Forbidden: The Billionaire’s Secret Sister Chapter 03
I thought last night’s tears had washed away all my illusions.
The next morning, I was focused on my pottery wheel, fingers dancing through the wet clay, trying to lose myself in the simple joy of creation. Phoenix had promised yesterday he’d come to the studio today. I’d even worn that blue work dress he once said looked good on me.
My phone shattered the peace.
“Sorry, can’t make it today. Celeste is emotionally unstable, I need to be there for her completely. We’ll talk about our thing once she’s settled.”
That was it. No explanation, no real apology, not even phone call–just a cold text.
stared at the screen, clay dripping from my hands nto the phone like my heart was bleeding. ‘Once she’s settled? When the hell will that be?‘
wiped what I thought was clay from my face with the Lack of my hand, only to realize it wasn’t clay at all–it was tears. Damn it, I thought I was done crying.
To distract myself, I opened Instagram. Stupidest decision ever.
The first post was Phoenix at the airport. His hands were cupping a woman’s face with a tenderness I’d never seen from him. The caption read: “Welcome home, my queen.‘”
Queen. He’d never called me that. Hell, he barely even said “honey.”
I zoomed in on Celeste Sterling’s face. Even fresh off a plane, she was devastatingly beautiful. Golden hair catching the airport lights, a simple white dress that looked like haute couture on her frame, and even her tear–stained eyes were gorgeous enough to break hearts.
This was the difference. Even with tears streaming down her face, she remained a queen on her throne. Me? Even dressed up, I was just a disposable plaything in his eyes.
By evening, I decided to grab dinner at that new Italian place in Napa Valley. Not because I wanted some romantic’dining experience–just because staying alone in my studio would drive me insane. Fate’s got one hell of a sense of humor.
I’d barely reached the restaurant when I spotted that familiar black Maserati. Through the floor–to–ceiling windows, I could see Phoenix and Celeste at the best table by the window.
I should’ve turned around and left. But my feet seemed nailed to the ground.
Phoenix was draping a coat over Celeste’s shoulders, treating her like precious porcelain. He’d never done that for me. During our dates, I usually opened my own car doors, ordered my own food, and we went Dutch on the bill.
“I know you’ve been through so much,” Phoenix said softly, his voice carrying through the glass, “but you’re home now. I’ll protect you.”
Something exploded in my chest. ‘So he could be tender. Just never with me.
The waiter poured them champagne–Dom Pérignon, three hundred bucks a bottle. When Phoenix and I went out, he usually ordered twenty–dollar California wines.
Celeste touched Phoenix’s face, and he actually uzzled into her palm like a devoted puppy. The sight made my stomach churn.
turned and ran, ignoring the stares from passersby, racing back to my car. Once the engine started, I finally let myself sob.
This was reality. I could never be his queen because the throne already had an owner.
When night fell, I dragged my exhausted body back to the studio. Today had delivered enough blows. I just wanted to bury myself in work, let fatigue numb this goddamn heartache.
But there was a silver Rolls–Royce I’d never seen before parked outside my studio.
The car was worth at least half a million–rare even in a place like Napa Valley. The license plate read CS–001,” simple as a statement.
As soon as I approached, the car door opened.
The woman who stepped out made me instantly understand what “presence” meant.
Celeste Sterling wore a perfectly tailored black suit, each step landing on my heart. Her golden hair was swept into an elegant chignon, a pearl necklace that probably cost more than my yearly rent adorning her throat. Standing before her, I felt like a mud monkey.
Miss Moreau,” her voice was as perfect as her appearance, carrying that refined English aristocratic accent, “I’m Celeste Sterling. I think we should talk.”
jolt went through me, but I clenched my fists hidde at my sides, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. “About what?”
She stepped closer, and I noticed her eyes were that rare violet color–like the legendary mark of noble bloodlines.
“About Phoenix…” she paused, lips curving into a meaningful smile, “and some other things. Lunch tomorrow? I have things to tell you.”
She pulled a business card from her Hermès bag–just her name and phone number, the paper quality more expensive than any card I’d card I’d ever touched.
“Why?” I took the card, fingers unconsciously tracing its smooth surface.
Because I think you should know the truth. About yourself.”
With that, she turned toward her car, heels clicking against the pavement like war drums.
The Rolls–Royce disappeared into the night, leaving only the faint scent of Chanel and my racing thoughts.
Back in my apartment, I sat on my bed, staring at that Business card over and over.
‘What did she want to say? Gloat about her victory? Humiliate me like those aristocrats of old?‘
But what did she mean by “the truth“? About myself?
My gaze fell on that unopened DNA report.
I picked up my phone and texted Celeste: “Fine. Lunch tomorrow. But I pick the place.”
The reply came almost instantly: “Of course. Looking forward to our conversation.”