Chapter 83: The Loneliest Girl I Know
The drive back was quiet. Too quiet.
Celestia sat with her elbow propped against the door, chin resting on her hand, her gaze turned outward like the streetlights were more interesting than me. Maybe tonight they were. Her reflection in the glass looked almost too still, like she’d been carved into silence instead of simply choosing it.
I didn’t press. I just drove. Knuckles loose on the wheel even though my chest was tight.
When we finally pulled into my place and I killed the engine, she didn’t move right away. Just sat there, like stepping out would make something more real than she wanted it to be.
Inside, it was the same story. Shoes off. Bag dropped. Silence.
Duchess padded across the hallway like she owned the place, tail flicking lazily, letting out a single unimpressed meow before vanishing to the room. At least someone wasn’t weighed down.
I stole a glance at Val. She moved on autopilot, jacket sliding off her shoulders, hair falling forward. No sharp words. No smug grins. Just quiet.
The quiet scared me more than anything.
"Val," I said carefully, breaking it. "You okay?"
"Yes," she answered, automatic. Then, after a beat, softer, like the word burned coming out—"No."
The honesty in it sat heavier than the silence had.
I nodded slowly, stepping closer. "Want to sit?"
She didn’t argue. Just followed me to the couch and sank into the cushions. She tucked her legs up, curling like she needed the space to close in around her.
I sat beside her, elbows on my knees, waiting.
She spoke before I could. Her voice was steady at first, then cracked the longer it carried. "You know what’s funny? I’ve never really had a friend."
That made me blink. I turned toward her. "What do you mean? That’s not—"
"It is," she cut in, sharper than she meant to, then immediately softened it. "It is, Kai. The people I grew up around... they weren’t my friends. They were just there. Rich kids with rich parents, orbiting me because I was a Moreau. They always wanted something—status, power, the illusion of importance. If they stood next to me, they looked important too."
She gave a bitter little laugh, one that scraped at me more than her tears ever had. "Not one of them ever really cared about me. Just the name. Just what came with it."
I didn’t say anything. I knew she wasn’t finished.
Her voice grew smaller. "Marina... was different. She never treated me like that. She didn’t care about what my last name could get her. She just... talked to me. Teased me. Asked about stupid things like what lip gloss I was wearing or if I thought her shoes made her look taller. Girl talk. Do you know how rare that is for me?"
I shook my head. Quietly. "No. But I can guess."
"She was my first real friend," Val whispered, staring at the floor. "You were the first person who ever wanted me for me. And Marina... she was the first friend who did. The first girl who made me feel like I wasn’t just Celestia Valentina Moreau, I was... Val. Just me."
Her voice was quieter now, but sharper too. "And now it’s ruined. Because no matter what she says, no matter how much she swears she never acted on it—she still feels that way about you. Which means every smile, every late-night message, every time she laughed at something I said—part of me will always wonder if it was real. Or if it was just her trying to get closer to you through me."
I swallowed, trying to tread carefully. "Maybe not ruined. Maybe you two can... I don’t know, talk it out. Work something out."
Her head snapped toward me, eyes sharp. "No."
The finality in her voice was ice cold, no room for negotiation.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest, shoulders stiff. "I’m not sharing, Kai."
"Val—"
"No." Louder this time. Then quieter again, breaking a little around the edges. "I’m not sharing you. Not even a piece. Not even the idea of you. I thought she was over you. She made me believe she was. And maybe that’s my fault for believing it, but I did. I believed I had a friend."
Her voice wavered for the first time, shaking. "Do you understand? I can’t do it. I can’t look at her and pretend I’m okay with it. And I hate it. I hate that it hurts this much. I hate that I care."
I reached out instinctively, but she flinched before I could touch her. Not pulling away. Just... bracing. Like even comfort might crack her open.
My chest ached.
"Val..." My voice was low, careful. "She’s not taking me from you."
"That doesn’t matter." She looked up at me then, and God, her eyes. Wide, burning, terrified in a way she’d never admit. "It doesn’t matter, Kai. Because I don’t share. Not you. Not ever. You’re the one thing in this world I won’t compromise on."
Her throat worked, swallowing hard, like she was choking down everything else she wanted to say.
I finally managed to touch her, my hand finding hers where it was curled into her lap. She didn’t pull away this time. Her fingers tightened around mine so fast, so desperate, that it hurt.
---
For a while, we just sat there. Duchess reappeared, tail flicking as she hopped onto the coffee table, sitting like a little queen surveying her subjects. She meowed again, softer this time, like she could sense the weight in the room.
Val reached out absently with her free hand, running it over Duchess’s head. Her movements were careful, almost fragile, the opposite of her usual boldness.
I cleared my throat. "You want to watch a movie? Or... maybe eat something? Or we could play a game."
She sniffed, pouting as she tilted her head toward me. "I want..." Her lips pushed out further. "...ice cream. The expensive kind. From that shop downtown."
I raised a brow. "The one that costs more than actual groceries?"
Her pout deepened. "Yes. That one."
"Val, that’s a thirty-minute drive."
"Thirty minutes of showing off my handsome chauffeur." She batted her lashes dramatically, even though her nose was still red from holding back tears. "Worth it."
I shook my head, sighing. "You’re ridiculous."
"You love it," she countered, voice wobbling between playful and soft.
And she wasn’t wrong. I did.
"Alright," I muttered. "Ice cream it is."
Her pout shifted into something smug. "And I want you to carry me to the room later. Like a princess."
I snorted. "You’re heavy when you pretend to be dead weight."
"Don’t care." She sniffed again, eyes narrowing like she was testing how far she could push me. "Princess treatment, or I’ll cry."
I gave her a look. "You’re actually using tears as blackmail right now?"
"Yes," she said flatly, lips twitching at her own audacity.
I could feel the joke in it. The way she was reaching for something silly, something outrageous—not just to distract herself, but to distract me. To keep me from staring too hard at the sadness she didn’t want me to see. She knew I’d worry if she looked too broken, so she pouted and teased instead, making her wants sound childish on purpose. And I let her. I let her pile on every ridiculous demand, because if pretending to be spoiled kept her from looking fragile, then I’d give her that.
"Fine," I sighed. "Ice cream. Carrying. What else?"
She thought for a second, then muttered, "Play a game I’ll obviously win. Don’t even try. Let me cheat if I have to."
I scoffed. "Cheating? Seriously?"
She didn’t even have to cheat to win, and we both knew it. She won most of the time without even trying, like games were just another place her brain worked faster than mine. Still, she tilted her head at me, glassy-eyed but stubborn. "Yes. Be a good boyfriend and lose on purpose."
I chuckled despite myself. "Fine. I’ll lose."
"And..." She hesitated, biting down on her lip before adding, almost too quietly, "Stay with me tonight. Don’t let me fall asleep alone."
That one wasn’t a joke. That one wasn’t light.
I didn’t even think before answering. "Of course."
She pouted harder, as if embarrassed by her own vulnerability. "Good. Then it’s settled."
And that was how the night went—her asking, me giving. One after another. I ordered the ice cream, even though the shop was overpriced and ridiculous. We played a game, and I lost spectacularly because I let her cheat without even calling her out. When she held out her arms like a little kid demanding to be carried, I scooped her up without a word, even though my arms ached by the time I reached the bed.
Every little thing, I did it all. Not because she forced me, but because after a long time, I was finally realizing how much she carried inside. How much she hid behind her smirks and pouts.
I used to think I knew her world. Celestia Valentina Moreau—rich, spoiled, bratty, the girl who had it all. Friends, status, beauty, a life most people would envy. A big brother who was her anchor.
But now...?
She didn’t have friends, not really. Marina was the first real one, and even that now felt like it might crumble. The ones she grew up around never wanted her for her—they wanted the Moreau name, the shine of it, the power of it. And Lucien... Lucien, the brother who should’ve been her safe place, her family... now probably hated her for something she didn’t even have a hand in.
She built walls out of sharpness, stubbornness and sarcasm because nobody had ever cared enough to look past them. And yet she was here, letting me see her like this. Letting me close enough to understand that her world wasn’t perfect at all—it was lonely.
The closer I got, the closer she let me in, the more I wondered. What else didn’t I know about her? What other cracks did she hide so well the world never saw them?
And... how much was she carrying alone, even now, even sitting right next to me?
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To be continued...