The Lost Crown

Celeste POV:

Celeste Hayes had always known that in her line of work-contract marriages-emotions were liabilities. In a big city where every interaction was measured in business transactions, she prided herself on keeping things clinical. Yet as she parked her sleek, dark car outside the modern estate, her practiced façade wavered ever so slightly. Today, as always, she had a job to do, and the contract was as clear as the polished glass of the building before her.

She reviewed the details on the drive over: one year of a marriage of convenience. Ethan Caldwell, a well-to-do architect with a complicated personal life, needed a wife to help him secure custody of his young son. Celeste's reputation for a cool, emotionless approach had made her the obvious choice for someone who wanted to keep personal feelings at bay. Still, something about this particular arrangement tugged at her-an inexplicable awareness that this job might not be as routine as the others.

Taking a deep breath, Celeste stepped out of the car. The estate was a grand, modern structure with floor-to-ceiling windows, manicured lawns, and a quiet luxury that spoke of understated wealth. In the distance, the hum of early morning city life reminded her that nothing ever stayed quiet for long.

Before she could knock, the large front door swung open, revealing Ethan Caldwell in a moment of unexpected vulnerability. Standing in the doorway with rolled-up sleeves and bare feet, Ethan's presence was both commanding and disarmingly casual. His eyes met hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken despite her best efforts to remain aloof.

"Mrs. Caldwell," he said, his tone both formal and tentative.

"Mr. Caldwell," she replied, offering a practiced smile.

Their exchange was like a handshake-business formalities setting the stage for what was to come. Yet in that brief moment, Celeste sensed more than just a contractual formality. There was an undercurrent of something else-a subtle curiosity, perhaps even a glimmer of something deeper hidden behind his eyes.

Ethan POV:

Inside, the spacious foyer was cool and quiet, decorated in sleek modern lines that spoke of refined taste. As I led Celeste through the halls, I noted every detail-the fresh towels in her assigned guest room, the careful touches that suggested I wanted everything to be perfect. I had hoped to keep this as a business arrangement, but standing there, watching her assess every corner of my home, I found myself wondering if I was secretly hoping she might stay longer than the contract allowed.

Before long, we reached the heart of the home-the kitchen. There, my six-year-old son, Oliver, peeked from behind the kitchen island. With his big brown eyes, a mop of unruly curls, and a stuffed dinosaur clutched tightly in his hand, he radiated innocent mischief.

"Are you my new mom?" Oliver asked earnestly.

For a moment, I held my breath as I watched Celeste lower herself to his level. "I'm Celeste," she said softly, forcing a friendly smile. "I think we're going to be good friends."

I felt a small, almost imperceptible sigh escape me. This introduction-raw and vulnerable-reminded me just how desperately I needed a stable, nurturing presence for Oliver, despite my best efforts to maintain control.

As the morning light filled the kitchen, Celeste took in every detail: the casual chaos of Oliver's presence, the subtle glances exchanged between father and son, and even the gentle clink of utensils on plates. It all contrasted sharply with the cold business transaction the contract was supposed to be.

When we reached the guest room-a serene space with muted colors and soft lighting-Celeste paused at the door. "Comfortable?" I asked, meeting her eyes for an instant before shifting my gaze.