire.

Encrypted drives, burner phones, small coded tokens tied to operations we handled together.

Even the first knife he ever gave me—balanced perfectly for my hand.

At some point, I stopped thinking.

I just moved.

Like someone clearing out a place that was never really theirs.

**

Dominic didn’t come back.

Not the next day.

Not the day after.

Not even after a week.

The estate stayed the same—quiet, controlled, untouched by his absence.

But it wasn’t new.

The difference was… now I noticed.

I spent my nights stripping the place of anything that carried his presence.

The curtains I chose. Gone.

The rugs. Gone.

The chair by the window where he used to sit while I worked—watching, saying nothing.

Gone.

Piece by piece, the house returned to what it had been before me.

Cold. Structured. Impersonal.

A place that belonged to power.

Not to people.

And definitely not to me.

**

The night before I left, I finally called him.

I stood in his study—one of the few rooms I’d never been allowed to enter before—and dialed his private line.

It rang longer than usual.

Then—

“What is it, Celeste?”

His voice was flat. Distant. Like I’d interrupted something.

I tightened my grip on the phone.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said. “Just thought you should know.”

A pause.

Then—

“If you’re still refusing to take responsibility for what you did to Adeline,” he said coldly, “and you’re not ready to apologize properly, then there’s nothing left to talk about.”

The line went dead.

Just like that.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the screen.

Then I let out a quiet laugh.

Short. Bitter.

“I see,” I murmured.

And that was it.

**

Dawn came pale over the hills.

I left with one suitcase and a sealed case of my designs. No escorts. No convoy.

Nothing tied me there anymore.

At the gate, I paused once.

Looked back.

The Whitestone estate stood behind me—silent, guarded, unchanged.

Like nothing had ever happened inside it.

For the first time—

I didn’t feel anything pulling me back.

Just… relief.

**

By the time I reached the lower roads, my phone started lighting up.

Messages poured in.

Birthday greetings.

Safe travels.

Contacts from old networks. Clients. People who owed me favors.

Wishes for success.

For a good marriage.

For a future that made sense.

I read every single one.

Replied where it mattered.

Then powered the phone off.

The screen went black in my hand.

The city stretched ahead—different territory, different rules.

No Dominic.

No past to answer to.

I exhaled slowly.

Then stepped forward.

“I’ll be fine,” I said under my breath.

Not a promise.

Not hope.

Just a decision I was finally ready to make.