CHAPTER 40: DRESS CODE: TROUBLE

The Moreau family mansion wasn’t a place people walked into casually. You didn’t just knock on the front door and expect to be let in — you got announced, escorted, and probably judged by at least three sets of eyes before you reached the first hallway.

But tonight, it wasn’t about visitors.

It was about Celestia.

It started in the sitting room, the one with the antique chandelier so big you could probably see your life flash before your eyes if it fell. Her parents were there, waiting for her like a panel of judges.

Apparently, her father didn’t even look up from whatever stack of documents he was flipping through. Her mother, though, was staring right at her — that calm, unreadable look she had when she’d already decided your fate.

"You’ll be attending the Sinclair’s party tonight," her mother said. No preamble, no "how was your day," no softening. Just the sentence, dropped like a stone.

Celestia — being Celestia — didn’t even blink at first.

"No, I won’t," she replied, sinking into one of the overstuffed chairs like she was settling in for an argument she was already planning to win.

Her father finally looked up at that. "Yes. You will."

"I don’t even know these people."

Her mother’s lips curved, but not in a smile. "Then it’s a perfect opportunity to make connections."

Celestia leaned back, crossing her arms. "I don’t need connections. I have friends. Real ones. Ones who don’t need me to wear a dress to prove I exist."

Her mother gave her, the one that could silence anyone but Celestia. "This is not about friendship, Valentina. It’s about image."

"And your image is fine without me pretending to enjoy some boring—"

Her father cut her off. "If you refuse, you’ll find one of your privileges gone by tomorrow."

That made her sit forward, slow. "Which one?"

He didn’t hesitate. "Try me and find out."

She hated how her chest felt heavy right then. Not because she cared about their social calendar, but because they hadn’t even asked. No warning. No choice. They’d just decided she’d go, like she was part of the furniture.

And then, just to twist the knife, her mother added, "We’ll be leaving on business tonight. You’ll manage on your own."

That part... yeah. That was the one that stuck under her skin.

Her parents traveled a lot. She knew that but something about them dropping this party on her like homework and then disappearing again... hurt. The reminder that she could be dressed up and paraded around, but not kept close, hurt... even if she didn’t want to admit it.

She left the sitting room without another word, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she made her way upstairs.

Her bedroom door clicked shut behind her, muffling the silence of the mansion. She sat on the edge of her bed for a moment, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the contact she’d saved months ago with an absolute lack of shame:

Future Husband (You Can’t Escape) 💍🔥💚

She hit call.

---

Her face filled my screen like a warning and an invitation all at once. Hair glossy, makeup perfect, expression deliberately casual.

"Val."

"Kai," she sang, like my name was something she’d just thought of and found amusing.

"What’s going on?"

She shrugged, the movement just enough to make me notice she was wearing a silk robe. "I’m coming over tonight."

"That’s nice, but—"

"Lucien’s not home," she cut in. "Probably doing something rich smug boys do on a Friday night."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why are you telling me that?"

She gave me one of those sweet smiles that meant absolutely nothing except trouble. "Because it means I’m bored. And you’re going to help me fix that."

She didn’t tell me exactly why she wanted to come over, but she didn’t need to. I knew she had a reason.

I just didn’t know it involved me being dragged into hell.

---

I didn’t even have time to put on a shirt before my front doorbell started ringing like someone was being murdered.

Correction — someone was murdering my peace.

I cracked it open to find Celestia Valentina Moreau standing there in a silver slip dress that shimmered every time she breathed. Her heels were lethal, her lipstick matched the shade of trouble, and her glossy hair fell in waves down her back like she’d just walked out of a magazine shoot. She had one hand on her hip, the other holding a garment bag — which she shoved into my chest the moment I processed the sight. And she was wearing that face — the one that meant I was about to lose an argument I hadn’t even heard yet.

"Future Husband," she greeted, stepping past me without waiting for an invitation, "you’re coming with me."

"Coming where?" I shut the door, leaning against it like I might block the next wave.

"Party."

One word. Too cheerful. That was dangerous.

I pointed at the garment bag. "This is yours, is it?"

"It’s yours."

"Celestia—"

"Val." She didn’t even look at me, heading toward my kitchen like she owned the place. Which... was not entirely inaccurate at this point.

"Val," I tried again, "I don’t do parties."

"You’ll do this one."

I crossed my arms. "Why?"

She popped the fridge open, pulled out my orange juice, and drank straight from the carton because she’s a menace. "Because my parents are terrible and I need a boyfriend shield."

That caught my attention. "What happened?"

She waved me off, setting the juice down. "Nothing worth wasting breath on. They’re sending me to a party. They’re conveniently ’busy’ and won’t be there. I’d rather not fend off rich idiots alone."

"And so your first thought was—"

"You. Obviously." She gave me a flat look like I was being slow on purpose. "You’re tall, hot, and you look like you could fight someone if needed. Also, you glare naturally, which saves time."

I sighed. "Val, you know I hate—"

She crossed the room in three steps, clutched my arm with both hands, and hit me with the eyes. Wide, glossy, and just desperate enough to make me wonder if she’d practiced this in the mirror.

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"Still no."

Her mouth curved into something between a smirk and a pout. "What if I promise not to start drama?"

"You never keep that promise."

"Fine, what if I promise to only start fun drama?"

"That’s not better."

She huffed and dropped onto my couch like she’d been betrayed. "Kai, it’s the Sinclair’s second son’s birthday. His name is Bradley Sinclair the Third. Do you know what kind of horror that implies?"

"Sounds like a yacht-owning nightmare," I said.

"Exactly. And he thinks I’m ’interesting’." She actually made air quotes with her fingers. "He’s been texting me since last month. I’ve ignored him. If I show up alone, I’ll be cornered."

"And if you show up with me, what? He’ll magically back off?"

She leaned forward, eyes bright. "Yes. Because I will make very public declarations about us, and you will stand there looking like you could ruin his life with a single punch."

I shook my head. "No, Val. I’m not—"

She cut in sweetly, "If you come with me... I’ll give you a blowjob when we get back."

My eyebrows shot up. "Wow. Straight to bribery."

She shrugged, perfectly unbothered. "I use the tools I have."

"Not happening."

"Even if I... put on that lace set you like?"

"That’s emotional blackmail."

"Is it working?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Val—"

She slid off the couch, came to stand in front of me, and rested her chin on my chest. "Kai, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I know you hate parties, but I don’t want to go alone tonight. Please. Just this once. Be my shield."

That last line got me. The whiny, manipulative Celestia I could spar with for hours. But the soft-voiced, almost vulnerable Celestia? That was unfair.

I groaned. "Fine."

Her face lit up instantly. "Yes! Thank you, Future Husband!"

I held up a finger. "This isn’t because of the bribe. It’s because—"

"—you love me and want to protect me from creeps. I know." She beamed and grabbed the garment bag. "Now, try on your suit."

I frowned. "Where did you even get this?"

She grinned. "I ordered it. Rush delivery. Measured you while you were asleep last week."

"...What?"

"Don’t think too hard about it. Go change."

---

The suit fit perfectly — which was unsettling. Either she really had measured me in my sleep or she’d guessed my exact dimensions with terrifying accuracy.

We arrived at the Sinclair estate forty minutes later, and yes, "estate" was the only word for it. The place looked like it had been built by someone who wanted to make Versailles feel insecure.

Inside was worse — a sea of designer dresses, expensive cologne, and laughter that didn’t quite reach anyone’s eyes.

Celestia stuck to me like a shadow. Until he appeared.

"Celestia Valentina," Bradley Sinclair III said, like he was greeting royalty. He was all gelled hair, perfect teeth, and an expensive-smelling arrogance that made me want to stand further away. "You look radiant."

She smiled in that polite, sharp way that told me she was already bored. "This is my boyfriend, Kai."

Bradley’s eyes flicked to me, then back to her. "Ah. Boyfriend. Well, I can wait."

Celestia’s smile turned feral. "You’ll be waiting a long time. First, I’m going to marry him. Then we’ll have a lot of sex. Then I’ll give birth to his three kids — two girls and a boy. Then we’ll watch them grow up together. Then we’ll be disgustingly in love until we die."

Bradley blinked. "I... get it."

"Good." She turned back to me like the conversation was over.

But Bradley wasn’t done. He leaned closer, voice low. "Advice, man to man — girls like her get bored. When they do, they’ll find someone else. Be ready for it. Hurts less if you see it coming."

I kept my face neutral, but the words landed heavier than I wanted to admit.

Celestia didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, but she kept chattering about the cake display and the fact that the champagne "tasted like overpriced sadness."

Me? I just kept replaying Bradley’s tone in my head.

And right then I knew this was going to be a long night.

---

To be continued...