#183

Things weren’t going well for Celeste.

She’d planned a quiet day of shopping, coffee, and wandering with no one needing anything from her. The sun had been out then, so she’d left her car behind without a second thought. She also just didn’t like driving downtown. 

Now the sky had turned on her.

Rain came down in heavy droplets. The kind that ruined everything.

She stood beneath the narrow cover of a bus stop, water still misting in on the wind. She wasn’t dressed for this. The outfit that had felt cute and confident an hour ago now just made her feel small and uncomfortable.

Celeste rechecked her phone.

Delayed.

The buses that went anywhere near her place were running late, and the thought of dropping seventy dollars on an Uber just to get out of the city made her stomach twist. She couldn’t justify it. 

She had just paid her rent, bought groceries, upgraded her phone plan, and spent a ton of money on shopping today.

With a frustrated huff, she slumped back onto the bench beneath the little shelter, and for a moment, she just closed her eyes.

All she wanted was to go home.

Just as she was going to cave in and buy an Uber, headlights cut through the rain.

Celeste barely looked up at first until the vehicle slowed. Tires stopped near the edge as it pulled up beside the bus stop and came to a smooth stop.

She frowned and lifted her head as a sleek, expensive black car pulled up near the bus stop curb.

The window slid down.

Celeste's heart dropped. 

Fuck.

For a second, she genuinely thought she was imagining it. Like her stress had finally tipped her into hallucinating her boss in the middle of a rain-soaked street. 

He sat behind the wheel, perfectly composed, dark hair untouched by the storm outside. His eyes met hers through the falling rain.

“What are you doing out here?” 

His voice was so calm, as if finding her stranded at a bus stop in the pouring rain was the most natural thing in the world. 

Celeste shot to her feet so fast the bench screeched behind her. “What—?” Her voice came out thin. “I’m just waiting for the bus.”

Matt’s eyes swept over her slowly, the shopping bags in her hands, the way the rain had already started to cling to her hair, before lifting back to her face.

“Where’s your car?” he asked, thumb brushing over his stubble.

She hesitated. “I… didn’t take it today.”

“In this weather?” A faint, unimpressed sound left him.

She nodded, small and defensive.

“Get in.” 

Her eyes widened. “No—no, sir, it’s fine. The bus should be here any minute—”

“Angel.” His tone sharpened. “Get in.”

She took a step back and sank onto the bench again, stubbornly. “I’ll be okay. You don’t have to—”

“I’m not offering,” His gaze hardened, something dangerous flickering there. “I’m telling you. Get in the car.”

The rain seemed to fall harder.

Celeste looked down at her soaked shoes, then back at him, heart pounding. Every instinct told her to argue—but something about the way he was watching her made her chest tighten.

Slowly, she moved forward. “…Fine.”

She opened the door and slid inside. Matt watched her as she shut the door, a faint, unreadable look in his eyes.

“Seatbelt.”

“Oh—right.” She scrambled, juggling the shopping bags at her feet as she reached across herself. It was a mess. “Sorry.”

“You can put them in the back,” he said.

“What?”

“The bags.”

She glanced down, flustered. “It’s okay, I can—”

“Back seat, angel.”

“Right—sorry.” She leaned forward, twisting awkwardly to shove them behind her. One of the bags swung too far, brushing dangerously close to his face.

Her breath caught. “I’m so sorry, sir—”

“Just sit,” he cut in, already irritated.

She froze, then did as she was told, pulling back into her seat and snapping the belt across her chest. Her hands folded in her lap like she was afraid to move again.

Matt pulled into traffic, the wipers slicing back and forth. “Where were you headed?” 

“Home,” she answered softly. “Eventually. If the bus ever showed up.”

His jaw tightened just a little. “You shouldn’t be standing out there in weather like this. Not dressed like that.”

She glanced down at her knee high boots and mini dress, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t exactly plan for a thunderstorm.”

“Clearly.”

Silence filled the car again. Not the comfortable kind, but the heavy, watchful kind that made every small sound feel too loud. 

After a few blocks, Matt spoke.

“Address.”

Celeste startled slightly and gave it to him, voice quick. He entered it into the console, eyes barely leaving the road. A beat passed, then his brow lifted.

“That’s not close.” His gaze slid to her, assessing. “You went all that way to buy random stuff?”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. The way he said it, faintly amused, like he was judging, made her chest tighten.

“I just… needed a few things,” she murmured. “I didn’t think it would rain.”

“Hm.” The sound he made wasn’t impressive. “You don’t usually take risks like that.”

She swallowed, staring straight ahead. Being alone with him like this felt different than at the house. There was no staff or walls between them. And the last time they’d really spoken, he’d been furious. She could still hear his voice in that off-limits room.

Matt’s knuckles flexed on the steering wheel. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his statement was not quite a question.

Her heart stuttered, truth was that she had been dodging him. “I—I’ve just been working, sir.”

“Everyone’s always working.” He glanced at her again, “Doesn’t explain why you look like you’re about to bolt out of my car.” 

“I—I just feel bad making you drive me all the way back,” Celeste said quietly. “Thats all.”

Matt didn’t answer. The wipers swept back and forth, filling the space his silence left behind. Celeste twisted her fingers together in her lap. For a second, she almost asked what he’d been doing downtown… then thought better of it.

She could feel his eyes on her every now and then, quick, unreadable glances that made her skin prickle.

Then he spoke.

“You have terrible taste in clothes.”

Her head snapped toward him. “What?”

“For the weather,” he clarified flatly. “You’re dressed like it’s summer.”

She glanced down at herself, suddenly too aware of how different she looked from her usual uniform. The plaid mini-dress, the tall boots, the makeup. It showed way too much personality.

“I told you. I didn’t know it was going to rain.”

“Hm.” His eyes stayed on the road. “Doesn’t explain why you went out in something that barely covers your thighs.”

“Its not about that…” Heat rushed to her face. “It’s my style.”

A quiet, almost amused breath left him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I can tell.”

She folded her arms, annoyed. “You don’t get to judge what I wear.”

“But I get to notice,” he replied coolly. “And right now, I’m noticing you look like you wandered out of a movie instead of into a storm.”

Despite herself, her heart gave a strange little flip. She stared out the window, pretending not to care. 

But it was impossible to ignore him in the car. He wasn’t just there—he was the presence. Infuriating, magnetic, and impossible to fully resent. Even his scent lingered everywhere.

“Uh… so… how’s your day?” she asked, voice slightly higher than intended. She needed some type of conversation to make this less awkward.

“Fine.” 

“Good… good,” she added, fidgeting with her hands. God, it was so hard talking to him. Silence stretched between them, for like the twentieth time, before she unnecessarily added “That's really good.”

“Were you out by yourself?” he asked finally.

Celeste nodded. “Yeah.”

“No friends?”

“No… I like shopping alone,” she admitted softly, feeling exposed. “It’s relaxing.” 

His brows knitted. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” she shot back, half-defensive, half-embarrassed.

“I don’t know. I just assumed you’d be out with people… or whatever it is young women do nowadays.”

“Oh… yeah, I don’t really talk to anyone like that,” she murmured, looking down at her lap. “I prefer to shop alone.”

Matt didn’t press further. Which she was thankful for, she didn’t want him knowing she was basically a friendless loser. 

Another silence fell, heavier this time, until she turned her head and saw glowing lights she’d recognize anywhere. The sign of PARADISE, bright and unmistakable.

Her throat went dry, and she swallowed hard, suddenly feeling small, exposed, as if someone had thrown a spotlight right on her chest.

“I didn’t mean to snap the other day.” 

Celeste blinked at him. “What?”

His jaw tightened. “You know what I mean.” He glanced straight ahead, stopping at the red light. “In that room.”

Oh.

“Oh… um… it’s fine,” she murmured, her voice quieter than intended. “I… I didn’t take offense.” Celeste flinched under the weight of his gaze, unsure whether to argue or stay silent. “…didn’t think it was a big deal.” 

He let out a short, frustrated sigh, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Not thinking it’s a big deal doesn’t make it okay,” he said sharply. “I don’t like surprises like that. You need to be careful.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. 

After a long pause, he finally glanced at her again, his eyes dark but calculating. “Just… keep that in mind next time. Don’t go in there.”

“I… I understand.” Celeste nodded, though her stomach twisted. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, angel.” His voice was weirdly gentle. But also intimidating. “Just don’t make the same mistake twice.”

She nodded, then hesitated before speaking again. “So, um… what brought you downtown today?” Her eyes flicked up to his sharply sculpted profile. “Doesn’t really seem like your kind of area.”

He glanced at her, expression cool and faintly amused. “What do you think?” She immediately regretted asking. “Everywhere in this city is my area.”

That shut her up.

Rain blurred past the windows as the minutes ticked by. About forty minutes later, the car finally slowed, pulling into her neighborhood. 

“This is where you live?” he asked, pulling up to her building. 

Celeste nodded, suddenly too aware of everything. “Yeah. Um… thank you, sir. You really didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re right,” he replied. “I didn’t.” Douchebag.

She reached for her bags in the back seat, ready to quickly get out of this god-awful situation. 

“Where can I park?”

Celeste's eyes shot up. “Oh—no, it’s fine. I can just get upstairs myself—”

“I need to ask you something,” he said, cutting her off.

Her stomach dropped. Ask you something? He could have just asked whatever he wanted to ask in the almost hour they spent in the car. “You can ask me here.”

But Matt shook his head. “Tell me where to park, angel.” His tone left no room for argument. She pointed weakly toward a public spot near the curb, and he pulled in. 

They both got out. Before she could grab her things, Matt was already lifting the bags from the backseat.

“Sir, you don’t—”

“Can you stop resisting for five seconds?” he said sharply, already walking toward the building. “And stop mumbling.”

She followed him, cheeks burning, half mortified and half irritated by how effortlessly he took over.

The lobby doors slid open, revealing a small but clean space. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t… Matt. Celeste felt it immediately, that humiliating awareness that next to Matt, everything she had looked smaller.

When they stepped into the elevator, the space felt even tighter. The hum of the cables filled the silence. She stared at the glowing floor numbers, heart pounding, wishing the ride was over already 

“You, um… you said you wanted to ask me something?” she murmured.

Matt gave a low hum, turning toward her slowly, like he was studying a problem he’d already half solved. His gaze dragged over her face, too sharp. Celeste’s pulse started to race.

Before he could speak, the elevator chimed, and the doors slid open on the twelfth floor.

They stepped out into a quiet hallway, carpeted and dimly lit. When they reached her door, the weight of the moment finally hit her. This wasn’t just her boss standing there—it was Matthew Storniolo, a mob boss, in front of her tiny apartment.

It felt invasive in a way she couldn’t quite name.

“I know who you are.”

The words knocked the air out of her lungs.

No, no—this couldn’t be happening.

Her eyes flew up to his, fear flashing so clearly she knew he’d caught it. Panic rushed through her, hot and dizzying. “Listen, sir, I can explain—”

“You’re Vincent Laurent’s daughter.”

She froze.

That… wasn’t what she’d expected him to say.

Her mouth parted slightly, breath caught somewhere in her chest. Of all the things he could’ve known, this was somehow worse. 

Matt watched her reaction closely, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

“An East Coast elite,” he continued calmly. “Your father owns multiple businesses and companies in the country.” 

“Listen,” Celeste swallowed hard, fingers curling against the strap of her bag. “I… I don’t know what you think you know—”

“I know you left six years ago,” he cut in. His eyes looked her up and down. “No scandal, nor did anything hit the papers. Just gone.” His gaze softened just a hair, but it was somehow more dangerous. “And now you’re cleaning houses.”

Silence pressed in around them.

“So… ” Matt said quietly, “are you going to tell me why you’re pretending to be nobody… or do I have to keep guessing?”

Celeste lifted her chin, even though her heart was pounding. “I’m not a Laurent,” she said firmly. “Not anymore.”

Matt’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “Vincent Laurent is still your father.”

“That man isn’t my father.” Her voice wavered for just a split second before she forced it steady. “He hasn’t been for a long time.”

Matt took a slow step closer, the hallway suddenly feeling much smaller. “People don’t just walk away from that kind of money, or that kind of power, without something happening.”

God, he had some audacity asking her such invasive questions.

“That’s not your business,” she said, sharper now, a flash of heat cutting through her fear. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

She instinctively backed up, her shoulders brushing the door behind her.

“Then enlighten me,” he said, voice low. “Because a person with your upbringing doesn't clean houses when they have the option to be the daughter of someone like him.”

Matt stopped just inches away, one hand bracing against the door beside her head, not touching her but close enough that she could feel the heat of him. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t kind. It was a cage.

“You expect me to believe Vincent Laurent just let his daughter walk away?” he murmured. “That you gave up being the heir to a multimillion-dollar empire just to become a maid? I’m not that easy to fool.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I don’t owe you the story of my life.”

“No,” he agreed quietly. “But when you work for me, your past becomes my problem. Its a high risk that I have someone with your background working for me.”

Celeste held his stare, her spine stiff even as her pulse raced. “Then that’s your problem, not mine,” she said, breath coming faster now. “I haven’t spoken to that man in six years. I don’t owe him anything, and I sure as hell don’t owe you anything either.”

Matt’s eyes sharpened.

Celeste realized what she’d said a second too late. “I—” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“You’ve got quite a mouth,” Matts gaze dropped to her lips for a brief second before lifting back to her eyes. Celeste caught it. “Careful how you use it.”

Her stomach twisted. 

“Don't you forget,” he went on, voice flat and cold. “You work for me, angel.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I do.”

“Then remember your place.” He leaned in just enough that she could smell the faint trace of cologne and rain on him. “Because where you came from, who your father is, and whatever mess you ran from? That all walks through my door the moment I let you inside my world.”

Celeste’s fingers curled at her sides. “I do my job,” she said, softer now but still steady. “That’s all you hired me for. I promise you my past won't cause you any problems.” 

A beat passed. 

Matt was already turning away when her fingers caught his hand. The contact was small, but in the space between them, it felt loud.

His gaze dropped slowly to where she was holding him, then lifted back to her face, sharp and unreadable.

“Please,” she whispered. “Just… keep this between us. I—I would tell you if I could, but this isn’t something I talk about with anyone.” Her grip tightened for a split second before she forced herself to loosen it. “I don’t want people knowing I’m connected to him. I’m even in the process of changing my last name.”

Her voice cracked despite her effort to keep it steady.

“Just… understand that I’m in this situation for a reason. And he doesn’t want me as a daughter either.” Her eyes lifted to his, bare and pleading. “So please. Don’t tell anyone.”

For a long moment, Matt didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he took her wrist, not rough, but not gentle either, and lowered her hand from his.

“You think changing your name erases where you came from?” he murmured. “In my world, blood follows you, angel. Always.”

He stepped closer again, not crowding her, just close enough that she felt the weight of him.

“But here’s what you don’t understand, angel,” he continued. “If I wanted to use what I know, I already would have. The fact that I haven’t should tell you something. I don't give a fuck what happened between you and your father.”

Her chest rose and fell shallowly. 

“I don’t spread information unless it benefits me,” he said flatly. “And right now? Exposing you doesn’t.” His gaze hardened. “So I’ll keep your secret. Not because you asked nicely, but since it doesn’t affect me.” He stopped and looked her up and down. “Though it's still hard to grasp why you left.”

A pause.

“Go inside,” Matt said, her name clipped and final on his tongue. “And don’t be late tomorrow.”

Celeste didn’t wait for anything else.

She fumbled with her keys, hands shaking so badly it took her three tries to get the door open. The second it finally gave, she slipped inside, barely sparing him a glance before pushing it shut behind her.

The click of the lock sounded too loud.

Her bags slipped from her hands and hit the floor with dull thuds. Celeste pressed her back to the door, then slowly slid down until she was sitting on the cold floor.

Her chest ached, tight,  like she couldn’t get enough air. One hand flew to her heart as if she could steady it, the other covering her mouth to muffle the sound when the sob finally broke loose.

She curled in on herself, knees pulled close, breath coming in jagged little gasps.

Six years of running. Six years of pretending she was nobody, and in one rainy afternoon, the likes of Matthew Sturniolo had seen straight through it.

“Fuck…” she whispered, voice cracking, tears soaking into her sleeve.

It wasn’t even really about Matt knowing. It was about being reminded that someone had once given up on her so easily, being disposable for not being good enough.

All these years, she’d told herself she was over it. That she didn’t care anymore. That she’d buried it deep enough to survive. But all it took was someone mentioning her father for the ache to split back open.

The truth was, she had never healed from it.

She’d just learned how to live around it.