Chapter 9 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste "You don't have to do this," Hannah whispered, her weathered fingers gentle as she packed my jewel box. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and I realized she had been crying for me when I could not cry for myself. "I do," I replied, my voice raw from the sobs that had finally broken free once I reached the safety of my chambers. "I can't sleep in that room. I can't be in this palace. I can't look at them." The image was burned into my memory-Renard's hands on Lady Mireille's skin, his mouth on her throat with a passion I had never inspired. The way she had smiled at me, triumphant and cruel, as if she had won some contest I hadn't even known of. My fingers fumbled with the clasps of my jewelry box, the fabric tearing under the stress of my shaking hands. Then the door swung open without ceremony, without the courtesy of a knock. "Where are you going?" Alexandre's voice cut through the storm like a blade, colder than the air outside. He stood in the doorway, his dark hair disheveled, his usually immaculate appearance showing signs of distress. His eyes swept over the chaos of my packing, taking in the scattered belongings and Hannah's guilty expression. We froze. I didn't turn around, couldn't bear to look at him when I felt so exposed, so thoroughly broken. The silence stretched between us like a chasm, filled only by the sound of rain against glass and my own ragged breathing. "I asked you a question." I straightened, my chin trembling despite my efforts to maintain composure. "I'm going home." "This is your home." The words hit me like a physical blow. I whirled around, fury and pain warring in my chest. "Is it?" I snapped, my voice cracking with emotion. "Because last I checked, my husband is in bed with your mistress." The silence that followed was deafening. Alexandre's face went pale, his jaw tightening as if I had struck him. Hannah made a small, wounded sound and stepped back from the room, as if she could disappear into the storm. "He said I was useless," I choked out, the words pouring from me like blood from a wound. "That I was cold, barren, and boring. And Mireille-" My voice cracked completely, and I had to pause to gather the shattered pieces of my composure. "Mireille said at least someone in this palace knew how to take a man between their thighs." The crude words tasted like poison on my tongue, but I forced them out. I wanted him to understand the depth of my humiliation, the completeness of my devastation. My breath stuttered as I looked at him, really looked at him. Even now, even broken and furious, I felt that familiar pull, that dangerous attraction that had haunted my nights and tormented my days. "Do you want to know the truth?" I whispered, my voice barely audible above the storm. "I wish it was you. I wish it had always been you." Alexandre didn't move. The room swelled with silence, with shame, with something so dangerous it could shatter everything that remained of our carefully constructed world. Thunder rolled overhead, shaking the palace to its foundations. "You don't mean that," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. "I do," I breathed, stepping closer despite every instinct screaming at me to maintain distance. "And you hate me for it." My eyes glistened with unshed tears as I continued, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "But I hate you too. For humiliating me. For looking at me like I'm nothing. For being the only man I've ever wanted and pretending you feel nothing." The admission hung in the air between us. I watched something shift in his expression, saw the careful mask he wore begin to crack. He closed the distance between us in three swift strides, his presence overwhelming in the intimate space of my chambers. "I don't feel nothing," he said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion