Chapter 8: The Woman from the Past

Celeste's Curiosity

The penthouse was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against Celeste's ears and made her brain louder than it should be. She sat on the edge of her bed, her laptop open in front of her; the glow from the screen giving her face a pale light. The name Natalia plagued her like a ghost she couldn't shake. Lucas's sneer at the gala had been deliberate, calculated to unsettle her, and it had worked. Who was Natalia? And why was Elliot so determined to keep her hidden?

Celeste's fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed Natalia + Elliot Sloane into the search bar. The results were scanty, almost suspiciously so. Some name dropped in old society columns, but that was it. No photos, no stories, no trace of the woman at all. It was as though she'd been erased from the world.

With a frustrated groan, Celeste fell back against the headboard, arms crossed. Elliot had gone to so much trouble to inter this part of his past, and that only made her more intrigued. But how was she supposed to find out? She couldn't very well confront him with it—he'd made it clear that his past wasn't open to discussion. And the more she thought about it, the more she knew she couldn't let it go. Natalia was a piece of the puzzle, a hint to unraveling the man she'd married. And if Elliot wouldn't give her the answers, she'd find them herself.

She closed her laptop and stood, walking the length of the room. The penthouse was too big, too silent, the quiet suffocating around her. She needed space, air to think. Grabbing a robe, she padded out into the living room, the floor chilly beneath her feet. The city glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a reminder of the world Elliot managed—and hid.

Elliot's Nightmare

A crashing sound awakened Celeste in the middle of the night. She sat up, her heart pounding, and listened. The noise had come from Elliot's room. In an instant, she threw off the covers and darted down the hall, her bare feet silent on the cold floor.

She pushed open the door to his bedroom and found him on the bed, head in hands. His breathing was in sharp gasps, his shirt drenched with sweat. The lamp on his bedside table was knocked over, creating macabre shadows around the room in the light. There was a thick tension in the air, the kind that made the hairs on the back of Celeste's neck stand on end.

"Elliot?" she called softly, stepping further into the room. "Are you okay?"

He looked up, his eyes scanning wildly for a moment before locking onto her. "What are you doing here?" he growled, his tone disagreeable.

Celeste ignored the tone, allowing her eyes to wander to the desk behind him. On it was a piece of paper, crumpled at the edges. She could just make out the name Natalia written at the top.

Elliot's eyes followed hers, and he plunged for the letter, shoving it into a drawer. "Mind your own business," he growled, his voice low and threatening.

But for the first time, Celeste saw something in his eyes that wasn't calculating or cold. It was pain. Bare, unguarded pain.

She took a step closer, her voice low. "Elliot, I'm not nosing around. But if there's something you're carrying—something that's painful—you don't have to do it alone."

He turned away, his shoulders tightening. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

"Then tell me," she replied; her tone insistent but not hostile. "Whatever it is, I can take it."

Elliot's fists clenched; his breathing uneven. She had a moment to wonder if he would yell at her, scream at her to leave his room and his life. But he didn't. He just stood there, his back to her, his silence more eloquent than any words.

The Ice Cracks

Celeste crossed her arms, her voice steady despite the tension that stood between them. "You kept saying that, but you let me into your life. You married me. If there is something I need to know, don't you think I deserve to hear it from you?"

Elliot's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. For a moment, she thought he might yell at her, might order her out of his room and out of his life. But instead, he just stood there, his shoulders tense, his breathing uneven.

"You don't know what you're asking," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then tell me," Celeste said, her voice soft. "Whatever it is, I can handle it."

Elliot looked at her, his eyes searching hers as if trying to see if she was serious. But then he turned away, his defenses slamming shut again. "Go back to bed, Celeste.".

She hesitated, wanting to push him further, to break through the barriers he had built up around himself. But she could see the storm brewing in his eyes, the turmoil he was working so desperately to hide. With a sigh, she went out of the room.

As she closed the door behind her, she looked back one last time. Elliot was at the window, his form silhouetted by the city lights. He looked tormented. And for the first time, Celeste realized that the man she had married was far more complicated than she had ever imagined.

The Letter

Back in her own bedroom, Celeste was awake. The image of the crumpled letter with Natalia's name on it burned in her mind. Who was she? A friend? A lover? Somebody Elliot had lost? The possibilities swirled in her head, each one more unsettling than the last.

She thought about how Elliot had reacted, the hurt in his eyes when he'd shoved the letter in the drawer. It wasn't anger—it was guilt. She was sure of it. But what on earth would Elliot Sloane, the man who seemed to have everything, have to feel guilty about?

The more she thought about it, the less she could shake it off. Natalia was a piece of the puzzle, a key to unlocking the man she had married. And if Elliot wouldn't give her the answers, she would find them herself.

The Morning After

The next morning, Celeste woke to the penthouse stirring to life. She dressed quickly, her mind still reeling from the night before. When she walked into the kitchen, Elliot was already there, his back to her as he poured a cup of coffee.

He didn't turn around when she entered, but she could feel the tension in the air. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Elliot, about last night—"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice cold. "We're not discussing it."

Celeste's jaw tightened, but she forced herself to stay calm. "You can't just shut me out. Not when it's clear that whatever happened with Natalia is still affecting you."

Elliot turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then tell me," she said, her voice firm. "Because I'm not going to stop asking."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Then Elliot set his coffee cup down and walked out of the room without another word.

 The Search Begins

Having decided to get to the root of it all, Celeste took matters into her own hands. She spent the day digging through old files, searching for any mention of Natalia. It wasn't simple—Elliot had clearly worked hard to erase her from his existence—but Celeste was not one to give up easily.

Finally, she struck something: an old newspaper article from five years previously. The title read, "Tragic Accident Claims Life of Rising Star Natalia Vasquez."

Celeste's heart skipped a beat as she read the article. Natalia Vasquez had been a rising star, her career launching when she was murdered in a car crash. The article mentioned that she had been dating Elliot Sloane, but there were no details regarding the extent of their relationship.

Celeste leaned back in her chair, her mind reeling. Natalia wasn't a name from Elliot's history—she was someone he had loved. Someone he had lost. And now Celeste was beginning to understand why he had buried her memory so deep below the surface.

The Confrontation

That evening, Celeste was waiting for Elliot in the living room. He entered, and she didn't allow him to get a word in edgewise. "I know about Natalia," she said, her voice flat.

Elliot froze, his face clouding. "What did you do?"

"I researched an article," she said, waving the printout. "She was an artist. She passed away in a car accident. And you were close to her."

Elliot's jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides. "You had no right to investigate my past."

"I had every right," Celeste shot back. "You married me, Elliot. But you've been keeping me at arm's length, secrets and all. If we're going to have any hope for this, I need to know the truth."

For a while, Elliot just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he spoke. "Natalia was… someone I cared about. Someone who let me down. Someone I let down. And I'm not going to allow anyone else to get close enough to hurt me like that again."

Celeste's heart ached at the raw pain in his voice. She took a step closer, her voice softening. "Elliot, you don't have to shut me out. I'm not going to hurt you."

He looked at her, his eyes a mess of anger and susceptibility. "You can't know that."

"Then let me prove it," she said, her voice steady. "Let me in."

Elliot didn't say anything, but for the first time, Celeste saw a crack in the armor he had built up around himself. And she knew that, no matter how hard he tried to push her away, she wasn't going to let him go.