Chapter 44 - You Are What I Believe In

The air in the penthouse was thick with anticipation. Outside, the sky was tinged with the last embers of sunset, bathing the high-rise windows in a copper glow. Inside, Damien’s voice was low but firm, pacing as he clicked through documents on the large screen in the living room.

Celeste sat curled on the velvet sectional, her legs tucked under her, hair loosely braided and damp from a quick shower. She had changed into one of Damien’s oversized shirts, seeking comfort in the lingering scent of him on the cotton. Still, her fingers kept tapping nervously on the edge of her laptop.

The project. Her project. The one Damien had championed. The one that could redefine her entire career.

“It’s a good script,” Damien said, pausing. “Better than good. The role was written for someone like you, layered, vulnerable, fierce. They’d be lucky to have you.”

Celeste lifted her eyes, unsure. “Then why does it feel like everything’s stalling?”

Damien frowned, setting the remote down and moving toward her. “I’ve been hearing whispers. Hesitations that didn’t exist last week. Producers suddenly uncertain. Press starting to murmur about your ‘emotional volatility.’”

“Volatility?” she scoffed. “That’s rich coming from an industry that thrives on meltdowns for breakfast.”

He crouched in front of her, taking her hands. “This is Veronica. She’s behind it. I haven’t confirmed it, but I know her patterns. She’s trying to sink the project before you even sign.”

Celeste’s jaw tensed. “Of course she is.”

“She’s making calls,” Damien said, voice tightening. “Feeding lies to her old contacts. Planting doubts. Someone leaked that you weren’t mentally stable to lead a film of this scale.”

Celeste yanked her hands free, standing. “How the hell does she keep getting away with this? With all of it?”

“Because she has power. Legacy. Fear. People would rather back away quietly than confront her head-on.”

“Then maybe it’s time someone did,” Celeste said, fire flashing in her eyes. “I’m not going to let her dismantle everything just because she can’t control me anymore.”

Damien rose to his full height, his face a mask of pride and protectiveness. “Then we fight back. Strategically.”

That night, their strategy unfolded in hushed tones over glasses of wine and flickering candlelight. Damien pulled up names of potential allies, producers who owed him favors, journalists who wanted real stories, even old colleagues of Veronica who had been waiting for a reason to talk.

“We don’t just defend you,” Damien said. “We pivot. We take control of the narrative. We leak that you’ve been in talks for this role for months, that the project was practically greenlit with you in mind. We drop your screen test with the director, make it impossible to deny your place.”

Celeste nodded slowly, absorbing every word. “And if Veronica tries to outmaneuver us?”

“We make her look like a relic of a dying system.”

The following day, Celeste arrived at the studio where the test footage had been filmed. Damien had arranged for a private screening with one of the film’s executive producers, an old rival-turned-reluctant ally.

The executive, Lydia Hart, sharp, pragmatic, and politically untouchable, eyed Celeste with the kind of calculating calm that came from decades of surviving Hollywood.

“You’re not the liability people are trying to paint you as,” Lydia said, after watching the footage. “You’ve got the kind of presence that holds a screen hostage. But this film’s budget is steep. We need stability.”

“You’ll have it,” Celeste said. “From me. From Damien. From our team. Whatever smear campaign is circling, it ends now.”

Lydia tilted her head. “You realize Veronica Hale has a seat on the advisory board.”

“I do.” Celeste’s spine straightened. “That’s why I’m not backing down.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Lydia cracked the barest smile. “Good. It’s time someone did.”

Later that night, the fallout began. Veronica’s camp caught wind of Lydia’s interest. Within hours, anonymous blogs posted accusations about Celeste being “difficult,” “inconsistent,” even “manipulative.”

Damien was ready. He launched a carefully timed counter-campaign: behind-the-scenes footage from the screen test, testimonials from previous directors and castmates about Celeste’s work ethic and integrity, and a few targeted leaks about Veronica’s past misconduct on sets.

The industry buzz shifted within days and Celeste was being seen not as the problem. but as a survivor.

“I’ve never seen this side of you,” Celeste said one evening, curled on Damien’s lap as they sat on the balcony.

“What side?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“The one that fights not just for what’s his, but for what I believe in.”

Damien kissed the crown of her head. “You are what I believe in.”

She looked up at him, eyes misty. “I don’t want to be a liability to you.”

“You never were,” he said. “And you never will be.”

Two days later, a new twist emerged.

One of the assistant producers leaked internal messages showing that Veronica had pushed for another actress, someone under her management, to replace Celeste. The messages included thinly veiled threats and bribes.

Lydia went public.

“We do not tolerate manipulation, coercion, or sabotage in our productions,” she stated at a press conference. “Celeste Laurent is our lead, and this project will move forward.”

The announcement sent shockwaves through the industry.

Veronica, suddenly cornered, released a statement claiming her intentions were “misinterpreted.” But it was too late. Her credibility had cracked.

Celeste stood on the rooftop of Sinclair Tower that night, wind teasing strands of hair from her braid, phone buzzing with messages of congratulations, support, and retractions.

Damien came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“You did it,” he whispered.

“We did it,” she corrected, turning in his embrace.

They kissed, slow, deep, with a quiet intensity that said everything words couldn’t.

When they finally pulled apart, Celeste whispered, “I want this. All of it. The fight, the passion, the purpose. With you.”

“You have it,” Damien said, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You always have.”

And for the first time in weeks, the spotlight didn’t feel like a burden, it felt like power.