Celeste's POV
Three Hours Earlier
"Move faster, you useless girl!"
My stepmother Helena's hand cracked across my face before I even saw it coming. The tray of champagne glasses wobbled dangerously in my hands, but I managed not to drop it.
That would've been worse.
"Sorry," I whispered automatically, even though my cheek burned and my eyes watered. "I'm sorry."
"You're always sorry," Helena hissed, straightening her expensive necklace. Around us, the Silverhaven Gala was in full swing. Music played. Rich people laughed. Nobody looked at us in the servant's hallway. "But sorry doesn't make you less of an embarrassment."
She walked away, her high heels clicking on marble floors.
I stood there, holding the tray, tasting blood in my mouth.
Twenty-six years old, and I still couldn't stand up to her.
Twenty-six years old, and I was still the scared seven-year-old girl who'd arrived at the Ashford mansion with nothing but a borrowed coat and hope that her father might love her.
He didn't.
Nobody did.
I pushed through the door back into the ballroom, keeping my head down. That was the trick to surviving these events—be invisible. Serve drinks, clean up messes, disappear into corners. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't make eye contact. Don't exist.
I'd gotten very good at not existing.
"Celeste!"
My heart sank. I knew that voice.
Marcus Caldwell—my fiancé—stood near the buffet table with a group of professors from the university. He wore an expensive suit I'd never seen before. His smile was bright and fake.
"Celeste, darling, bring us more champagne!" he called out loudly.
Darling. He'd never called me that when we were alone. Only in public, when he needed to look good.
I walked over, my hands shaking slightly. One week ago, Marcus had proposed to me. Well, technically he'd proposed three years ago, but one week ago he'd set a date. June 15th. A small wedding, he'd said. Just us.
I'd been so happy.
Then three days ago, I'd discovered the truth.
The research paper that made Marcus famous—"Celestial Patterns in Ancient Ritual Ceremonies"—wasn't his work. It was mine. Five years of research. Hundreds of hours in the archives, translating dead languages, finding patterns nobody else could see.
He'd stolen it all and published it under his name.
When I confronted him, he'd laughed. Actually laughed.
"Who would believe you did this research?" he'd said, his eyes cold. "You're just a librarian, Celeste. I'm a professor. I have credentials. You have... what? A dead mother and a family that barely tolerates you?"
I'd slapped him.
He'd grabbed my wrist so hard it bruised. "Don't you ever touch me again," he'd snarled. "You should be grateful I even looked at you. You're nothing. Nobody."
Then yesterday, at my own birthday dinner—a dinner I'd cooked myself because Helena refused to "waste money" on me—Marcus had stood up and made an announcement.
"I have wonderful news," he'd said, not looking at me. "I'm engaged. To Seraphina Ashford."
My stepsister had smiled like she'd won a prize.
My father had congratulated them both.
Nobody asked about me. Nobody cared that I was sitting right there, wearing the cheap engagement ring Marcus had given me three years ago.
I'd run to my tiny room and cried until I threw up.
Now, one week later, I was serving champagne to my ex-fiancé at a party celebrating my stepsister's expected selection as the Moonlight Bride.
This was my life.
This had always been my life.
"Here you go," I said quietly, offering the tray.
Marcus took a glass without even looking at me. He was telling the other professors about "his" research. Using my words. My discoveries. My work.
"Fascinating paper, Dr. Caldwell," one professor said. "The pattern you found in the lunar cycles—brilliant."
"Well, it took years of dedicated work," Marcus said modestly. Liar. "But I've always been passionate about celestial studies."
He'd never been passionate about anything except himself.
I turned to leave, but someone grabbed my wrist—the same wrist Marcus had bruised.
"Wait," a woman said. She was older, kind-faced, wearing a name tag that said "Dr. Margaret Chen - Lead Historian."
She looked at me carefully. "You're Celeste Ashford, aren't you? You work at the Silverhaven Archives."
I nodded, surprised anyone knew my name.
"I've seen your work," Dr. Chen said quietly. "The translation of the Mordecai texts. The analysis of the Twilight Prophecies. You have a gift for ancient languages."
My cheeks flushed. "Thank you."
"That's why I was so surprised to see Dr. Caldwell's paper," Dr. Chen continued, her eyes sharp. "The writing style was completely different from his previous work. Almost like someone else wrote it."
My heart stopped.
She knew.
Someone actually knew.
Marcus must have heard because he suddenly appeared beside us, his smile tight. "Dr. Chen! So glad you could make it."
"Dr. Caldwell." Dr. Chen's voice was cool. "I was just telling Miss Ashford how impressed I am with her work. In fact, I'd love to discuss a research position at the university—"
"Celeste is very busy with her family duties," Marcus interrupted smoothly. "She's not interested in university positions. Are you, darling?"
He said "darling" like a threat.
Dr. Chen looked between us, understanding dawning on her face. "I see."
"If you'll excuse us," Marcus said, still smiling, "Celeste needs to get back to work."
He pulled me away before Dr. Chen could say anything else.
In the empty hallway, Marcus shoved me against the wall. "Don't you dare," he hissed. "Don't you dare try to embarrass me."
"You stole my research," I said, my voice shaking. "You stole my work and you're marrying my sister and—"
"Half-sister," he corrected coldly. "And I didn't steal anything. You gave me that research. You were desperate for someone to pay attention to you, remember? Poor little Celeste, so grateful that someone finally loved her."
Tears burned my eyes. "I did love you."
"Well, I didn't love you." He let go of my wrist and straightened his jacket. "I needed your brain. Seraphina has her father's money and connections. You have nothing I need anymore."
He walked away like he hadn't just destroyed me.
I slid down the wall, sitting on the cold floor. My whole body shook.
He was right.
I had nothing.
I was nothing.
The illegitimate daughter nobody wanted. The servant in her own father's house. The girl who worked at a library because books were the only things that never hurt her.
Even my own research—the one thing I was good at—had been stolen.
"Get up."
I looked up to see Seraphina standing over me. She wore a white dress that probably cost more than I'd earn in five years.
"The ceremony starts in ten minutes," she said, examining her perfect nails. "Try not to ruin it by existing too loudly."
"Why do you hate me so much?" The words came out before I could stop them. "What did I ever do to you?"
Seraphina laughed. "You really don't know? You're a constant reminder that Father had an affair with some low-class woman. Your very existence embarrasses this family. The only reason you're still here is because Father wants to look charitable." She leaned down, her smile cruel. "After tonight, when I'm chosen as the Moonlight Bride, I'm going to convince him to finally kick you out. You can live on the streets where you belong."
She walked away, leaving me sitting on the floor.
Alone.
Always alone.
I thought about my mother sometimes. She'd died when I was seven, worked to death in a factory. She'd told me, right before the end, "You're special, Celeste. The Moon loves you. One day, everyone will see how special you are."
She'd been wrong.
I wasn't special.
I was invisible.
I pulled myself up and walked to the bathroom. Looked at myself in the mirror. Pale face. Cheap black dress. Glasses that were three years old because I couldn't afford new ones. Mousy brown hair that I'd tried to make pretty but gave up on.
This was who I was.
Nobody.
The announcement echoed through the building: "The Moonlight Ceremony begins in five minutes. All guests to the main ballroom."
I should go back. Serve more drinks. Watch Seraphina get everything she wanted while I got nothing.
But I couldn't make myself move.
I stared at my reflection and whispered, "I wish I could disappear. I wish I'd never been born. I wish—"
The lights flickered.
For just a second, my reflection changed. My eyes flashed silver. My hair glowed white.
Then it was gone.
I blinked. Shook my head. I was seeing things. Too much stress, not enough sleep, not enough food.
Helena made sure I never ate enough.
"Pull yourself together," I told my reflection. "You've survived worse."
Had I, though?
I walked back to the ballroom just as the ceremony started. Found my corner. Made myself invisible again.
Watched as the moonlight descended.
Watched as it passed over Seraphina.
Watched as it chose me instead.
And as the silver light wrapped around me, lifting me into the sky, I thought:
Maybe my mother was right after all.
Maybe the Moon did love me.
Or maybe this was just another way to hurt me—give me hope, then destroy it.
Either way, I was about to find out.
The last thing I heard before everything went white was Seraphina screaming:
"She doesn't deserve this! I'll make her pay! I'LL KILL HER!"
Then the world disappeared, and I was somewhere else.
Somewhere impossible.
And when I opened my eyes in that silver bedroom, I realized something terrifying:
Being chosen by the Moon wasn't a blessing.
It was a curse.
And I'd traded one prison for another.
Only this time, the jailer was an immortal prince with silver eyes and a reputation for murder.
This time, I couldn't just hide in corners and survive.
This time, I had to fight.
Or die trying.