Chapter 101: The Secrets Her Smile Hides
She lingered.
Of course she did. Standing there in the doorway with Duchess cradled in her arms like a baby that clearly didn’t want to be a baby. Her bag already slung over her shoulder, her shoes already on, everything ready—except her.
She shifted her weight once, twice. Eyes darting everywhere but the door, like if she stared long enough at the walls or the floor, maybe time would just stop for her.
I leaned against the frame, arms folded, trying not to make it harder. "Val."
She hummed. Like a girl caught stealing minutes.
"Call me when you get home."
She rolled her eyes—soft, not bratty. "Obviously, husband."
And then she leaned in. Quick. Warm. A kiss that was over before I could even close my eyes. Just a brush of lips, simple, nothing more—but it left the room feeling heavier when she pulled back.
"Go," I said, even though I didn’t want her to.
She smirked like she knew. "I’ll see you at school tomorrow... but I’ll really see you on Friday."
I caught the difference right away. School was just noise, crowded hallways, rushed hellos in between classes. Friday, though? Friday meant here. Us. Our weekends. The kind of time that actually felt like living.
And then she finally walked out. Duchess meowed once, unimpressed, before vanishing into the carrier. The car engine started. The sound faded down the street.
And just like that—silence.
I shut the door, leaned against it, and exhaled. My place wasn’t small, but it never felt big until she left. I made it to the couch, dropped down, and stared at nothing. The kind of nothing that fills up every corner when the chaos is gone.
Quiet. Too quiet.
I smiled anyway. Because somehow, somewhere between Friday and now, her chaos had become my normal. Her bratty little smirks, her overdramatic complaints, the way she took up every inch of space like it was hers by birthright—yeah. That noise was mine now.
And without it?
This place felt empty.
What I didn’t know—what I couldn’t know—was that the moment she stepped through her front door, silence wasn’t waiting for her. Not comfort. Not rest. Not home.
Something else entirely.
A different kind of war.
---
The house was too quiet when she walked in. Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the sharp kind. The kind that pressed down on the walls and made footsteps sound louder than they should.
Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she moved through the entryway, Duchess shifting in her carrier against her arm. For a second, she hugged it closer, like the little furball could shield her from what was waiting. Already, she wished she’d stalled just five more minutes with me—maybe ten. Anything to avoid this.
The living room lights were on. Her father sat in his usual chair, suit jacket still on even though it was late. Her mother perched on the sofa, wine glass in hand, gaze sharp even behind the rim. And then there was Lucien—of all people—actually home.
He lounged on the other end of the sofa, phone in hand, expression caught somewhere between bored and irritated. He hardly ever stayed in anymore. Always at some party, some bar, some girl’s apartment. But tonight, he was here.
Maybe the argument with their father had landed harder than he let on. The threats. The talk of the will. That if Lucien didn’t stop wasting himself, everything—the fortune, the legacy—would fall to Val instead.
She’d overheard enough to know. And maybe Lucien hated her a little more for it.
"Where are you coming from?" Her father’s voice cut through the room the second she stepped inside.
Celestia froze, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag while her other arm curled protectively around Duchess’s carrier. She forced her shoulders back, schooling her face into calm. "Out."
Her father’s brows lifted. "Out where?"
She held his stare, voice flat. "With a friend."
Her mother’s lips curved, not into a smile but something colder. "Don’t tell me it’s still that same boy’s house."
Her throat went tight, but her voice stayed even. "He has a name. And yes. I was with him."
Her father’s brows furrowed, the paper in his hand lowering to the table with a deliberate slap. "Do you think this is acceptable behavior for someone in your position?"
Lucien chuckled low, not even looking up from his phone. "Told you she’s too far gone."
For a second, Celestia thought she’d misheard him. Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide, searching his face for the brother who’d always—always—stood in her corner. But he didn’t even glance at her, thumbs still moving lazily across the screen.
Her chest tightened, sharp and sudden, but she forced the tremor out of her voice. "I’m not too far gone. I’m not doing anything wrong."
She knew why he was doing it—why he’d suddenly folded into their father’s shadow instead of hers. She knew the threat that hung over him if he didn’t fall in line. But knowing didn’t soften the blow. It still cut.
Her mother’s glass clinked as she set it down a little too hard. "Spending nights away from home? With some boy your father hasn’t even approved of? You call that nothing wrong?"
She inhaled slowly through her nose, trying to hold the calm in place. "I call it living my life. I’m not a prisoner here."
Her father leaned forward, voice rising. "You are our daughter. You will respect this family, and you will not drag our name through the mud with childish games."
Her nails dug into the strap of her bag. "This isn’t a game."
Lucien finally looked up then, smirk lazy, venom tucked in the corners. "You sure? Because it looks like you’re playing house with him."
The words landed like a slap. I saw her flinch before she could stop herself, breath catching sharp in her chest. She just stared at him, stunned—not just by what he said, but that he had said it. Lucien knew me. We’d shaken hands. He’d even rooted for us once, teased her about finally finding someone who could put up with her. He’d been on her side. Always.
Now he wasn’t.
Her throat tightened, words threatening but never making it past her lips. She could only glare, sharp and wounded all at once, but the fire she usually had felt strangled.
Her mother shifted in her seat. "Celestia—"
"I’m not doing this," she cut in, voice low, brittle. She gripped her bag tighter, every muscle rigid as she turned toward the stairs.
"Celestia," her mom called again, sharper this time, like authority alone could drag her back.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t slow down. She climbed the stairs with her head high, not because she wasn’t hurt, but because it was the only way she knew how to fight back—by refusing to break where they could see. Her door slammed a beat later, sharp as a gavel.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Her father leaned back, jaw tight. "This is your fault."
Her mother scoffed, folding her arms. "Really now."
Between them, Lucien just went back to his phone, smirk lingering like the damage was exactly what he wanted.
---
Upstairs, Celestia pushed her bedroom door shut with her shoulder, Duchess’s carrier dangling from her hand. The cat meowed, soft and questioning, as if it already knew the air wasn’t safe here. She set the carrier on the bed, unlatched it, and Duchess stepped out with a slow stretch, tail flicking.
Val sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows on her knees, hands clasped so tight her knuckles whitened. Her chest rose and fell, but no sound left her lips. For a moment, she just stared at the floorboards, like they might give her an answer.
The quiet broke with a faint click of a lock, the dull thud of a door opening across the hall. Lucien. She knew the sound too well; the rhythm of it was etched into her memory from years of listening for when he came home late.
Her first instinct was to stay put. To keep her head down, pretend she didn’t care. But her body betrayed her. She straightened, whispered to herself, barely audible:
> "Don’t run from him, Celestia. Not him."
A shaky breath. Then she crossed the hall, each step slow, deliberate. She raised her fist, hesitated, then knocked.
A pause. Then his voice, low, flat. "What do you want?"
She swallowed. "I... I just wanna talk."
Another pause. Then, grudgingly, "Fine."
The door opened.
Lucien sat slouched in a chair by his desk, phone still in hand but screen dimmed. He didn’t move much, just jerked his chin toward the room. Celestia slipped inside, shutting the door behind her.
She didn’t sit. Couldn’t. She stayed by the door, fingers worrying at her nails. "What was that... downstairs?" she asked, her voice careful, soft, like she was tiptoeing through broken glass.
Lucien leaned back, eyes flicking over her once, then away. "Nothing."
"That wasn’t nothing," she pressed, softer still. "You—You’ve never... said things like that. Not about him. Not about... me."
Silence. Just the faint buzz of his phone lighting up again in his palm.
Her throat tightened. "Lucien... talk to me. Please."
Finally, he looked at her. His eyes were tired, sharp around the edges, but there was no warmth left in them. "I’m not gonna lose everything, Cel. Not for parties, not for girls, not for being stupid. Dad’s already looking at me like I’m a failure. You think I don’t hear it? You think I don’t see how he compares me to you?"
Celestia blinked, stunned. "Lucien—"
He cut her off, words rough. "I’m not letting him hand everything to you. Not without a fight. If that means making you look bad, then... I’ll do it."
Her chest hollowed. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. Her voice came out small, trembling. "I’m not even trying to take it from you. I never have."
"I know," he muttered, almost too quiet.
Her hands curled into fists, but the tears pricked hot behind her eyes. "Then why? Why are you doing this?"
He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the phone in his hand like it was easier than looking at her.
She broke before he did. Her voice cracked, soft, pleading. "Please... don’t make them think Kai’s not good for me. Please, Lucien. Don’t take him from me. I’ll do anything. I’ll— I’ll fail if you want me to. I’ll stop trying. Just... don’t take him away."
The room went still. Duchess’s faint meow from across the hall was the only sound.
Lucien exhaled, long and heavy, dragging a hand down his face. For the first time that night, his voice softened, like the brother she remembered. "I’m sorry, Cel." He didn’t look at her. "But I’m sure you understand, right?"
Her lips parted, but no words came. She just nodded, barely, eyes glassy. "Good night, Lucien."
She turned and left before he could answer.
Back in her room, the door shut behind her with a soft click. She dropped onto her bed, Duchess climbing onto her lap with quiet insistence. Celestia’s eyes burned, her throat tight, the tears finally spilling as she buried her face in the cat’s fur.
Her hand fumbled for her phone, screen lighting up with familiar digits. One touch on the contact that made her lips tremble despite everything:
Future Husband (You Can’t Escape) 💍🔥💚
She pressed call.
The ringback felt longer than usual. Then my voice filled the line, steady, warm. "Val? You home?"
I heard her sniff, then her throat cleared quick, like she was trying to cover it. "Yeah. Just got in."
I paused, frowning a little, and softened my tone. "Voice call? What happened to seeing your face?"
Her chest must’ve tightened then—I could almost hear it in the beat before she answered. "Battery’s low. Didn’t wanna risk it dying." Smooth. Too smooth.
"Uh-huh." I let out a hum, not buying it completely but letting it slide. "As long as you made it back safe."
"I did," she said, fast. Too fast. "Promise."
Val never cared if her phone was dying—she’d FaceTimed me on two percent more times than I could count, grinning like it was a game, daring the call to drop before she was finished saying whatever bratty thing was on her mind.
When silence stretched too long, she broke it with a yawn, soft and unguarded. "I’m sleepy. Gonna crash soon."
"Alright," I murmured, trying not to let the doubt in my chest bleed into my voice.
Then came the pause, the hesitation. I pictured her leaning close to the phone before I even heard it—her whispering a soft "mwah" against the receiver. "Good night, husband."
I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my mouth. "Good night Val."
And just like that, the line went dead.
I sat there, phone still in hand, staring at the ceiling of my quiet apartment. The glow from the screen faded, leaving me in the dark with nothing but the echo of her voice.
What I didn’t know—what I couldn’t know—was that when the line went dead, she’d probably cry herself to sleep.
And tomorrow, when I see her at school, she’ll smile. She’ll laugh. She’ll shine so bright you’d never believe she’d ever been anything else. She’ll make sure of it.
And me? I’ll believe it. Like always.
---
To be continued...