Page 23 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

Celeste

This is it.

The grand opening of the Sterling Vista Tower.

This is the pinnacle of every late night I’ve spent trying to outdo my last achievement.

Yet standing here, under glittering chandeliers on a rooftop bar with the city’s lights scattered beneath me like stars, satisfaction remains stubbornly out of reach.

Champagne bubbles float in my glass as conversations hum around me, a thousand praises blending into white noise.

It should feel like winning.

Instead, it feels hollow.

“Celeste, your design… My God, it’s inspired. The way you brought nature inside the building is remarkable.”

I blink back into the present and turn my gaze to the man at my side. He’s important, I think. Rich, undoubtedly.

“Thank you,” I say, forcing warmth into my voice.

He nods as he begins another predictable story about architectural genius. Naturally, he discovered it in Paris. It’s always Paris.

I let his voice fade as my eyes scan the sea of sharp suits, shimmering dresses, and perfect smiles.

I’m here, exactly where I dreamed of being for years. So why is it suddenly not enough?

Why do I have this insatiable hunger for something I haven’t yet named? Something I can’t find in the corners of my career or the edges of success.

My thoughts scatter when I sense a presence behind me.

“Ms. Morgan, your work truly is something to behold.”

Tom Kingsley.

Perfect.

He steps forward, invading the space where I’ve tried to hide in the shadows. I suppress a grimace and turn.

“Mr. Kingsley. Good to see you.”

“Seeing your design come to life is impressive. Your mind is truly extraordinary.”

Coming from anyone else, it would be flattering.

From Kingsley, it feels invasive.

“Architecture is storytelling,” I recite blandly, glancing away to create space between us. “Bringing ideas to life in a way that evokes something visceral. ”

He hums at that, his attention sliding back to me rather than the elegant room we’re standing in.

“Visceral,” he repeats, savoring the word like it tastes sweet on his tongue. “You’ve considered my offer, I presume.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. Kingsley. Truly, I do. But I’m committed to where I am, and I have ongoing contracts to fulfill.”

His hand lands heavily on my lower back, and I shudder before politely stepping away.

I’ve heard the whispers and rumors. His successful firm hides an uglier truth, one marked by quiet payouts and silent departures. Boundaries ignored, lines blurred.

“You’re wasting your talents at that firm, but I’ll give you more time.” His eyes trail deliberately down my body. “You’ll come around.”

I’m mentally halfway through a desperate prayer, begging any deity who might listen to send an interruption—a waiter dropping a tray, an acquaintance calling my name, a small fire. Actually, scratch that. I worked too damn hard on this design to watch it burn.

Still, I’d take anything at this point.

Anything except what actually comes next.

“Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Morgan.”

The deep, familiar voice rumbles behind me, sending a jolt of awareness straight through my bones.

I brace myself before I turn, my heart pounding as my eyes lock onto his.

Julian stands tall, broad shoulders perfectly framed by a tailored suit, eyes glinting with something dangerous.

His presence instantly fills the space around us, pushing Kingsley’s smarmy aura aside with a force I didn’t know I needed .

“Julian,” Kingsley says, the sudden tightness around his mouth impossible to miss.

“Kingsley.” Julian doesn’t spare him a look because his eyes are on me.

To his credit, he doesn’t even take a peek down my body to appreciate the red satin dress I’m wearing.

Ah, he’s maturing.

“Ms. Morgan, I wanted to congratulate you personally. The design is incredible.”

His praise settles in my chest.

“Thank you.”

Kingsley looks between us, clearly annoyed at being the odd man out until finally he straightens. “We’ll talk soon, Celeste.”

It’s both a promise and a warning.

With Kingsley out of the way, Julian steps back into the shadows with me. He towers beside me, so close that my bare arm brushes against the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. For a long minute, neither of us speaks.

My thighs ache from our run this morning—a reminder of the strange intimacy forming between us. But here, beneath the soft glow of string lights, he feels different. More dangerous, somehow.

He slides his hands into his pockets as he studies the room. “Why exactly are you hiding in the shadows?”

I glance to the side, raising a brow. “Why are you hiding in the shadows?”

“Because you’re here.”

“Your stalking is getting concerning, Julian.”

He ignores that, but I catch the faint quirk of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

God, he’s beautiful .

It’s infuriating how easily he wears it.

He nods toward the crowd. “Why aren’t you out there enjoying the spotlight?”

I exhale and decide to drop the charade for a brief, vulnerable second. “Because I hate this part,” I admit. “The smiles, the small talk, the pretentiousness of it all. The… the—”

“The faking it?”

“Exactly.”

A rare, genuine smile passes between us. A moment later, Julian shifts, breaking the spell as he steps away, only to lift his arm in offering.

“Come on. Walk with me. If I can protect you from murderers, I can protect you from them.”

Despite my better judgment, I slip my arm through his.

He steers us effortlessly along the edges of the room, slipping between shadows as if he’s been doing it all his life.

He’s quiet tonight. Too quiet. His eyes seem lost somewhere I doubt anyone could reach.

“So,” I start because I somehow miss our back and forth. “What does Julian Blackwood do when he’s not faking it at these events or running an empire?”

“Are you... making small-talk, Celeste?”

Heat rushes to my neck as I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. You usually can’t shut up in the mornings. Is it past your bedtime or something?”

He chuckles under his breath. “I have a foundation.”

“I know all about your foundation, Julian,” I say quietly. “It’s incredible.”

It is. I read about how he established the foundation to support families in inner cities—community centers, shelters, gyms, and safe places for kids. Most men in this room would shout it from the rooftops. Not Julian. But I’ve come to realize that Julian isn’t like most men.

“What do you do for yourself ?” I correct.

“I box.”

“Like in a boxing ring?”

He laughs again. “Yes.”

I nod. “Fitting.”

“And Celeste? What does she do?”

The last time I did something for myself, I went to a sex club, and we both know how that turned out.

“I used to paint.”

“Paint what?”

“Anything. Usually scenery. I could sit in front of a canvas for hours.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

I shake my head. “Not in a really long time.”

His gaze lingers on me, heavy enough to feel like a touch.

With a casual tilt of his chin, he directs my attention toward a couple standing near the bar.

“See Mr. Callahan over there with his lovely wife?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, Mrs. Callahan has book club on Wednesday nights, and Mr. Callahan takes the opportunity to bang Mrs. Feldman, just over there by the ice sculpture.”

My eyes widen so fast I nearly sprain something. “No!”

“Oh, yes.”

“You’re making that up.”

“Wish I was. And over there,” he says, dropping his voice, “is Mrs. Eldridge. Rumor has it she spent last summer in Cabo with her tennis instructor. Came back with a suspiciously better backhand.”

“You are a closet gossip,” I say, barely stifling a laugh. “How do you know so much?”

“People talk. I just happen to listen.”

“Uh-huh,” I tease. “It’s that damn smile of yours, isn’t it? I bet people spill secrets at your feet just hoping you’ll flash it.”

“You give me far too much credit.”

I lean in. “Be honest. How many women in this room have dropped their panties for that smile?”

“Celeste!” he says, feigning offense.

“What?” I shrug innocently, laughter shaking my voice. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“None.”

“Oh, please.”

“None,” he insists, expression suddenly thoughtful. “Wait. There is one. The stunning brunette.”

My curiosity spikes.

I crane my neck, almost rising onto tiptoes. “Where?”

“Right there. Red dress. Incredible ass.”

“Where?” I snap, squinting hard into the crowd. “I can’t—”

He clears his throat, waiting until I look up at him.

When our eyes finally meet, he arches one perfect brow. “Right. There .”

It takes me half a beat too long, but then my mouth drops open. “Oh, you—Oh, you’re good,” I admit, shaking my head. “Very smooth.”

His mouth curves like he knows exactly how far under my skin he’s gotten. I’m about to tell him not to look so smug when his name is called, and his attention is claimed by a group of suits across the room.

Julian curses under his breath .

“Off you go.” I wave him away.

Before stepping into the light, he flashes me that practiced, charming smile he uses so well with everyone else. “How is it? Believable?”

“Panty melting.”

His gaze drifts deliberately down my legs. “How are yours?”

“Oh, I’m not wearing any.”

His jaw flexes. “For fuck’s sake, Celeste.”

Before I can enjoy more of his reaction, his name is called again. I slip away and step out onto the balcony.

Cool night air rushes over my skin. I grip the railing and draw in a deep breath, steadying myself before I look back inside.

From here, I watch him slide effortlessly into the role he’s known for—ruthless, charming, dangerously magnetic. I catch the exact moment the shift happens: the hard edge in his eyes smoothing into practiced warmth, his words soft but confident enough to pull people closer.

He flirts in the smallest ways, just enough to earn the occasional blush from women who can’t quite look away.

Every so often, his gaze lifts and finds mine across the room. Each time, there’s the same silent acknowledgment, and each time, heat coils low in my stomach.

He got to watch me before I ever saw him; it’s only fair I return the favor.

When my champagne is gone, I set the glass aside and roll my shoulders back. I’ve been here long enough. I’ve done my part.

Julian’s eyes meet mine once more before his attention returns to the group, the mask sliding neatly back into place.

Taking advantage of the moment and the lack of eyes on me, I turn and slip away.