Chapter 8 The Queen of the Elite

Josephine Astor.

One of the wealthiest, most fashionable, and most ruthless women in America. Admiring her from afar? Sure. Up close? Terrifying. She had a way of making you feel two inches tall with a single glance. I'd met her once when I was ten, back when Leo and I were inseparable, before our families turned into feuding dynasties over some secret I was never let in on. Even as a child, I knew-Josephine Astor was the kind of woman who made you question your entire existence with just one raised brow.

Now, I had to sit across from her at luncheon.

I hadn't seen her in over fifteen years, except in Forbes magazine or trending social media posts. And now? Now, I was supposed to play the role of the perfect fiancée.

I needed to look the part.

After much internal debate, I settled on a royal blue sweetheart-neck bodycon dress-sleek, elegant, but not too revealing. Too conservative, and she'd compare me to a nun. Too revealing? God only knew what she'd think, and frankly, I didn't want to find out.

By the time I was done with my makeup and pinned my hair into a loose low bun, my nerves were screaming. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the sleek black car the Astors had sent for me. The fifteen-minute ride stretched on like an eternity, each second thick with dread.

When we arrived, I tilted my head back to take in the towering skyscraper. Billionaires' Row.

Home to the wealthiest of the wealthy.

Everything about the entrance was exactly as I expected-luxurious, grand, but with an air of old-money restraint. Doormen opened the elevator, their faces unreadable as they led me up. The butler greeted me at the entrance and ushered me into what Josephine called her "tea room." Because, of course, the Astors had a separate room just for tea.

She stood as I walked in, offering me a half-smile.

"Celestine. How lovely to see you."

Celestine.

I swallowed the urge to flinch. I hated that name.

"You can call me Celeste, Mrs. Astor," I corrected, keeping my voice as smooth as possible.

We shook hands-well, if you could call it that. She barely graced my fingers with hers, giving me the kind of dainty, superior handshake that screamed, You are beneath me. I resisted the very, very strong urge to roll my eyes.

Her gaze roamed over me, inspecting every inch of my appearance. A slight nod of approval. Then she turned and sank gracefully into her chair. I followed suit, keeping my posture impeccable because, with Josephine, everything was a test.

Growing up, my mother had tried to teach me how to be a "proper lady." But when she died, I threw all of those lessons out the window. Maybe it was grief, maybe rebellion. Maybe I just wanted to escape the suffocating world of the elite. That's why I spent years surrounding myself with Ally, Josh, and their 'middle-class' friends-because they showed me what freedom felt like. Real freedom. To say what you wanted. Do what you wanted. Be who you wanted.

But right now? Right now, that world felt galaxies away.

Josephine picked up her teacup and took a slow, deliberate sip before meeting my gaze.

"Do you know why I invited you here?"

I clasped my hands together on my lap, feigning composure. "I assume it's about the wedding."

"Yes and no." She set her cup down with a quiet clink. "Let's start with the unpleasant matters first, shall we?"

My stomach twisted.

Oh no.

"I happened to hear about your antics last night."

All the blood drained from my face.

Oh, shit.

Leonidas Astor, you absolute bastard.

I should've known he'd run straight to Mommy Dearest. Now I was about to face the wrath of a woman who could tear me apart with words sharper than knives.