Chapter 20
Alfred parted his lips to speak, and the icy sharpness in his eyes faded in an instant. He gently brushed his cuff and waited silently for her answer.
It was as if the chill from before had only been a trick of Celeste’s imagination.
Still, since he was willing to listen, Celeste was more than happy to talk.
“Our family, the Duncans, have been in Asterwynn for three generations. We have a unique understanding of the culture and traditions here.”
“The Hopkins family is wealthy, and if you’re determined to turn all of Rivercrest Bay into a signature district for Asterwynn, then whether it’s unifying the style of the neighborhoods or blending the local culture, Duncan Group is sure to deliver a result everyone will be satisfied with…”
She might not be part of Duncan Group herself.
But she’d never forgotten how, back when the company was struggling, it was her mother’s ceramics that had laid the foundation–the only reason it survived to this day.
The company was her mother’s life’s work too. Celeste had always kept a close eye on it, and this project in particular–she was determined to win.
As Alfred listened, he noticed the dullness in her eyes slowly come to life.
Compared to a songbird kept in a gilded cage by another man, a free spirit was far more captivating.
He found himself smiling.
Celeste, still speaking eloquently, glanced up and caught Alfred’s almost tender
smile.
Suddenly, a hazy memory surged up from the depths of her mind.
When she was a child, someone had looked at her with that same gentle, caring
expression.
Her voice faltered to a halt.
Alfred seemed to snap out of it, his smile fading.
“Why’d you stop?“.
“Have we… met before?”
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Celeste frowned, her bright eyes searching Alfred’s face, desperate to find
something familiar–to piece together, to remember the shadow of someone from
her distant past.
No matter how hard she tried, though, the memories were like weathered photographs–dusty, faded, torn beyond recognition.
Her brows knit together in frustration.
After a moment, Alfred finally spoke.
“The Rivercrest Bay project. I’ll agree to it.”
Celeste’s head shot up.
He’d agreed before she’d even finished her pitch?
Or maybe Alfred hadn’t really listened at all–maybe he was simply going through with this because of their arranged marriage.
That seemed much more likely.
After all, that’s what these alliances were: exchanges of benefit.
Letting go of her little bout of nostalgia, Celeste took a step forward, her tone
serious.
“Thank you for working with the Duncan Group on this project. In return, Mr. Hopkins, I owe you a favor. If you ever need anything, just ask.”
Alfred fell silent, his lips pressed together in a barely perceptible line.
She couldn’t recall their past–but she was sure to draw a line in the present.
A knock sounded at the door.
A housekeeper stood outside, Mack the assistant at his side.
Both Alfred and Celeste looked over.
Celeste spoke first. “If you have things to do, please don’t let me keep you. I can manage here on my own.”
It was their first meeting, after all–she didn’t want to take up more of his time than
necessary.
To Alfred, the message was clear: he was being dismissed.
No point lingering.
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“Alright.” He didn’t look back as he strode out with Mack.
Through the thin window, Celeste watched Alfred’s taillights disappear down the drive. She bent to unpack the boxes of ceramic pieces, but her attention was caught by something on the windowsill.
A neat row of delicate flowers, their leaves a fresh green, petals soft and new.
They were exactly the rare variety she’d always loved.
“Mr. Alfred’s staff are certainly thoughtful,” Celeste murmured.
Viola had ripped her flowers out by the roots, yet here was Alfred’s staff, carefully raising rare seedlings just for her.
The struggling scholarship students she’d once helped–none of them had ever shown such consideration.
She’d truly misjudged people in the past.
No longer in the mood to admire the flowers, Celeste turned away and began unwrapping her mother’s ceramics, arranging them one by one on the spotless shelves.
Suddenly, her phone rang–Herbert. His tone was far from friendly, but he sounded desperate for information.
“So, how far have you and Alfred gotten? Dinner? Met the parents? Or have you already signed the papers?”
