Chapter 15 - The Rabbit at the GateIsabella saw the rabbit before I could stop her.
Her face changed in a way I will never forget.
Not joy.
Not comfort.
Terror.
She backed away from the screen as if the stuffed toy itself had teeth.
“Turn it off,” I said.
Rachel did.
But Isabella was already shaking.
“That’s Mr. Bun.”
Marta moved toward her.
Isabella stepped back again.
“No. She has Mr. Bun.”
I knelt.
“Sweetheart, listen to me. She cannot come here.”
“But she said if I left him, he would get punished.”
My stomach turned.
“She punished the rabbit?”
Isabella’s lower lip trembled.
“She put him in the fireplace once. Just close. Not in. She said brave girls don’t need baby toys.”
Caroline closed her eyes.
I looked at Julian.
“Get it back.”
He nodded and made three calls.
The police removed Celeste from the estate gate after she refused to leave. She cried for cameras. She claimed she loved Isabella. She claimed I was keeping a child from the only mother she had left.
But the old performance no longer worked the same.
People had heard the pantry audio.
They had seen the court order.
They had learned Celeste had posted crying photos of a child she called difficult.
By evening, public sympathy had begun curdling into suspicion.
Still, Celeste was dangerous.
Because desperation made her honest in ugly ways.
At 9 p.m., Julian received a message from her attorney.
Celeste wanted to negotiate.
“No,” I said.
Julian looked unsurprised.
“She claims she has information about Richard.”
“She can give it to prosecutors.”
“She says she will only speak to you.”
“Then she can stay silent.”
Rachel glanced up.
“She might have something.”
“She definitely has something,” I said. “That’s not the question.”
Caroline watched me carefully.
“What is the question?”
“Whether I can sit across from her and not become the version of me my father wants on camera.”
Mason folded his arms.
“I’ll be in the room.”
The meeting took place the next morning at Julian’s office, behind glass, recorded from three angles.
Celeste entered wearing no jewelry.
That was deliberate.
Soft.
Stripped down.
Human.
Her eyes found mine immediately.
“Grant.”
I did not answer.
She sat across the table.
For a few seconds, she looked almost like the woman I married.
Then she smiled faintly.
“You look awful.”
“There’s the Celeste I know.”
Her smile disappeared.
Julian started the recorder.
Celeste’s attorney began with a statement about cooperation. Julian cut him off after one sentence.
“Your client requested this meeting. She can speak or leave.”
Celeste looked at me.
“I can give you Richard.”
“You should.”
“I want immunity.”
“You abused my child.”
Her nostrils flared.
“I disciplined a child your family turned into a weapon.”
Mason shifted behind me.
I stayed still.
“Say that again,” I said.
Celeste leaned forward.
“Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I dreamed of marrying a man still worshiping his dead wife, raising a child trained to inherit everything, smiling beside Richard while he measured every breath I took?”
“You had choices.”
She laughed softly.
“No, Grant. Women around your family have assignments. Anna’s was to carry Isabella. Mine was to control her. Caroline’s was to disappear. Margaret’s was to pretend.”
“Don’t compare yourself to them.”
“I’m not. I survived longer.”
I almost stood.
Julian’s hand touched the table once.
A warning.
Celeste saw it and smiled.
“There he is. Your father’s son.”
I leaned back.
“No. My daughter’s father.”
That landed.
Her expression flickered.
For the first time, shame seemed to cross her face.
Then it was gone.
“I didn’t arrange Florida.”
“Who did?”
“Richard and Carter.”
“You knew.”
“I knew after.”
“You smiled when I came home.”
“Because I was afraid.”
“You were disappointed.”
She looked away.
A beat too long.
Then she said, “Fine. I was disappointed.”
Even her attorney closed his eyes.
Celeste continued, voice low.
“Do you know what Richard promised me? Ten years of marriage, then full control of the Harrington Family Foundation. He said Isabella would be sent to a therapeutic boarding school. He said you would be gone before forty one way or another.”
My blood chilled.
“Gone how?”
“Dead if clean. Incompetent if messy. Imprisoned if necessary.”
Julian wrote something down.
Celeste looked at him.
“The file is called Project Orchard.”
Rachel, behind the glass, immediately began searching.
“What is Project Orchard?” Julian asked.
Celeste smiled sadly.
“The plan for growing the next heir.”
I went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Isabella was not the first attempt.”
Caroline, watching from the adjacent room, gasped.
Celeste looked straight at me.
“You have a son.”
The room stopped.
I heard my own heartbeat.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Celeste’s eyes filled with something that might have been triumph or guilt.
“I don’t know.”
I stood.
Mason moved, but I did not lunge.
I simply placed both hands on the table and leaned toward her.
“Say the truth carefully.”
Celeste swallowed.
“Anna miscarried once before Isabella. That is what you were told.”
I remembered.
The hospital.
Anna crying.
May you like
My father saying these things happen.
Celeste whispered, “The baby lived.”
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