Chapter 62
“We need to leave. Now.”
Kael’s voice was low but firm as he guided Celestina toward the exit of the bombed reception venue. The chaos around them was deafening—screams, the wail of sirens, and the acrid smell of smoke filled the air. Kael kept his hand on her waist, holding her protectively, his gaze scanning the crowd with a sharp intensity.
“Leave?” Celestina asked, her voice shaking. She stumbled in her heels, still in her wedding gown, as he practically dragged her toward a waiting car. “Kael, what’s going on? We can’t just leave—what about my father? The guests? We need answers!”
Kael stopped, turning to her with a look of barely contained frustration. “The President is gone! The only answer you need is that this was a warning. A bomb went off at our wedding, Celestina! Whoever did this isn’t done. You’re the target—I’m sure of it.”
She pulled back, her head spinning. “You don’t know that! What if this was random? What if it had nothing to do with us?”
Kael’s jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “This wasn’t random. The letter you got? The bomb? Someone wants to hurt you—us. We need to go somewhere safe, right now.”
Celestina froze, her chest heaving as she tried to process his words. The letter. Dimitri. Her wedding. The explosion. It all felt like too much, and her head swirled with questions she didn’t have the answers to.
“But where would we even go?” she finally asked, her voice cracking.
“Russia,” Kael said quickly. “I have a safe place there. It’s remote, secure. No one will know where we are.”
“Russia?” she repeated, almost in disbelief. Her pulse quickened. “Kael, that’s insane! I can’t just vanish—what about my father? The people will notice if the president’s daughter disappears! And what about the guests who were just hurt? We need to stay and—”
Kael cut her off, gripping her shoulders tightly. “Listen to me, Celestina. None of that matters if you’re dead. Do you understand? You’re not safe here. I can protect you, but only if you let me.”
She stared at him, tears brimming in her eyes. She hated how convincing he sounded, hated that he was probably right. Her heart pounded as she looked over his shoulder at the chaos unfolding behind him. People were still running, some crying, others being helped by paramedics. The world felt like it was falling apart.
Finally, she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The car ride to the airport was silent. Celestina sat with her arms crossed, staring out the window at the dark city streets as Kael spoke quietly on the phone. She caught snippets of his conversation—security details, travel arrangements—but she didn’t ask questions. She didn’t have the energy.
When they arrived at the private jet, Kael opened the door for her and helped her climb aboard. The flight crew greeted them with quiet professionalism, their faces betraying no curiosity about why a bride and groom were boarding a plane in the middle of the night.
Kael guided her to a seat and buckled her in. “We’ll be in Russia soon. You’ll be safe there.”
“Safe,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. The word felt foreign, almost meaningless. Could she ever feel safe again?
By the time they landed in Russia, the sun was beginning to rise, casting an eerie light over the snow-covered landscape. Celestina followed Kael into the waiting car, her wedding gown now wrinkled and heavy from hours of travel.
The car took them to a sprawling estate nestled deep in the woods. The house was enormous, with high walls and gates that screamed security, but to Celestina, it felt cold and unwelcoming.
“This is it,” Kael said, stepping out of the car and gesturing toward the house. “No one can find us here.”
Celestina stepped out hesitantly, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The air was frigid, and the silence of the estate was almost oppressive.
“It feels like a fortress,” she said, her voice distant.
“That’s the point,” Kael replied. He placed a hand on her back, guiding her toward the entrance. “Come on. You need to rest.”
Days passed, but Celestina couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in her chest. Kael had thrown himself into “handling” their situation, spending hours locked away in his office and taking calls at all hours of the night. When she asked who he was talking to, his answers were vague.
“It’s security,” he said one night when she caught him pacing on the phone. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
But Celestina was worried. The isolation of the estate, the lingering questions about the letter, and the explosion—it all haunted her. And then there were the dreams.
Almost every night, she dreamed of Dimitri. In one particularly vivid dream, he stood in the middle of a long, dark corridor. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. He tried to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he pointed behind her, mouthing something silently.
She woke up gasping, her heart racing as though the dream had been real.
“Dimitri is dead,” she whispered to herself, clutching her blanket. “He’s dead.”
One evening, as Kael left for another call, Celestina decided to look through his briefcase. She hesitated, guilt prickling her, but her curiosity won out.
Inside, she found the letter. The one she had received in the bridal suite.
Her heart dropped. Why did Kael still have it?
When he returned, she confronted him, holding up the letter like a weapon. “Why do you still have this?”
Kael didn’t miss a beat. “I kept it to track down whoever sent it. I didn’t want you worrying about it.”
But the way he said it felt too smooth, too rehearsed.
