Chapter 24 – The Buried Truth

Celeste sat on the edge of her bed, gripping the engagement invitation with trembling hands. Her breaths came in short gasps, as if her lungs refused to function properly. This was too sudden—too overwhelming.

Why couldn't she remember anything?

She looked at Alistair, the man who had controlled her life in a suffocating way. His gaze was sharp and cold, but beneath it, there was something deeper—something she had never noticed before.

"Who caused the accident?" she finally asked, her voice barely audible.

Alistair didn't answer immediately. He stared at Celeste for what felt like an eternity, then turned, walking toward his desk. He picked up another piece of paper and tossed it onto her lap.

It was a police report.

Her hands trembled as she began reading.

Victim: Celeste Laurent

Incident: Fatal car accident

Victim's condition: Severe injuries, partial memory loss

Primary suspect: ???

Celeste froze. No suspect's name?

She looked up at Alistair in confusion.

"No one knows who did it?"

Alistair let out a small laugh, but it wasn't a pleasant one. It was cold and filled with rage.

"Oh, someone knows," he said. "I do."

Her heart pounded faster.

"What do you mean?"

Alistair stepped closer, then knelt before her. His fingers lifted, gently touching her chin, but his gaze was laced with danger.

"I know who tried to kill you, Celeste."

Her body stiffened.

Who?

Alistair stared deep into her eyes before uttering a name that made Celeste's blood run cold.

"Malcolm."

Her world shattered in an instant.

No. That was impossible.

There was no way Malcolm—the man she had been engaged to, the man who seemed so gentle in her faint memories—would try to kill her.

Celeste shook her head frantically. "No… that doesn't make sense…."

Alistair scoffed. "You think he's a good man? You think he's still the same man you remember?"

He stood, his voice growing sharper. "Trust me, Celeste. Malcolm is not who you think he is."

Celeste wanted to argue, but her mind was suddenly filled with fragmented memories—blurry images resurfacing.

A scream.

Pain in her head.

Someone yanking her arm harshly.

The sound of a speeding car—

And then, darkness.

Celeste gasped.

Was that… real?

Had Malcolm really tried to kill her?

If so, why?

Why was he still looking for her now?

Alistair seemed to read her thoughts. He leaned forward, his gaze piercing.

"Because he's not done with you, Celeste."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

If Malcolm was truly behind her accident… if he was still after her…

Then she wasn't safe.

Alistair leaned in closer, his voice low and firm.

"But I won't let anyone touch you again."

Celeste swallowed hard.

Amid the fear, confusion, and shock, she knew one thing.

This buried truth had only just begun to surface.

And she didn't know if she was ready to face it.

Celeste bit her lip, trying to steady her ragged breaths.

Alistair still stood before her, his posture strong, his eyes sharp—like a hawk that had just found its prey. But this time, his gaze held her in a suffocating tension, as if he were waiting for her reaction—waiting to see if she would run or stay.

Yet, Celeste's body felt frozen.

Her memories were still hazy, but small fragments began to surface in her mind, like pieces of a puzzle that had long been buried.

Malcolm…

Why did that name feel both foreign and familiar at the same time?

"I don't believe it…" Celeste's voice trembled. "Malcolm wouldn't—"

Alistair scoffed, as if he had expected that response. "Of course you don't believe it. Your memories are still incomplete."

Celeste looked at him, searching for answers in those dark eyes. "What really happened, Alistair?"

Instead of answering, Alistair reached for her wrist, pulling her to stand. His grip was firm, commanding, but not painful.

"You want the truth?" he whispered. "I'll show you."

Celeste swallowed hard, but she didn't resist.

Alistair led her out of the bedroom, down the long corridor toward his grand study. Every step felt heavier, as if every inch of this house held secrets that had been kept from her.

When they reached a large safe, Alistair entered a code, then pulled the door open with a sharp click.

Inside was a folder filled with old documents and a small flash drive.

Alistair grabbed the flash drive, plugged it into his laptop, and within seconds, a video appeared on the screen.

Celeste held her breath as she saw the man captured in the footage.

A man dressed in an elegant black suit, his blond hair neatly styled, his expression so familiar.

Malcolm.

A chill ran down her spine.

In the video, Malcolm was speaking to someone. But what made her heart pound even harder were the words he spoke.

"Make sure she doesn't survive."

Celeste's entire body went weak.

That was Malcolm's voice. That was Malcolm's face.

No…

No, this couldn't be real…

Her eyes widened as the footage continued—her car speeding down a dark road, then suddenly, another vehicle slamming into it from behind.

The horrific sound of the crash echoed, and the screen went black.

Celeste covered her mouth with her hand, trying to suppress the sob threatening to break free.

Alistair watched her in silence before finally speaking, his voice low.

"Do you understand now?"

Celeste shook her head, still unable to believe what she had just seen.

"Why…?" her voice was barely a whisper.

Alistair stared at her, then murmured, "Because you belong to me, Celeste."

Her breath caught.

"What…?"

Alistair stepped closer, so close that she could feel his body heat.

"From the very beginning, you were mine."

The words echoed in her mind.

She wanted to deny it. She wanted to resist.

But the truth had already been revealed.

And now, she had no choice but to face the reality that her life… had never truly been her own.