Chapter 22 – Shadows of the Past

Celeste could feel the thick tension in the air. The two men stood facing each other, their gazes sharp and filled with unspoken meanings.

Malcolm was no ordinary man—that much was clear. There was something in his eyes, something that hinted he was not just another guest making idle conversation.

"Don't be so rigid, Alistair." Malcolm smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. "I'm just curious… What kind of woman could make you this protective?"

Celeste felt Alistair's grip on her waist tighten, as if ensuring she remained within his reach.

"She's none of your concern," Alistair replied coldly.

"Oh, but I have a feeling she's not just your concern." Malcolm's gaze lingered on Celeste, sweeping over her face with an interest that made her uncomfortable. "I've heard things about you, little girl. I've heard that you're quite… special."

Celeste's heart dropped.

What did he mean? How could this man possibly know anything about her?

"I don't like the way you're talking about her." Alistair's voice was dangerous, like the edge of a finely sharpened blade. "I hope you're not planning to do anything foolish, Malcolm."

Malcolm chuckled lightly, as if Alistair's words were nothing more than an amusing joke. "Me? Do something? No, of course not. I'm simply a man who enjoys an interesting sight."

Then, with a movement almost too casual, Malcolm stepped closer.

Celeste could feel the warmth of his presence approaching, and before she could step back, his fingers reached toward her chin.

But before he could touch her—

SRET.

Alistair's hand seized Malcolm's wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Touch her, and I swear you won't walk out of this place in one piece," he hissed.

The room, once filled with murmured conversations, fell eerily silent. Several guests turned to watch, drawn in by the palpable tension.

Yet, instead of fear, Malcolm's smile only widened.

"So possessive," he mused, retracting his hand with an air of arrogance. "It's fascinating to see this side of you, Alistair."

Alistair didn't respond. His gaze remained cold and lethal, as if ready to destroy Malcolm at any moment.

Malcolm adjusted his suit, then glanced at Celeste once more.

"I'm sure we'll meet again, darling," he said in a voice that was far too soft. "Until then…"

He cast one last look at Alistair before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Celeste with a heart still hammering in her chest.

Alistair remained silent for several seconds, his grip on her waist firm, his breathing heavier than before.

Finally, he leaned down and whispered against her ear.

"We need to leave."

Without waiting for her response, he pulled Celeste out of the room, leaving behind the lingering stares of the other guests.

But even as they walked away, one thought continued to haunt Celeste.

Who exactly was Malcolm?

And why did she feel as if she had just become part of something far bigger than she had ever imagined?

Celeste could barely keep up with Alistair's long strides as he dragged her out of the room at a worrying speed. His grip on her wrist was so tight that she was certain there would be red marks on her skin by tomorrow.

"Alistair…" she whispered, trying to match his pace.

But he didn't listen. His jaw was clenched, his breathing heavy, and his aura so dark that everyone they passed in the lavish hallway instinctively stepped aside, avoiding his gaze.

They ended up in a private room on the upper floor. Alistair shoved the door open with force, pushed Celeste inside, and then slammed it shut with a resounding echo.

Celeste stepped back, her body tensing at the sight of his expression.

Alistair didn't look like a man who had just won a small battle—no, he looked even angrier than before.

"Who was that man?" Celeste asked softly, though deep down, she knew the question might only make things worse.

Alistair's gaze burned into her, his eyes like embers of fire.

"You don't need to know," he said sharply. "What you do need to know is that he is not someone who should be anywhere near you."

Celeste frowned. "But he seemed to know me… How is that possible? What's his connection to you?"

Too fast.

Alistair was in front of her within seconds, his tall, broad frame caging her between himself and the wall. His hands braced on either side of her head, and his face was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath.

"Don't ask too many questions," he murmured, his voice more of a threat than a warning. "I'm already angry enough that he dared to look at you like that."

Celeste swallowed hard, her body stiffening on reflex.

"Why… are you reacting like this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you so mad?"

Alistair stared at her intently, then suddenly let out a low chuckle—one devoid of any humor.

"Because you are mine, Celeste," he whispered, his voice dark and dangerous. "And I don't like it when another man dares to look at what's mine as if they have any right to it."

Celeste's chest rose and fell rapidly, her hands clenched at her sides.

But before she could respond, Alistair moved.

His hand lifted, touching her chin with a gentleness that contradicted his anger. Then, his fingers trailed down to her neck, as if making sure she was still there, whole, untouched by anyone else.

"Forget about him," he commanded firmly. "I don't want to hear his name from your lips again."

Celeste held her breath.

"I understand," she finally said, though countless questions still swirled in her mind.

But she knew… For now, it was better not to challenge Alistair when he was like this.

All she could do was wait… and hope that the answers to all her questions would reveal themselves in time.