Chapter 12 - A PR Crisis

Celeste awoke to the sharp vibration of her phone against the nightstand. Looking at the clock on her nightstand, the time read 5:47 a.m., but the sheer volume of notifications flashing across the screen told her something was wrong.

She barely had time to process before another sound cut through the airm Damien was buzzing at her intercom.

She threw on a silk robe as she made her way to the door. The moment she opened it, Damien strode in, with zerio expression.

“Turn on the news,” he said, voice calm but edged with something dark.

Celeste grabbed the remote, flipping through channels until she found it. Her name in bold letters splashed across every screen.

EXCLUSIVE: CELÉSTE GREY & DAMIEN SINCLAIR—A POWER PLAY OR A DANGEROUS ALLIANCE?

A female anchor appeared on-screen, her tone dripping with feigned concern.

"Newly uncovered documents suggest that billionaire Damien Sinclair has been financially backing actress Celeste Laurent for months, which raises questions about just how deep their relationship runs. Sources claim that her recent rise in power, including the public takedown of media mogul Julian Mercer, was orchestrated with Sinclair’s help. But that’s not the most shocking part—"

Celeste’s breath caught as photo's of leaked bank statements and private emails, as well as a photograph of her and Damien from last night’s dinner, was captured from outside the penthouse, like someone had been watching, flashed across the screen.

The news reporter continues. "Rumors are swirling that their connection goes beyond business and into something far more. transactional. Is Celeste Laurent truly the power player she claims to be? Or has she been Sinclair’s pawn all along?"

The screen cut to a panel of talking heads, dissecting the situation as if her entire life was nothing more than a game to be played.

Celeste shut off the TV. The silence that followed was suffocating.

She turned to Damien, her pulse hammering as she asked, “How did they get this?”

His jaw clenched. “That’s what we need to find out. We need to control the narrative, or It Controls You!"

Celeste moved to the window, gripping the railing so hard her knuckles turned white. “They’re painting me as—”

“A woman who slept her way to the top,” Damien finished, his voice lethal.

Her stomach churned. It didn't matter how powerful she was. A rumour like this could destroy her credibility.

She took a slow breath, pushing past the anger. “Damage control. We need a response before this spreads further.”

Damien nodded. “Agreed. I already have my team drafting a statement.”

“No.” Celeste turned, her expression steel. “This isn’t your mess alone, Damien, It’s mine too.”

There was a flicker of respect that shone through at that moment.

She grabbed her phone, already typing.

Celeste Laurent @CelesteLOfficial:

To those trying to rewrite my story: My success belongs to me, and no one else. Watch how I handle this.

The post went live, and within seconds, the internet exploded.

Some called her defiant, as others called her reckless.

But she wasn’t done yet. She turned to face Damien, determination burning in her veins. “We go public. We do this together as a united front. A controlled appearance, we don't deny anything, but we own the narrative before they do.”

A slow smirk touched his lips. “You’re thinking of a press conference.”

She nodded. “If we hide, we look guilty, but if we face it head-on, then we take their power away.”

Damien studied her for a long moment before grabbing his phone. “Then let’s make it happen.”

By noon, the media frenzy had escalated to new heights. The Paparazzi swarmed outside of Sinclair Towers, waiting for a glimpse of the two most talked-about figures in the industry.

Meanwhile, inside, Celeste and Damien stood side by side in a sleek conference room, facing a sea of reporters. Cameras flashed as they stepped forward, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.

Celeste was the first to speak. “I know why we’re all here,” she said, voice calm, unwavering. “So I won’t waste time pretending to be shocked.”

The room hushed. Silence so quiet that if a pin dropped, it would shatter.

“My career has always been under scrutiny. My relationships, my success, my choices, all of it picked apart by people who have never walked in my shoes. But let me make one thing clear: No man built me, and no man owns me.”

Her words landed like a thunderclap.

A reporter raised a hand. “Then can you explain the leaked documents suggesting Mr. Sinclair has been funding you?”

Damien spoke then, his voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. “Celeste and I are partners in many ways, be it in business, the way we do things or in our own personal life. Right now, what I don’t appreciate is the insinuation that her success is tied to me in a way that undermines her own achievements.”

Another journalist jumped in. “So, are you saying you haven’t been financially supporting her?”

Damien’s smirk was cold. “I’m saying that men in this industry help each other all the time, and no one questions it, but the moment a woman sits at the same table, suddenly it’s a scandal?”

A murmur rippled through the room.

Celeste took a step forward, meeting the sea of cameras head-on. “I built my career through my own choices and at my own risk. I will not, I repeat, I will not let anyone rewrite my story.”

With that, both of them walked off the stage without waiting for permission. And just like that, they took back their control.

Back in the car, the tension hadn’t eased. “That won’t stop them,” Celeste murmured, staring out the tinted window.

“No,” Damien agreed. “But it bought us time.”

Celeste exhaled. “We need to know who’s behind this.”

A second later, Damien’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression turning to stone.

“What is it?” Celeste asked.

He handed her the phone. It was an email with one attachment.

A photo of them at dinner, but this time, not from the previousnight. It was from weeks ago, in a private setting that no journalist should have had access to, and at the bottom of the email, a single line of text:

You should have left Mercer alone. Now it’s your turn.

A chill ran down Celeste’s spine as she looked up at Damien, their unspoken understanding passing between them.

This wasn’t some opportunistic journalist trying to make a name. It was revenge, and whoever was behind it had just made the biggest mistake of their lives because Celeste Laurent and Damien Sinclair never played defence. They owned the game.