Chapter 2 - The Crack in the Armor“Rhett,” he repeated, stepping closer before she could lose her balance entirely. “My name is Rhett.”
Celeste blinked, her heart doing a strange, unfamiliar flip against her ribs. “Right. Rhett.”
He didn't move away after helping her steady herself. His fingers were warm against her bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake despite the afternoon sun. He looked down at her—really looked at her—taking in the flushed cheeks, the gentle curve of her hips, the unpretentious honesty in her wide brown eyes. For thirty-eight years, Rhett had surrounded herself with polished socialites who smelled like expensive perfume and calculated every word. Celeste smelled like sea salt and lavender soap.
“You shouldn't be doing yoga alone,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual boardroom edge.
“I’m pregnant, Mr.—I mean, Rhett. Not fragile,” she retorted, pulling her arm back gently, though she was acutely aware of how close he stood.
“My security team disagrees.” He glanced out toward the churning Atlantic. “And so do I.”
That evening, instead of his usual five-minute check-in call, Rhett didn’t call at all. He knocked on the door of the east wing at 9:00 PM, holding a thick, leather-bound volume of classic poetry.
“You’re bored,” he stated, walking in without waiting for an invitation.
“I have a view of the ocean and a library full of books on corporate acquisitions,” Celeste replied, sitting up against her pillows. “What do you think?”
Rhett placed the book on her bedside table. “Read this. Or don't. But stop trying to touch your toes while balancing on one foot.”
As the months rolled by, the Southampton mansion transformed. The fortress of ice slowly grew a hearth. Rhett began coming home earlier. They started having dinner together in the vast, echoing dining room—at first separated by yards of mahogany, then sitting closer, and finally, laughing over burnt soufflés and the absurdity of billionaire life.
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Yet, the contract hung over them like a guillotine.
Celeste knew the rules. She was an incubator with a heartbeat. She was buying her mother’s peace of mind and securing her family’s future. But every time Rhett looked at her when he thought she wasn't looking—with a hunger that had nothing to do with legacy and everything to do with wanting—she knew she was playing a very dangerous game. A game where her heart was the collateral.
