The unexpected Arrival

Celeste's POV

The insistent, jarring knock on my apartment door ripped me from the quiet hum of the refrigerator, from the comforting rhythm of my Saturday morning.

Gosh, who is this, so early in the morning? I muttered, a frustrated sigh slipping from my lips.

My sleep had been fragmented, haunted by Frederick's chilling message and the lingering unease that clung to me like a second skin. Every sound now felt like a prelude to danger.

I padded across the cold kitchen tiles, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach as I neared the door. Peeking through the peephole, relief slammed into me so hard it nearly made my knees buckle.

It was Marcus. Holding a nylon bag, his familiar face wore a mix of concern and his usual easy smile.

"Oh my god, Marcus,it's you.I'm so happy to see you!" I exclaimed, swinging the door open, my smile breaking through the exhaustion. His presence was grounding a steady rock in the chaos spinning around me. "Come in, come in!"

"Celeste, good morning. I'm sorry I didn't let you know before coming," he said softly, stepping inside, almost apologetic.

"Awn, that's alright. You're always welcome here," I said, closing the door behind him with a solid click — a sound that now felt reassuring. The apartment, quiet and tense moments ago, finally breathed a little.

"So, Marcus, I'm cooking, and it'll be ready soon. Just give me a bit of time, I'll be back," I said, nodding toward the pot on the stove, the air thick with herbs and spice.

"Alright then, let me help," he offered, already rolling up his sleeves.

"Okay, that's also okay," I chuckled, surprised at how natural this felt. As we moved in sync around the kitchen, the rhythm of old times returned. We talked about our school days. I remembered how Marcus had hustled his way through college with odd jobs. His parents couldn't afford school, but he never stopped. He always kept going — quietly strong, endlessly resilient.

Our banter flowed teenage crushes, all-night study sessions, stupid dares. It felt warm, safe. But underneath that comfort, a tension still twisted inside me.

"Well, Marcus," I said, stirring the pot, "you haven't actually told me why you're here."

He hesitated, then smiled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Honestly... I was nearby and figured I'd stop in, catch up and also see your lovely face."

The simplicity of it disarmed me. After the masks and mind games of men like Luca, Marcus was... real.

"Awn, thank you. That means a lot," I murmured. In a world getting messier by the second, this felt like something I could hold onto.

Then — my phone beeped. A sharp ping that cut through the calm like a blade. My stomach dropped.

A message from Luca. Short, cold and Demanding.

I'll send my driver soon be ready to sign some documents for the company as my lawyer.

I sighed, long and heavy, the sound involuntary.

"Celeste?" Marcus's voice came quick, concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just surprised Luca wants me working on a Saturday," I said, keeping my tone light with a shrug.

Marcus let out a laugh, easy and genuine. "You scared me. I thought it was something serious. You're a lawyer, Cel. You're always on call. Honestly, I think Luca's not even that bad. He barely disturbs you."

I nodded slowly. "True. You're right. Thanks, Marc."

He had a way of dragging me back from the edge without even knowing it.

After a while, he got up. "I've got to go now so you'll be able to work."

"Okay thanks," I said, hugging him quickly. "Take care of yourself."

"You too, Cel," he replied, already halfway through the door, leaving the apartment to its silence again.

The peace that followed felt strange. Fragile. I moved to get dressed, choosing a dark, tailored suit something that made me feel in control.

As I fixed my blazer, another knock came. Softer and more formal.

At the door stood a man in a crisp black suit, posture rigid, face blank.

Luca's driver.

"Please wait a little," I said, forcing calm into my voice. I needed one last second. I touched up my concealer, adjusted my hair, took a breath.

And then I walked out.

The car sleek, black, silent slipped through the streets like a ghost. I watched people living their simple Saturday lives, and for a moment, I envied them.

Then it hit me. We weren't going downtown. The buildings were fading into trees. The streets turned quiet, private.

No way.

"where are we going to? Is it his house?" I asked, voice low.

The driver nodded.

My stomach twisted. Butterflies, sharp and confused, fluttered in my belly.

Luca's house.

This wasn't business anymore. This was personal.

Intimate.

The gates loomed into view — black wrought iron carved with patterns that looked like they belonged to a royal family, not a mafia dynasty.

The mansion came next.

It wasn't just a house. It was a statement — a fortress of wealth and history and power. A place where secrets lived.

We pulled up. A massive oak door, towering columns all looked silent and grand.

The butler, expression locked in professional neutrality, opened the car door and guided me in. His voice was soft and controlled.

He led me to the living room which was massive, intimidating, beautiful. Everything inside looked like it cost more than my life. I sat down, stiff, trying not to be swallowed by the silence.

I'm inside his world now.

---

Isabella's POV

A car horn sliced through the quiet. I flinched.

I turned toward the tall windows. Who the hell was that?

Luca hadn't left. And he was expecting a very important guest today — someone he'd been oddly intense about.

I smoothed my dress silk, soft, perfect and walked to the door, telling myself it was just a delivery.

Then I saw her.

My breath caught.

She was beautiful. No — undeniably beautiful. The kind of woman who didn't try. Her red suit trousers, her crisp white blouse — strong, elegant, confident. Minimal jewelry. Perfect posture. Skin like cream. Hair slicked back to reveal a face you couldn't ignore.

Jealousy hit me like a truck it was Hot, sharp and immediate.

She looked better than me and she wasn't even trying to.

Who is she to Luca?

This must be the woman Frederick mentioned. The one Luca brought to the party. The one who made the Luca the coldest man I've ever met act publicly affectionate.

She was a problem. A threat. A glowing red flag waving in my damn face.

I watched as the butler usually as indifferent as stone bowed slightly to her and led her inside.

To the living room.

My living room.

The same one where I waited all night last the last time, ignored like I didn't exist.

Rage bubbled under the jealousy. Not the screaming kind — no. This was the cold kind. The kind that simmers. Sharp and clean.

She's being treated better than me.

No. I wouldn't allow it.

This wasn't about Luca's attention anymore. This was war.

I would find out who she was. Her name. Her job. Her purpose.

Then I'd make sure she understood one thing:

This is my house.

And I am going to be Luca's wife.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

The game just got interesting.

And I never lose.