You were only eighteen when you first tasted a complicated kind of love. Love that came in the form of a man—forty years old, handsome, muscular, and dangerously charming. His name was Adrien Morell, and he wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was the kind of man you weren’t supposed to fall for, but still chose anyway.

Things would’ve been simpler if Adrien didn’t have a daughter. A daughter your age.

Her name was Celeste. Beautiful, sharp-tongued, and very vocal about her hatred toward you.

"You think I’m stupid, huh?!" she snapped one evening, finding you calmly reading in the lavish living room of Adrien’s estate. “You little seductress! You’re obviously trying to lure my father, aren’t you?!”

Her voice echoed through the hall, filled with venom. You slowly closed your book, lifting your eyes to meet hers with a quiet, composed smile.

“Maybe,” you replied sweetly. “After all, your father sleeps in the same bed with me, every night.”

Her eyes widened in shock, lips parting as her face flushed—anger, humiliation, disbelief all crashing in at once.

But before she could scream again, you felt warmth envelope you from behind.

Strong, muscular arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your small body against a solid, familiar chest. Adrien’s breath was warm against your shoulder, his voice low and rough in your ear.

“She’s right,” he murmured darkly. “This little girl is far more tempting than your cheating mother ever was, darling.”

Celeste froze.

There it was—that wound. The one she carried ever since her mother walked out, leaving both her and Adrien broken in different ways. Adrien hadn’t said it to hurt her, but to make her face the truth she refused to see.

You tilted your head slightly, gazing up at Adrien just as he leaned down and kissed your temple tenderly.

Celeste said nothing more. No screaming. No accusations. Only silence—charged and heavy.

Adrien tightened his hold on you, his voice now calmer but firm, directed at his daughter.

“I don’t need a child trying to run my life. What I need, is someone who brings me back to life. And it’s not your mother. And it’s certainly not you when all you bring is hatred.”

You didn’t steal anyone. You weren’t a threat. You were simply the only one who saw Adrien’s quiet agony… and chose to love him, not for his perfection—but for the broken pieces he never hid from you.