Chapter 10: Unfinished Conversations

Luna let the rhythmic sound of the shower running in the adjacent bathroom soothe the chaotic whirlwind of thoughts swirling in her head, a temporary balm against the anxieties that threatened to overwhelm her.

The lingering tension from her earlier confrontation with Killian still clung to her like a second skin, a suffocating layer of unspoken words and unresolved emotions, making it difficult to draw a steady breath.

She had spent the last ten minutes pacing the length of the spacious bedroom, a restless energy driving her movements, trying desperately to shake off the unsettling confusion Adrian had stirred within her, the way his words had dredged up long-buried fears. And then there was Killian's gaze, that intense, unwavering stare that had looked at her—like she was still his to protect, a possession he couldn't relinquish. Like she still mattered to him in ways he stubbornly refused to acknowledge, ways that contradicted his carefully constructed facade of indifference.

She hated it! She hated the conflicting emotions that warred within her, the way her heart wavered precariously between resentment, a burning anger at his past actions, and something far more dangerous, a flicker of hope she thought she had extinguished long ago.

A sharp, authoritative knock on the bedroom door startled her, snapping her out of her reverie, and she turned just as Killian stepped inside, his hair still damp from his shower, droplets of water clinging to the dark strands.

He was wearing a loose, comfortable shirt and sweatpants, a rare glimpse of his casual side. However, the relaxed attire did nothing to soften the steel in his gaze, the unyielding intensity that always seemed to radiate from him.

"We need to talk," he said simply.

Luna folded her arms. "We already did."

Killian let out a slow breath. "Not enough."

She scoffed. "You never wanted to talk before. Why now?"

His jaw tensed. "Because this isn't just about us anymore. It's about Adrian."

Luna's fingers curled against her arms. "And what about him? You think I don't know how dangerous he is? You think I don't remember—"

"That's exactly what I think," Killian cut in, stepping closer. "You remember too much. And I think it's messing with your head."

Luna clenched her jaw. "You don't get to decide what messes with me, Killian."

For a second, neither of them spoke. The air between them stretched tight, like a fragile thread ready to snap. Finally, Killian exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not trying to decide anything for you. I just… I need to know where you stand."

Luna's lips parted, but before she could answer, the doorbell rang downstairs.

She frowned. "Who would come here this late?"

Killian's eyes darkened. "Stay here."

She rolled her eyes. "I can answer my own door, Killian."

"Luna." His voice held a warning, but she was already moving past him, making her way downstairs. Killian followed close behind.

When she swung the door open, her breath caught in her throat. Standing on the doorstep, looking as flawless as ever in a sleek black dress, was Celeste Monroe—Killian's ex-fiancée.

Luna's stomach twisted. She had almost forgotten how effortlessly beautiful Celeste was—how her presence always had a way of making Luna feel… small.

Celeste's red lips curved into a knowing smile. "Well, well. This is a surprise. I wasn't expecting to see you here, Luna."

Luna gripped the door handle tighter. "What are you doing here?"

"She's here because of me," Killian answered before Celeste could. His voice was unreadable, but Luna knew him well enough to hear the edge beneath it.

Celeste's gaze flicked to Killian, then back to Luna. "I wanted to speak with you both, actually."

Luna narrowed her eyes. "About what?"

Celeste's smile didn't falter. "May I come in?"

Killian hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Five minutes."

Luna stepped aside stiffly, arms still folded as Celeste sauntered inside like she belonged there.

The moment the door shut, Celeste turned to face them, her expression sobering. "I came to warn you. About Adrian."

Luna and Killian exchanged a look.

Celeste continued, "He approached me two weeks ago. He wanted information about Killian—about you both. He acted like it was casual, but I know when someone is digging for something more."

Luna swallowed hard. "And what did you tell him?"

Celeste's smile was humorless. "Nothing. I have no reason to help Adrian."

Killian crossed his arms. "But you have a reason to help us?"

Celeste's eyes met his, something unreadable flickering there. "You may not believe me, but yes. Whatever Adrian is planning, it won't just hurt you, Killian. It'll hurt Luna, too. And despite everything, I don't want that."

Luna stared at her, her expression unreadable, trying to decipher whether there was any genuine truth behind Celeste's carefully chosen words, her seemingly sincere offer. She and Celeste had never been friends, their relationship a complex dance of veiled barbs and subtle power plays, but they had never been outright enemies either, maintaining a fragile truce in the name of social decorum. The problem was, Luna had learned a long time ago, a hard-won lesson etched into her memory, that people like Celeste, people who moved in the upper echelons of society, people who wielded power and influence like weapons, didn't do anything without a carefully calculated ulterior motive.

Killian studied Celeste for a long moment before nodding. "We'll handle Adrian."

Celeste sighed. "Just… be careful."

She turned to leave, but just as she reached the door, she paused, glancing back at Luna. "And Luna? Don't let him push you away. He does that when he cares."

Luna's breath caught, but before she could respond, Celeste was gone, the sound of her heels fading into the night.

She turned to Killian, eyes sharp. "What the hell was that?"

Killian sighed, rubbing his temple. "A distraction. That's what Celeste does best."

Luna shook her head. "No, Killian. She was warning us."

Killian met her gaze. "And that's exactly what worries me the most."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, both lost in thoughts of a past that never stopped haunting them. The storm wasn't over—it was just beginning.