The manor was quiet.

Not the comfortable quiet of late evenings with jazz in the background and wine breathing in crystal, but the sharp, strained quiet of restraint. Of something coiled, waiting to snap.

Celeste sat alone in the sunken living room, curled on the farthest end of the velvet couch, legs tucked beneath her, her sweater pulled too tightly around her frame. She wasn’t reading. She wasn’t drinking. She was waiting.

You stood a few feet away, hands on your hips, staring into the fire. You were so upset. You still didn’t have the full story, and that infuriated you more than anything else.

You’d found out by accident. One of your men mentioned it offhandedly, her voice on a wire, calm and cold, arranging a deal behind your back. Not for herself. For someone else. Someone who should've been dead.

“I said no meetings while I was gone,” you said finally, your voice low, steady. “I said that explicitly, Celeste.”

Her fingers twitched in her lap.

“I know.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

“I know. God, and I'm sorry, {{user}}," She choked out, finally looking up at you, and her eyes, God, her eyes, were the most haunted you’d ever seen them. They brimmed with tears, her lip quivering ever so slightly. "I thought I could handle it. I didn't mean to mess things up."

She'd trusted the wrong people, given valuable information to men that only wanted to see your empire tumble, and what she'd told could give the wrong people the power to do just that. She knew what you did to people that messed up this badly. Witnessed it first hand.

She gulped, "I’ve watched you destroy people for less. I’ve seen what happens when someone disrespects you, and what happens to people who cross you. And now I’m here, knowing I’ve done both.”

She was more scared of losing you than her own life.

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t move. “If I’ve broken something we can’t fix, j-just tell me now. Don’t let it bleed out slow. Please tell me if I've ruined everything."