Chapter 6: Behind closed doors

Celeste's pov

The gentle murmur of chatter fills my ears as I make my way through the crowd. My steps are light and effortless, and my smile flows across my face as if it was painted on. I can feel the eyes on me, and I take pleasure in it—the way in which the room changes and adjusts when I enter. All eyes turn, just like they always do.

I boom in moments like this. The family reunion, the joy, the sound of glasses—it’s all for me. I’ve dedicated myself to earning this attention, their admiration, and I won’t allow anyone to take it away from me. Tonight, I am the spotlight.

Everybody loves me.

"Celeste, darling," Aunt Victoria calls out, her voice dripping with the sweetness that only people who believe they can get something from you possess. "You look absolutely radiant tonight.”

Certainly, I do. I always do.

“Thanks,” I responded with a smile, my tone cheerful and breezy. "You look stunning too, Aunt V. Is that the latest from Milan?" It's easy to say what they want to hear. A small amount of praise is very effective, and Aunt Victoria enjoys it thoroughly each time.

She beams, pleased by my compliment. All it requires is a bit of praise—and she’s completely under my control. My fingers wrap around the wine glass I hold, the fragile crystal sparkling in the light. I see my reflection in its surface—flawless makeup, flawless hair, flawless dress.

It’s a portrait of what everyone expects of me.

But what they don’t know—the mask I wear, the lies I tell—keeps me here. At the top. In the center.

I turn, my eyes scanning the room. I spot my cousin Marcus chatting lovely in the corner, his eyes following my every move. I smile once more, just enough for him to see, then approach him, my heels softly tapping on the shiny floor.

"I'm really happy you're here, Celeste," he says, his tone revealing a touch of admiration. "Your recent project at work has been the talk of everyone." "You truly are unstoppable."

Unstoppable. I like the sound of that.

"Indeed, it's really just about finding the right balance," I respond, tilting my head a bit, pretending to be modest. "You know how it goes." “Hard Work. Dedication."

He chuckles, clearly impressed. “You make it seem so simple.”

Certainly, I do. I have dedicated years to mastering the skill of looking effortless. The secret is to excel while ensuring no one notices the effort you’re putting in. It's all a part of the game.

The laughter around me is a comfortable rhythm, a song I know by heart. The warmth of the gathering, the praises, the admiration—it feels like a soft, fancy blanket. For a while, I let myself enjoy it.

But then—just as easily as the moment had arrived—the cloud of discomfort starts to creep in.

I glance toward the corner of the room. Layla.

She’s next to mother, her gaze fixed on a discussion she has no interest in at all. Her honesty is so visible, so raw, that it burns me anytime I witness it. I dislike that she doesn’t make an effort to blend in, how she doesn't seem to care if anyone notices. She stands there, silently resistant, completely unapologetic for being who she is.

My stomach twists.

She represents all that I'm not—everything I aspire to become, yet can never attain.

“Celeste?”

I blink and redirect my focus. Mother, her face painted in an expression of sweet concern, has approached me. “You’ve been lost in thought. Everything all right?”

“Of course.” I force another smile, but it feels thinner now, like it might crack at any moment. “Just thinking about the future. You know how it is.”

She tilts her head, sensing the lie but choosing not to acknowledge it. “The future. Well, just remember, darling, you can have it all. It’s already waiting for you.” She smiles warmly, proud of herself for the reassurance.

I nod, humoring her, though the words taste like ash. They have no idea what “it all” really means.

“Come on Celeste, let's go meet Layla.” My mother said, pulling me to where Layla was standing. “Please help me talk to your sister to tell Damian to help us with our company.” She said without no remorse.

Talk to Layla? she hates me, especially after how Mark and I betrayed her. I couldn’t believe mother would ask such of me.

Before I could say any thing, Layla started insulting our mother and I. Embarrassing us in front of the whole event.

"You've got to be kidding me, Mother,” she hissed, her voice like ice cracking under pressure. “Standing here, expecting my help, after the years of pain you inflicted on me. Do you think a few desperate words will erase the betrayal, the humiliation, the nights I cried myself to sleep because of this family? And you, Celeste… don't even open your mouth. You may be their golden child, but I see you for what you are—a liar, a traitor, a venomous little snake feeding off my pain.”

She straightened her spine, tilting her chin up with a quiet, deadly resolve. “You all pushed me into the fire, thinking I'd burn. But you were wrong. I survived. And now you expect me to put it out? No. I will watch as the flames consume everything you love to ashes. And when that moment comes, you’ll remember this—I warned you. You will pay for every tear, every scar, every moment of agony you forced upon me. And when that day comes, don't you dare beg for mercy." She concluded before turning to leave.

I began to feel suffocated and it was really hard for me to breath or even stand.

I need a moment.

I walk off before anyone can say anything more. The room feels hotter, the air thicker. I need to breathe.

I push my way through the crowd, my gaze shifting everywhere, looking for a way out. I see the hallway and move toward it, my heart racing in my chest. I’m falling apart, and I can’t allow them to notice.

I enter my bedroom and shut the door behind me, resting against it briefly to calm my pounding heart. I take a deep breath, running my fingers through my hair as I look at my reflection in the mirror.

The perfect face reflects my gaze, but it appears to be a disguise now.

I close my eyes and lean forward, resting my forehead against the cool glass. My hands are shaking slightly, but I refuse to let myself cry. I will not.

Why does she make it look so easy? Why can’t I just be... real like her?

I hate her. I hate the way she doesn’t have to try. I hate how she’s always so calm, so centered.

And here I am, pretending. Acting like a different person just to please everyone.

The family needs me to be perfect. They need me to fit this mold they’ve created for me. I can’t afford to slip, to show weakness. Not with Layla around. Not with her acting like she doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

I glance back at the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. Perfect. Flawless. But empty.

I can’t be like Layla. I can’t be real.

And I can’t allow her to take what belongs to me.

I will do anything necessary to maintain my position.

I trying to ignore the rising jealousy in my chest. She’s not better than me. She’s not.

And still, whenever I look at her, I experince this intense attraction.

I hate her.

I clench my jaw, forcing the feeling back down. No. I won’t let it consume me.

I stand and walk toward the door.

The night isn’t over yet