"Take her to Shawn Vila," Zachary said.
Celestelle was puzzled. Suddenly, her eyes shimmered with mist, then she looked at him––accusation beneath the surface.
Zachary stiffened caught off guard. Had he done something? But thinking back, he really hadn't done anything.
"Are you not coming with me?" Celestelle asked, with pouty lips.
Zachary flicked her head, then slammed the door with a loud bang, walking away as if being chased on his feet.
Celestelle leaned towards the window, arm crossed as she watched the dust trail left by Zachary disappearing car.
"Tch." She tucked her tongue between her teeth and muttered, "Asshole."
The driver dressed in a black suit, who could be mistaken for a bodyguard cleared his throat softly.
"Celestelle glanced sideways at the sound then scoffed; let me guess, you are not much of a talkative?" She said with a smirk.
Silence.
She sighed, dragging a few lose strands from her eyes. "Fine. Let's get this over with. Take me to this... Shawn Vila."
The driver started the car immediately on her command, and without another word, he drove away.
The interior design of the car was cool, leather-scented, and far too quiet for her liking. Nothing close to the carriage she had ridden in her past life with no comfy seat like this and cold wind coming from the car.
Her mind raced during the drive, filled with what her next step could be—getting married to a wealthy, powerful tycoon at the civil affair bureau—which could have been the hardest, but it had come to her before she could even start searching. The next agenda for her now was trying to understand the modern world and how it works so she doesn't keep embarrassing herself. Then she moved to dealing with everyone who was the cause of Celestela's death.
Then Zachary's face flashed in her view, and her eyes glinted with malice, already thinking of possible ways he could pay for how he treated her today.
She frowned.
He really left just like that?
No goodbye. No explanation. Just a flick on the forehead and slam.
Her chest tightened—not out of heartbreak, but from the reminder of what she'd thrown herself into. A paper marriage to a man she hadn't even seen yet. All for revenge.
She rest her head against the car window, watching as trees blur by. "Mr. Vale, huh…" she murmured.
Everyone around her spoke his name like a ghost story. He was powerful, untouchable, and apparently... in need of a fake wife?
Celestelle's lips curled into a smirk. "Well, Mr. Vale... I hope you're ready. Because your wife does not follow rules."
—---
A girl who was in her early twenties, walk down the hallway of the hospital. She looked Regal and her face calm and calculative.
She looked like one who didn't deal with things without expecting benefits.
She was slim and tall. Her figures neither great nor bad.
Her heels clicking against the Mable floor, peered with a fur coat and and a short skirt, as she found her way to one of the rooms.
She was Connie.
The stepsister to Celestela.
Connie stood at the middle of the hallway. As she faced a door which had the numbers room 306 written on it. This was the room she visited for the past three months. She had cursed, mocked, even belittle the person who lay on the hospital bed.
She opened the door slightly, with a delighted smile.
Empty.
The bed was made neat. Pristine white sheets tucked in like a showroom display. The machines—off. The IV stand—gone. The scent of disinfectant was stronger than before now. As if it was trying to erase something out of existence.
Connie blinked. "What the—"
She turned around and stopped a nurse who was passing by. Probably just finished some ward's check up.
"Excuse me", The girl who was here—Celestela? Where is she?" Her voice remained calm, but her fingers held her handbag tightly.
The nurse look at the number on the door, then she checked her clipboard before replying casually, "Her pulse returned two days ago. She was discharged today."
Connie's jaw twitched. "Discharged? That's impossible. She doesn't have any family left. And I—" she caught herself before continuing, "—I've been listed as emergency contact. No one called me."
The nurse smiled faintly, already halfway turned away. "A man came. Took care of the paperwork. Seemed official." Then she walked off without another word.
Connie stood frozen, her heart lurching.
A man?
When had Celestela really known someone the opposite gender other than Nicholas himself?
She fumbled with her phone and stormed into the elevator, seething.
Who? she thought wildly, red manicured nails tapping the screen as she pulled up her call log.
She rang three old friends. Two distant cousins. Even that annoying ex-fiancé of one of her friends who had once bought Celestela flowers. Nothing. All dead ends.
She couldn't shake the amoyof rage bubbling in her chest. Who had taken Celestela? Why?
Was someone trying to bring that pathetic girl back into the picture—after everything they'd done to bury her?
Her hands trembled. Not from fear. But rage.
And one thing she hated more than being ignored was being left out of the secret.
So she made the call.
"Hello?" a familiar male voice answered on the second ring.
"Nicholas."
A pause. Then a sharp breath. "What?"
Connie lean against her car door outside, watching the sky.
"She is alive."
Another pause.
Then laughter. It was a dry, sarcastic laughter. Then came a voice; "What are you talking about?"
"I went to the hospital today," Connie continued her voice sugary-sweet and venomous underneath. "To see our dear sleeping beauty. You know—Celestela. The girl you said was finished. Gone. News of her death just came out two days ago, didn't it?"
Nicholas went quiet on the other end.
"But guess what?" Connie whispered, her nails tapping the phone. "Her room is empty. And the nurse says she woke up... two days ago."
No reply.
"And get this—" her voice dropped lower, coaxing him like a devil.