Chapter 559 First Night
Celeste gasped softly, instinctively putting her finger in her mouth.
Michael turned just in time to see this. Celeste's delicate lips wrapped around her slender finger, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, an innocent allure she was unaware of. His gaze darkened, and he strode over, pulling her finger out.
"You're so clumsy," Michael grumbled, roughly grabbing a tissue and pressing it to her wound.
Celeste smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. "You care about me."
Michael let go, his tone icy. "Don't flatter yourself."
Celeste didn't mind. She opened a thermos. "I made soup. Drink it while it's hot."
Michael looked at the steaming bowl and suddenly felt irritated. "I don't need your pity!"
"It's not pity," Celeste met his eyes, her voice soft but firm. "It's love."
The words hit Michael like a knife, making him catch his breath. He grabbed Celeste's chin, forcing her to look up. "What do you know about love? You're just a girl."
Celeste didn't flinch, her eyes full of tenderness. "I'm twenty-eight. From the first time I saw you as a child..."
"Shut up!" Michael released her, stepping back as if burned. "I'm your guardian!"
Celeste stepped forward. "We aren't related!" Her voice finally broke, "Why would you rather drown your sorrows over a woman who doesn't love you than see the one who's always been by your side?"
Michael's eyes turned dangerous. He pushed Celeste against the wall, his tall frame completely enveloping her. "You think you know what love is?" His breath was hot, reeking of alcohol. "Love is possession, destruction, something you can't handle!"
Celeste looked up at Michael, her eyes fearless. "Then show me."
Her words shattered Michael's restraint. He kissed her hard, a kiss devoid of tenderness, more like a punishment. Celeste winced but didn't push him away, instead responding awkwardly.
Michael's hand slipped under her dress, touching skin that had never been touched before. Celeste trembled. He paused, his voice hoarse. "Last chance, push me away."
Celeste's response was to unbutton her dress.
When Michael entered her, Celeste's nails dug deep into his back from the pain. She stubbornly bit her lip, refusing to cry out. Michael's movements gradually softened, kissing away her tears.
"If it hurts, scream," he whispered in her ear.
Celeste shook her head, wrapping her arms around his neck. "It doesn't hurt," her voice trembled, but she smiled, "because it's you."
Her words unlocked something deep within Michael. His movements became gentle, as if handling a fragile treasure. When Celeste reached her peak in his arms, her tearful smile made his heart ache.
As the morning sun filtered through the curtains, Michael opened his eyes. Celeste was curled up against him, her pale skin marked by his touch. The memories of the night flooded back, and he sat up abruptly.
Celeste woke up, groggily reaching for him. "Michael."
Michael pulled away, his eyes filled with self-loathing. "Get dressed and leave."
Celeste's smile froze, but she quickly composed herself. "Okay." She replied softly, but stumbled from the pain as she dressed.
Michael stood by the window, his knuckles white. He heard the sounds of her dressing, her sharp intake of breath, but forced himself not to turn around.
"Last night..." his voice was cold as ice, "forget it ever happened."
Celeste paused, then continued dressing as if nothing had happened. "I have a bad memory," she said lightly, though her voice trembled. "But..." She suddenly hugged him from behind, her cheek against his broad back, "I'm happy."
Michael stiffened, turning to push her away. "Are you crazy?" His eyes burned with anger. "Do you know what you're saying?"
Celeste stumbled back but kept smiling up at him. "I know." She pointed to her heart. "It's full of you."
Michael was about to explode when he caught sight of the red stain on the sofa. His pupils contracted, memories of Celeste trembling in pain but insisting she wasn't hurt, her awkward responses, and her tearful "because it's you" flooded back.
"Go shower," he said, his voice hoarse, "clean yourself up."
Celeste nodded obediently, heading to the office bathroom. At the door, she turned back. "Michael." It was the first time she called him by name. "I don't regret it."
As the bathroom door closed, Michael punched the wall. The pain in his knuckles was nothing compared to his self-loathing. He stared at the bloodstain on the sofa, then grabbed his coat to cover the glaring red.
When the water stopped, Celeste emerged wearing his shirt. Michael had regained his cold demeanor, sitting behind his desk as if the man who lost control never existed.
"Come here," he ordered.
Celeste walked over, barefoot, the shirt just covering her thighs, revealing her slender legs. She smelled of fresh soap, water droplets trailing from her hair down her collarbone.
Michael forced himself to look away, pulling a check from the drawer and pushing it towards her. "Buy yourself some new clothes."
Celeste didn't even glance at the check. "I don't want money," she met his eyes, "I want you."
"Enough!" Michael slammed the desk, standing up. "You're young, you should have a normal relationship, with someone your age."
"I don't want anyone else!" Celeste's voice rose, her eyes filling with tears. "Thirteen years, Michael, I've been by your side for thirteen years! Since I was fifteen, you took me in. Do you think I could ever love anyone else?"
Michael laughed coldly. "You think last night meant something? It was just a moment of impulse." He cruelly said, "I have no feelings for you."
Celeste's face turned pale, but she stubbornly lifted her chin. "You're lying." She pointed to her neck. "If you really felt nothing, why did last night..."
"That was just a man's instinct!" Michael interrupted, "It could have been any woman..."
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