A Throne for the Forgotten

Chapter 10

Lucan saw her before she saw him.

Or maybe she had seen him and just didn’t care.

The ballroom glowed with gold light and polished elegance. Laughter rippled through the air. Waiters weaved between diplomats with crystal glasses. Music swelled.

But all Lucan saw was her.

Celeste stood near the center of the room in a crimson gown that demanded attention—not because of the color, but because of the woman wearing it. Her spine was straight, her shoulders squared.

She moved with ease, not performance. Her eyes scanned the room, cool and calculated, dismissing most of it with a single glance.

Lucan stood at the edge of the floor, watching her laugh with a foreign ambassador. She barely touched her wine. Nodded politely at a senator’s wife. She looked right past him. Or maybe through him.

His hands were clammy. His throat dry. His tie suddenly unbearable.

He stepped forward, like a man walking into a fire he started.

“Celeste,” he said, low and unsteady. “Please.”

She turned. Her eyes locked on his.

The room kept moving—dancers twirling, glasses clinking—but in his mind, everything went still.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, calm as ever.

“I remember everything now,” he said. “The way you used to look at me. The way you never asked for anything.”

Celeste tilted her head slightly. “You remember the girl you broke,” she said. “Not the woman I became.”

“I want to know her,” Lucan replied. “The real you. The one I never tried to see.”

She gave a soft laugh. “You don’t get to start over just because I got stronger without you.”

“I was afraid,” he said. “Of what people would say. Of my mother. Of losing everything I’d built.”

“And I was afraid of disappearing forever,” Celeste said. “But I faced my fear. You hid behind yours.”

“I didn’t know how to choose you.”

“But you still chose her,” she said, voice steady, but tired. “Publicly. Loudly. And you watched me fade.”

He stepped closer.

“You look… unstoppable.”

“I had to be,” she said. “No one was coming to save me. Not even my husband.”

Lucan’s voice dropped. “You deserved better.”

“I gave you chances to become better,” Celeste replied. “You just didn’t take them.”

“I see that now.”

“Good,” she said. “Keep seeing.”

Around them, the room pulsed with movement. But in this moment, it felt like the only stillness in the world was between them.

“I still love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ve never stopped.”

She didn’t blink.

“You stopped the moment you introduced her to the world and forgot to protect the woman standing beside you.”

“I’ve changed.”

“No,” she said. “You’ve lost. That’s not the same thing.”

“Is it really too late?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “And it has been for a long time.”

Lucan looked like he might break. Not for pity—but from grief.

“I wake up reaching for you sometimes,” he said. “And then I remember you’re not mine anymore.”

Celeste finally looked at him fully. Her eyes were sharp, steady.

“I was never yours,” she said. “You just got lucky enough to be loved by me for a while.”

“I wish I could go back.”

“You already had the past,” she replied. “I own the future.”

Lucan stepped back slightly, like distance could soften the blow.

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

“No,” Celeste said. “You’d have to matter in the same way for me to hate you. You’re not a threat anymore. You’re a lesson.”

He winced. “I would do anything to rewrite it.”

“And I would do everything the same,” she said. “Because it brought me here.”

A journalist nearby raised a camera, but lowered it quickly when Celeste shot them a single look. She turned her attention back to Lucan.

“Do you want a statement?” she asked. “Something you can leak to make it look like we ended peacefully?”

“I want to be forgiven.”

“Then forgive yourself,” she said. “Because I’ve already moved on.”

Lucan nodded slowly, his jaw tight. “She’s gone, isn’t she? The girl who loved me.”

“She is,” Celeste said. “And I don’t mourn her. I thank her—for surviving long enough for me to take her place.”

“I don’t know how to let go.”

“That’s not my problem.”

The music shifted into a slower rhythm. Lights dimmed. A toast rang out somewhere across the ballroom. Applause followed.

Celeste smiled at the noise but didn’t join in. Her gaze never left Lucan’s.

He looked smaller now. Not just sad—but diminished. Like he finally saw how far he had fallen.

It didn’t move her.

Not anymore.

She raised her champagne glass, took a sip, and looked him over one last time.

“You don’t get to want me now,” she said.