Chapter 36: The Woman Behind the Smile

Luna stared at the envelope in her hands for the second time that night, her fingers tracing the weight of what it held—the documents William had promised. Every transaction. Every secret partnership. Every quiet agreement that had fueled the Blackwell legacy from behind a curtain of elegance.

But the files that mattered most to her weren't even the worst ones.

It was the name that kept echoing in her mind.

Celeste Monroe.

She was no longer just a scorned ex or a bitter socialite clawing her way back into relevance. She was a weapon—one the Obsidian Circle had wielded with expert precision. And for too long, Luna had been on the receiving end of that war.

Not anymore.

Luna had always played by the rules. Always stayed quiet when others shouted. Observed while others acted.

But tonight, she wasn't going to be a pawn.

She was going to confront the woman behind the curtain.

And she was going to do it her way.

Avery's contact confirmed it quickly—Celeste had checked into The Aurelia, a luxury hotel known for its discreet clientele and untraceable guests. High-end, secure, and crawling with silent deals and power players pretending to be harmless tourists.

Luna arrived alone, dressed in a sharp black coat over a fitted silk blouse and tailored trousers. Her hair was sleek, pinned at the nape of her neck, her lips painted a muted shade of red. No chaos. No emotion.

Just control.

She strode through the gilded lobby with purpose, ignoring the receptionist's glance, taking the elevator straight to the executive floors. Her heels clicked softly against the polished marble, each step echoing the tension building in her chest.

Room 1807.

She didn't knock.

She used the override key Avery had slipped her before she left.

The door clicked open.

Inside, Celeste was lounging in an ivory robe, sipping wine while scrolling through her tablet. Her legs were crossed, her golden hair draped over one shoulder in effortless waves.

She looked up casually—then froze when she saw who stood in her doorway.

"Well," Celeste said with a slow, amused smile. "What a surprise."

Luna stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

"No bodyguards? No husband in tow?" Celeste's tone was silky. "How brave of you."

"I'm not here to play games," Luna said calmly.

Celeste chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart. You've been part of the game since day one—you just didn't realize it."

Luna didn't flinch. She crossed the room and placed the envelope on the table between them.

Celeste's brow arched. "What's this?"

"Your endgame," Luna said evenly. "Or your undoing. Your choice."

Celeste picked up the envelope, flipping through the contents—her old contracts, the vault access logs, photographs from her planted meetings, and the payment slips from Obsidian Holdings. Her expression didn't change, but Luna saw the brief flicker in her eyes—the split-second recognition that she'd been cornered.

"You've done your homework," Celeste murmured.

"I've done more than that," Luna replied. "I know everything. I know you were embedded by the Circle long before Cameron entered the picture. I know you used William's trust to access restricted records. And I know you're not just blackmailing us—you're blackmailing Cameron too."

Celeste's smile faltered for the first time. "Is that so?"

Luna stepped closer. "Let's cut to the truth. You don't want Cameron to win. You don't care about him. He's just a means to an end. You've always been playing for yourself."

"Smart girl," Celeste said quietly.

"You overplayed your hand," Luna said. "And now you have two options."

Celeste leaned back. "I'm listening."

"Option one—you disappear," Luna said, voice firm. "You vanish from every business contract, every press connection, every whisper of Blackwell Industries. In exchange, I won't leak the files. The Circle won't know you've been exposed. You'll walk away clean."

Celeste's eyes narrowed. "And option two?"

"I leak everything," Luna said coldly. "Every transaction. Every file. I'll send it to Cameron, the press, and the authorities. You'll go from elusive power player to disgraced criminal before your next bottle of champagne hits the table."

"You're bluffing."

Luna met her gaze dead-on. "Try me."

Celeste was silent for a long beat.

Then she slowly stood, setting down her wine glass. "You know… for a while, I didn't think you'd survive him."

"Him?"

"Killian," Celeste said, walking slowly toward the window. "He's colder than most people can handle. You're not the first woman who tried to warm him."

"I'm not trying to," Luna said simply.

That made Celeste laugh. "Well. Maybe that's why you're still standing."

Luna held her ground. "Make your decision."

Celeste turned, her eyes now sharp and calculating again. "Do you really think you've beaten me?"

"No," Luna replied. "I think you beat yourself the moment you underestimated me."

Silence crackled between them.

Then, finally, Celeste gave a slow nod.

"I'll leave."

"No press statements. No backdoor threats. You disappear."

"I disappear," Celeste echoed, walking back to her tablet. "But don't fool yourself, Luna. This isn't over. Men like Killian—families like his—they rot from the inside out. And sooner or later, even you won't be able to stop it."

Luna turned toward the door.

"I'm not here to stop it," she said quietly. "I'm here to rebuild it."

And with that, she left.

By the time Luna stepped back into the house, her coat dusted with light drizzle from the city streets, she was exhausted—but sharper than ever.

Killian was already in the living room, a glass of scotch in hand, shirt sleeves rolled up, collar undone, the glow of the city casting shadows across his jawline.

He looked up as she entered—slowly. Quietly.

His eyes scanned her, not just looking but assessing—her posture, her expression, the faint dampness on her coat. His grip on the glass tightened imperceptibly.

"Where have you been?" he asked. Not gently, but not cold either—his voice edged with a quiet steel that didn't quite mask the tension underneath.

Luna shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of a chair. "I handled something."

Killian's brow lifted, but the rest of his face remained unreadable. "Handled what?"

"Celeste," she said, turning toward him. "She's out. I confronted her."

He went still.

"You what?"

"I confronted her," Luna repeated, casually. "I made her choose—disappear or burn. She chose the former."

His jaw tightened. "You went alone?"

She nodded once, calm and unfazed. "I didn't need backup."

He didn't respond immediately. He just stared at her a little longer, his scotch untouched. When he spoke again, his voice was deceptively smooth.

"You should've told me."

Luna tilted her head. "Would you have let me go?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Exactly."

A pause.

He set the glass down slowly. "You think you're untouchable now?"

Luna raised a brow. "I think I've learned not to wait for permission to protect what matters."

His gaze darkened, not from anger—but something quieter, heavier. She could see it now, just beneath the surface. Concern. The kind that didn't know how to say I was worried about you, so it hid behind you should've told me instead.

"You could've been hurt," he said after a beat, softer now, but no less tense.

"But I wasn't."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?" she asked gently.

He didn't answer.

Not directly.

Instead, he stepped closer, just enough to make her heart race.

"Next time," he said quietly, "don't act alone."

Luna held his gaze. "Noted."

But neither of them moved away.

And in that space between them—silence, tension, something unspoken—she realized he wasn't just irritated.

He was afraid to lose her.

And he didn't even know how to say it.