Celestine was clutching her phone when she suddenly burst out laughing.
You had to admit, online commenters were absolutely savage these days,
Gideon, hearing her laughter, leaned in close. “What’s so funny?” he asked, curiosity piqued.
He glanced at her screen–and there it was: her own death trending on social media.
Gideon blinked in confusion. Was this whole mess really hitting her that hard?
Caught off guard by his sudden proximity, Celestine stiffened and stood up, forcing a casual tone. “Oh, it’s nothing–just scrolling.”
Ever since she’d tended to Gideon’s wounds that day, he’d been acting strangely. He’d pop up at her side without warning, spouting cryptic remarks she couldn’t quite decode.
It was as if he’d developed a sudden, persistent curiosity about everything she did. If she holed up in her room for more than half an hour, he’d find some excuse to
check in.
It was unnerving.
Celestine snuck a sidelong glance at him. Now that his usual cool, distant demeanor was back in place, she decided to test the waters. “Mr. Prescott, when do you plan on heading back?”
Gideon lifted his gaze slowly. “What about you?”
She was taken aback. She didn’t have a company waiting for her; there was no urgent work calling her home. Meanwhile, Gideon’s phone seemed to ring more with each passing day, his calls growing ever more urgent.
“I… I’m in no rush,” she said, hesitating.
Gideon nodded. “Then neither am I.“.
Her mouth fell open in surprise.
So was he staying until she left? Or was it the other way around?
She feigned nonchalance, nodding as if she understood, and retreated to her room
to untangle her thoughts.
1/3
13:43
When she next checked her phone, the trending topic about her just friends at had vanished without a trace.
In its place, the official Fordham Group account had released the news of her death Fordham Group: We are deeply saddened to inform everyone of the passing of MrS/ Fordham. Her body was discovered today at 12:15pm off the southeastern coast. Her funeral service will begin on the 20th.
Chester himself had even shared the announcement from his personal account.
The comments were filled with condolences and sorrow from all corners–candles
and roses lined the feed.
Celestine let out a cold, bitter laugh.
Chester really had outdone himself with this little performance.
Death must be respected, after all. What better way to stamp out the scandal with Joanna than to manufacture a corpse and stage a grand, empty funeral?
For Joanna’s sake, he’d gone so far as to conjure up a body and a charade of
mourning.
Too bad that, inconveniently for him, she wasn’t actually dead.
Celestine idly clicked into a news article. Her grandfather’s grief–stricken face flashed on the screen, and her heart twisted painfully.
She couldn’t cower in the shadows any longer.
But then an idea struck her: wouldn’t it be something to show up at her own funeral and see the looks on their faces?
“Mr. Fordham, the funeral has been arranged exactly as Master Herschel requested, but we’re still searching for a suitable stand–in for the ‘good luck‘ ritual.”
The secretary knocked lightly on the office door, her voice soft as she delivered the update.
That morning, Celestine’s “body” had been pulled from the water by a recovery team. Chester had barely glanced at it before returning to the Portside City headquarters, all business, never missing a beat.
He stayed in work mode–until rumors about him and Joanna erupted online. Only then did he authorize the official announcement of Celestine’s death.
13:44
Master Herschel, the fortune teller who’d once read Celestine’s palm appear
uninvited.
“The deceased passed with a heavy heart,” he intoned. “That’s ill omen. It could disturb the family’s peace–might even threaten someone’s life. Mr. Alistair Fordham has always been frail; I’m afraid this could be another trial for him
