Celestial Ties

CHAPTER 5

The rest of the ride to my house was cloaked in silence, and I was thankful Melissa had heeded the warning. It wasn't often she did—Melissa could be persistently stubborn, pushing limits just to see how far they could bend. Tonight, though, she kept quiet, and for that, I was grateful. My patience, already worn thin by the relentless paparazzi and the demands of the public eye, was hanging by a thread.

As the car finally pulled up to the entrance of my mansion, a sense of relief washed over me. The towering structure loomed in the darkness, the bold letters on the address board announcing my home: "West penthouse." It was an imposing sight, designed to keep the world at bay, a fortress where I could be alone—truly alone. The car came to a halt, and the driver quickly moved to open the door for me. I stepped out, my polished shoes echoing against the stone driveway, and Andy, ever attentive, followed suit from the front seat.

"Drop her off at her place," I ordered the driver, my tone final, as I headed toward the elevator that led up from the garage. The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, inviting me into the quiet solitude I so desperately craved.

But, of course, Melissa had other plans.

She stepped out of the car with a dramatic flair, her high heels clicking against the concrete as she made her way toward me. "I'm coming up for dinner," she declared, her voice laced with that stubborn determination I knew all too well.

I didn't even bother to look back at her. Instead, I walked into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. Ignoring her was easier than engaging in a battle of wills that I wasn't in the mood to fight. But Melissa wasn't one to be ignored so easily. "I insist," she added, folding her arms in that defiant way she always did when she was challenging me.

The elevator doors slid shut, and I could feel the tension crackling in the small space. Melissa stood beside me, her perfume—something overly floral and far too strong—filling the air. Andy, caught in the middle of this unspoken standoff, shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between us as if searching for an escape route.

"Gram, you can't just avoid me forever," Melissa finally said, her voice softer now, almost coaxing, as if trying to wear me down with charm instead of confrontation.

I clenched my jaw, the nickname grating against my nerves. She knew better than to use that name whether Grammy or Gram, yet she persisted, always pushing, always testing. It wasn't that I hated Melissa. She was beautiful, successful, and she played her role well. But that was all it was—a role. A part we both played for the cameras, for the tabloids, for the image. The real Graham West had no time or space for a woman, no matter how much she insisted on inserting herself into my life.

The elevator ride seemed to stretch on forever, the silence thick and suffocating. My mind wandered to the dinner—a quiet meal, perhaps a glass of scotch afterward, and then a few hours of solitude in my study. I needed the peace, the calm after the storm of the night, but Melissa's presence was already unraveling that plan.

Finally, the elevator dinged, announcing our arrival at the top floor. The doors slid open, revealing the grand foyer of my penthouse—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, walls adorned with art that screamed wealth and power. It was everything the world expected from Graham West, the billionaire actor, the untouchable star.

I stepped out, and for a brief moment, I considered turning her away, telling her to take the car back to her own place. But the look on her face—a mix of determination and something close to desperation—stayed my hand. She wanted something from me, and though I wasn't sure what it was, I knew it wasn't love or affection. It was something else, something that kept her clinging to this charade, no matter how many walls I put up between us.