Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Celeste stared at herself in the mirror, carefully applying the red lipstick for the gala, Audrey Hepburn glam, they said. Her eyes were bloodshot, her body aching in places she can no longer name, yet she had to show up. She had to play the role – the perfect wife in the perfect life she and Perry had performed for years.

She bit down on her lower lip, hard, as she violently wiped away the smudged eyeliner beneath her eyes. The skin burned with each stroke, but she kept going.

“Do you ever think he might kill you?”

Dr. Reisman’s voice echoed in her mind, relentlessly. The words stuck like barbs.
Celeste's hand trembled. She dug the tissue under her eye again, harder this time. The eyeliner was gone now but she wasn’t wiping makeup anymore. She was trying to scrub away every bruise he ever left on her. Every night she couldn’t breathe. Every time he said he loved her and then –

“Celeste?”

She bit down again, hard enough to taste blood.

Her name broke the silence like a snap of bone.

Her eyes met him in the mirror before she even realized the blood had mixed with her lipstick. The smear of red looked almost intentional, almost beautiful – like everything else in their life that was made to look like something it wasn’t.

Her hand trembled as she reached for another tissue, dabbing at her mouth without looking away from him. She didn’t dare. Couldn’t.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. The breath in her chest caught, tight, jagged – refusing to rise past her throat.

“Is everything okay?” Perry asked.
But his eyes were no longer on her. They were locked on her phone, fingers still curled around it. He stared at the screen, silent, brows drawn tight in thought before finally tossing it onto the bed with a muted thud.

Celeste didn’t answer. She turned back to the mirror, lifted her eyeliner, and steadied her trembling hand.

“I’ll be done in a minute. I’ll make this quick,” she said, voice clipped, controlled.

But the words weren’t for him.

They were for her.

In the reflection, she caught a glimpse of him, his back now to her as he walked toward the bathroom. No glance. No nod. Just distance.

She exhaled silently and dragged the liner across her lid like nothing had happened. Her hand moved on instinct, reaching for the perfume, spraying once at the back of her neck, then again on her wrist.

She stared at herself. The illusion was almost complete.

But when she turned around, she was startled.

Perry was there, watching her. His gaze was unreadable, too still. A soft smile began to form at the corners of his mouth as he stepped closer. He stood beside her, then behind her, his arms wrapping gently around her waist before turning her around.

He leaned in, lips brushing the back of her neck, slow, deliberate kisses that made her skin prickle. Celeste closed her eyes, trying to match the movement of Perry’s body, allowing herself to melt into the tenderness that always comes with control.

“Perry…” she exhaled, not even sure if she was trying to stop him – or warn herself. “We can’t. We’re going to be late.”

Perry didn’t stop. Celeste felt his hands tighten around her waist, slowly sliding along her body as his lips hovered over her skin. Her stomach twisted when he grazed her breast with a soft squeeze.

“Perry,” she said again, more firmly this time. He pulled away, abruptly, as if her voice had shocked him. He turned around, rigid, like he’d been electrocuted.

Celeste let out a shaky breath. She stood still for a moment, then turned to face him. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, silently removing his watch, then his shoes. She watched him, every movement slow, controlled, familiar. Her chest tightened as something unnamed curled beneath her ribs.

He looked up, meeting her questioning gaze. “Right. You received a message.” He said flatly, untying the last of his shoes.
Celeste frowned, stepping toward the bed, her eyes drifting to her phone.

“They said…”

Her hand hovered over the screen. Her fingers trembled before she could even tap in the passcode.

“They said the furniture’s been delivered,” he continued, his voice thinning. “And that you and the kids can move in as early as tomorrow.”
For a moment, it felt like the air was sucked from the room.

Her heart dropped. Her lungs forgot how to work.

It was the kind of stillness that came when a gun was pointed at your back. His gaze locked onto her. And hers, onto him. His stare didn’t break. Not anger. Not confusion. Just something colder – something unreadable.

Her lips parted yet nothing came out.

“I don’t think I feel the need to attend tonight’s gala,” he said calmly. “I think there’s a lot for us to talk about – and the gala isn’t part of any of it.”
He stood and walked toward the door, reaching for the knob.

“I’ll check on the twins,” he added, almost casually, “and ask the sitter to go home early since we won’t be making it to the gala. And when I return…”
He paused, his hand resting on the door. His gazed fix on it.

“We’ll talk.”

Celeste watched as Perry disappeared behind the door. The soft click of its closing echoed louder than it should have. A pool of tears welled in her eyes. She raised a trembling hand to wipe them away, but they kept coming. Her body felt restless, nerves humming just beneath the skin, yet her mind was drifting somewhere far, unreachable.

“Think, Celeste. Think!”

She tried.

But every time she reached for a thought, it was swallowed by the same familiar darkness. She chewed at her fingers, frantic, desperate. She picked up her phone and tried typing a message to Madeline, but her fingers betrayed her, backspacing every word until the screen was blank again.

She stared at the contact number for Dr. Reisman. It was right there. So close. But her thumb hovered above it, paralyzed. She turned to the nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and found the key, the one she had hidden for weeks. The one that meant escape. Her fingers closed around it.

But she didn’t move.

She just stared.

And then the tears came, hard and fast, violent sobs racking her chest as the truth settled in:
She didn’t even know if she wanted to run… or face whatever version of Perry would walk back through that door.

Chapter Text

“The kids are sleeping,” Perry said as he unbuttoned his shirt, his voice calm, practiced. “I read them their favorite books and kissed them goodnight.”

He glanced at Celeste, sitting at the edge of the bed, silent tears trailing down her cheeks. Her shoulders trembled, but she said nothing. “They said they love their daddy,” he added, softer now.
Then he turned to face her fully and knelt in front of her. Her eyes met his – full of rage, and fear, and something breaking beneath both. But she had learned not to confuse softness with safety.
“Do you want them to lose their daddy, Celeste?” he asked. She looked away, quickly wiping her tears.

His voice dropped lower, almost tender. “Are you trying to leave me? Take my kids away?” His hands moved toward her, not rough, not yet, but firm, too firm.. Wrapping around her like an embrace.
Gentle enough to look like affection.

Tight enough to restrain.

“Celeste…” he breathed. “Why do you always push me, Celeste? Why do you turn me into someone I hate?” His voice, low and even, reminded her of the lullabies he used to sing to the boys. Back when she still believed him. Back when bruises only showed on her skin, not in her thoughts.

“I should have left you years ago,” Celeste said, pulling away from his arms. Her voice shook. “I should’ve walked away when you were in New York.”

“But you didn’t,” Perry replied evenly. “Let’s try to fix this, okay? You don’t need to run.”

“I can’t do this again, Perry. It’s a never-ending cycle with you.”

“A cycle you enjoyed,” Perry shot back, his voice colder now, accusatory.
Celeste shot him a stunned look, the line echoing in her head like a slap.

“A cycle you enjoyed.”

“It was Max,” she blurted, changing the subject as panic rose in her chest. “He was the one who bullied Amabella, it was him.” Her voice trembled, almost pleading. “Do you see what you’re doing to this family? To our kids?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Perry said quickly. “And after that, we’ll get help. I’ll get help.”

She felt it then — not fear, but fury. Not the kind that saved you. The kind that said:

I won’t die in this room pretending to be your wife.

Celeste shook her head, already hearing the line before he said it, his favorite line. The one he always used when things spiraled. “And tell him what?” she snapped, her voice rising as disbelief overtook fear.

“That men shouldn’t hit women? That a man shouldn’t lay a finger on a woman because he’s supposed to protect her?”

Her eyes burned.

“That’s bullshit, Perry! You’re not sick. You’re a fucking coward!” Celeste exclaimed as she rose from her position and tower over Perry.

“God, you’re fucking helpless.” Celeste’s hand flew to her forehead as the weight of it hit her. The truth of who Perry was. Of who he had always been. She grit her teeth, choking on a bitter wave of self-loathing. The disappointment twisted deep in her gut, not just in him, but in herself.

How could she not have seen it sooner?

How could she have stayed so long? She felt stupid. Blind. Like the realization had come years too late and now, there was nothing left to save. She turned away, needing to breathe – as if just standing in front of him was enough to strangle her.

And when she turned, she barely heard the first hit.

But her body felt it. All of it.

Her cheek exploded with pain as the room around her tilted, sound and gravity slipping out of sync. Then came the thud, the sick, dull sound of her body crashing into the bed. The lamp on her nightstand toppled with her, shattering against the floor in a burst of glass and silence. She squeezed her eyes shut as everything around her began to blur, a dizzy fog swallowing the edges of the room.

When she opened them again, the cold, unforgiving face of Perry was the first thing she saw.

He yanked her up by the hair, forcing her to stand. Her head hung limp, her body heavy, unresisting. Perry grabbed both her shoulders, shaking her slightly.

“You used to be grateful, Celeste,” he snarled. “What happened to the woman you used to be?”

He pulled her closer, their faces inches apart. His eyes searched hers, those deep blue eyes now flooded with tears. Celeste tasted blood, her own blood. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Only the sound of her breath, shallow, ragged, filled the space between them. Her body shook as she fought the instinct to disappear, to fold into herself like she had so many times before.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing and threw her against the cabinet.

The impact cracked through the room. Her makeup scattered, bottles and brushes clattering to the floor, some tumbling down with her, others crashing on top of her.

Perry just stood there. Watching. Unbothered.

As if the years they’d spent together, every kiss, every promise, meant nothing. Celeste tried to rise, but her limbs trembled beneath her. A guttural, painful growl escaped her lips as her hands landed on shards of broken glass.

He grabbed her again, lifting her like a doll, and threw her onto the bed.

This time, his hand wrapped around her throat.

He climbed on top of her, pinning her down with his weight, his grip tightening with every breath she couldn’t take. Her face flushed red almost instantly, panic flaring in her eyes.

“Plea…se,” she choked out, the word barely audible, a plea, a gasp, a last thread of breath. Perry walked towards the end of the bed, staring at her as she coughed.

He yanked her up, then hurled her down again. Her ankle caught in his grip. The floor met her spine with a sickening thud.

Tears streamed down Celeste’s face, silent and unstoppable. She clawed for the foot of the bed, desperate to hold on, but his strength overpowered her. In one swift motion, he lifted her again. His lips crashed into hers, violent, forceful, not a kiss but a violation. And when he pulled away, his fist drove into her stomach. She folded inward like paper, gasping, the wind knocked from her lungs as she crumpled to her knees.

Then came the kick.

Her ribs.

A crack – no, a crunch.

Something gave way.

Celeste’s scream never made it out. Her body folded, curling into itself in silent agony.

Perry moved to lift her again, but her phone rang.

He froze. His eyes snapped to the sound. Then to her. He reached for the phone, swiping his damp palm across his mouth as he read the caller ID.

Madeline.

He answered. His voice was disturbingly calm. “Madeline?” He didn’t look away from Celeste.

She lay twisted on the floor, her body trembling, blood pooling at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t know if it was from her nose, her lip or maybe both.
“Yeah, about that,” Perry said smoothly. “I don’t think Celeste and I will make it to the gala tonight. She’s not feeling well. And the sitter…” He paused for effect. “The sitter didn’t come, so… I’m really sorry about it.”

Celeste turned her head toward him, her eyes glassy, glazed with pain and tears.

Perry glanced down at her one last time. “No, no. Celeste is fine,” he said cheerfully. “She’s fine. Yes. Yeah. Bye.”

He ended the call.

Then, without a word, he threw the phone at her.

She didn’t even flinch.

Too exhausted to raise her hands, too battered to move, she just lay there as it struck her head with a dull crack.

More blood.

He sat beside her, back pressed against the wall, watching her writhe in pain on the floor.

“You’re not leaving, Celeste,” he said quietly, like a fact, not a threat.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He glanced at her one last time, then pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the closet, calm, casual, as if nothing had happened. As if the room weren’t filled with broken glass, blood, and silence.
She lay still, her body limp, motionless. Her eyes fixed on the ceiling, unblinking, until the edges of her vision dimmed and the world slipped into darkness.