POV: Leon
The music inside kept playing. Laughter floated through the walls. But outside, everything felt still.
Leon leaned against the balcony rail, staring out at the darkness beyond the backyard. He could hear her footsteps fading back into the house behind him.
He'd said enough for now.
He hadn't meant to. He hadn't planned to say any of it. But watching her in that crowd — forced smiles, tight hands, people celebrating someone she didn't even remember being — it had cracked something open inside him.
He couldn't take it anymore.
This wasn't love.
It was duty wrapped in guilt.
A promise built on someone else's dream.
And Celeste…
No — the girl standing in front of them all, still searching for who she really was — she didn't deserve this kind of lie.
Neither of them did.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the draft he had saved — a reservation for the private boat. He'd planned it before the party had been announced, meant to cancel it after Elise and Jean hijacked the whole day.
But now?
No. He wasn't canceling it.
He was going through with it.
He pressed confirm.
Tomorrow. Just the two of them. No crowds. No decorations. No pressure to pretend.
He would take her away — even if just for a few hours — and give her the only thing he still could:
Freedom.
Not a speech. Not a dramatic reveal.
Just space.
And the truth.
He would tell her she didn't have to be Celeste anymore. That he saw her. Even if he didn't know her name. Even if it shattered everything.
Because Leon had loved Ayla. And this girl…
She was someone else.
POV: Celeste
The party was winding down. The cake had been sliced. The speeches made. The guests, one by one, trickled out with warm hugs and lingering glances like she was porcelain.
She was tired of being porcelain.
She escaped to her room, peeled off the dress, and sat on the edge of her bed in silence — feet bare, eyes dull, the night echoing like a show she had been forced to star in.
Her phone buzzed on the dresser. A video call from Damien.
She smiled before she could stop herself.
He always called at the right time.
"Hey," she said as she answered.
"Happy birthday, troublemaker." His face lit up the screen — bright, playful, and full of warmth. "You look exhausted."
"I feel exhausted."
"Sorry I couldn't make it," he said. "I got stuck with Mom and some awful charity dinner. You know how it goes."
"It's okay. It was… a lot."
He looked at her for a second too long, then tilted his head. "You didn't like it?"
She hesitated. "It was nice. Everyone was nice. Just… overwhelming."
"Well, then," he said, smiling. "Let me give you a birthday moment that's not overwhelming."
She raised a brow. "Yeah?"
"Dinner. Tomorrow. Just you and me. I'll even let you pick where."
She laughed softly, surprised at how easy that felt. "Deal."
"Great. I'll pick you up after lunch. No cake. No crowds. Just real food and bad jokes."
She smiled again. "Sounds perfect."
They said goodnight, and the screen went dark.
She laid back on the bed, her fingers still curled around the phone.
Tomorrow. Something to look forward to.
She didn't know that someone else already had plans for her.
Plans that would change everything.