Chapter 2
Celeste Monroe’s parents had both died when she was only a child.
An old newspaper headline flashed through her memory:
“Prominent Socialite Suffers Mental Breakdown, Stabs Husband Over 100 Times Before
king Her Own Life. Leaves Behind Five–Year–Old Daughter.”
She was that five–year–old girl.
In the dead of winter, she had hidden in a closet, barefoot and clad in pajamas, her small body trembling as the icy cold seeped into her bones.
She had been too terrified to move.
It was Damien Sterling who found her.
“Celeste, it’s okay now,” he had said, scooping her
up
in his arms.
“Uncle Damien is here. No one will ever hurt you again.”
Wrapped in his embrace, Celeste felt safe for the first time.
Damien took her in, and perhaps out of pity for what she’d been through, he spoiled her endlessly. There wasn’t a single thing she asked for that he didn’t give her–even the stars in
the sky.
And he meant it.
The trauma of her parents‘ tragic deaths left her with deep emotional scars.
When Damien first brought her home, she clung to him like a lifeline, unable to bear even a
moment apart.
Whenever he was out of sight, her panic would spiral into uncontrollable fear.
One quiet night, Damien carried her onto the roof, pointing to the brightest star in the sky.
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“See that star, Celeste?” he’d said softly.
“I bought it for you.”
He handed her a certificate of ownership and tapped her nose playfully,
“That star is yours now. When I’m not around, it’ll watch over you for me.”
Now, standing by her window, Celeste pulled back the curtain to look for her star.
But thick clouds covered the sky,
Her star was gone.
The next morning, the cryonics research team called.
“Miss Monroe,” the director’s voice was professional yet firm, “we need you to come in for a physical examination.”
“Is that really necessary?”
Celeste asked, a faint, bitter smile on her lips.
“I’m dying anyway. No amount of testing will change that.”
“It’s standard procedure,” the director explained.
“We need to determine the best freezing method and timing based on your condition. It’s to maximize your chances of survival. Please cooperate.”
With no real reason to refuse, Celeste drove to the lab.
After an exhausting day of tests, the director handed her a thick packet of documents as she prepared to leave.
“These materials cover the design options for the cryo chamber and potential storage locations. Feel free to review them at your convenience.”
Celeste nodded, murmured a quiet thank–you, and headed home, the documents clutched tightly in her arms.
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As she stepped inside, she noticed the lights in the living room were on.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Was Damien home?
Despite everything, despite how cruelly he had treated her, she still wanted to see him.
Steadying her racing heart, she walked into the living room–only to freeze at the sight of
olde Langley, dressed in a silk slip dress.
“Celeste, you’re back!”
Isolde greeted her warmly, moving toward her.
“Have you eaten? Damien’s in the kitchen cooking. Let me know what you’d like, and I’ll have him make it for you.”
Her demeanor radiated confidence, every bit the lady of the house.
A pang of bitterness gripped Celeste’s chest.
She shook her head, managing a weak, “I’m not hungry.”
Just then, Damien emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate of freshly cooked food.
“You’re just in time,” he said, his voice steady but devoid of warmth.
“Isolde and I are engaged now. From today on, she’s the lady of this house. She’ll handle everything–big or small. Understand?”
Celeste lowered her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Understood.”
He seemed surprised by her calm acceptance, as if he had expected her to react differently.
His’dark eyes flickered with a rare hint of curiosity.
“Don’t be so harsh,” Isolde said with a playful pout.
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“You’re scaring her.”
She turned to Celeste with a smile.
“Come on, let’s eat.”
Before Celeste could respond, Isolde reached out to take her hand.
Startled, Celeste lost her grip on the stack of documents she was holding, scattering them cross the floor.
Damien frowned, bending down to pick up one of the papers–a design sketch for a cryo
chamber.
“What’s this?” he asked, his tone sharp.
Though her heart was pounding, Celeste kept her composure.
“It’s a design project for school,” she said, her voice steady.
“Our professor assigned us to create a product of our choice over the summer.”
“I decided to design a crystal coffin that could preserve a body indefinitely, so I printed some reference materials.”
As a first–year design student, her explanation was plausible enough.
Damien’s face, however, remained clouded with suspicion.
“Celeste,” he said coldly, “are you insane?”
