Chapter 45 - All Too Familiar Feeling

The days following Lydia Hart’s announcement had been a whirlwind. The media flooded with think pieces praising Celeste’s resilience and calling out the toxic systems Veronica Hale once controlled. Damien and Celeste found themselves hailed as a new kind of Hollywood power couple, strategic, unshakable, emotionally grounded.

But behind the curated press runs and polished public appearances, the atmosphere between them had started to fray.

It began with the smallest things, missed texts, unread messages, last-minute meeting cancellations. And it started with Damien.

Celeste stood backstage at a charity gala, dressed in an ivory satin gown, scrolling through her phone. No reply. No “on my way.” No explanation. Again. An all too familiar feeling.

Her chest tightened. She had tried to be understanding. She knew Damien’s empire was vast, that every victory came with ten new fires to put out. But ever since the Lydia press conference, he'd been consumed, managing damage control, meeting with investors, reinforcing Sinclair Media’s position in the wake of Veronica’s public collapse. And not calling her back.

When the event ended and the cameras were gone, Celeste climbed into her waiting car alone. She stared out the window, gripping the hem of her gown until her knuckles turned white.

By the time she arrived back at the penthouse, she was vibrating with frustration.

Damien was in the office, sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, pacing in front of two large monitors, deep in conversation with someone over speakerphone.

“…we’ll need to restructure the distribution deal. If we pull back now, it sends the wrong signal—”

Celeste stepped inside.

Damien glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

She raised a brow. “Forgot I existed?”

He held up a finger to signal one more minute, then turned back to his call. “I’ll have my legal team draft something tonight.”

Celeste exhaled sharply, turned, and left the office without another word.

The argument exploded later that night.

“You could’ve texted. One line. Something. Anything,” Celeste snapped, pacing the bedroom as she unpinned her earrings.

“I was working,” Damien replied, rubbing his forehead. “It’s not like I was out at a club.”

“That’s not the point!” she turned to face him. “It’s the fact that you don’t see what it’s doing to us.”

His jaw flexed. “You think I don’t care?”

“I think you’ve been so focused on saving my career, you forgot I’m still a person in this relationship.”

“You asked me to fight with you,” he said. “Now I’m fighting. And you’re mad because I missed a dinner?”

Celeste blinked, stunned. “Is that really what you think this is about?”

Damien’s silence answered for him. The room crackled with unsaid things, wounds neither of them had wanted to acknowledge.

“I’m not asking you to drop everything,” Celeste said more quietly. “I just need to feel like I’m not the only one holding us together.”

He sighed, coming closer. “I’m trying. But there’s more happening behind the scenes than I’ve told you.”

“Then tell me,” she said, voice trembling. “Let me in. I want to help.”

Damien hesitated, then looked away. That hesitation cut deeper than any insult.

Celeste’s breath caught. “You don’t trust me.”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “That’s not true.”

“Then what is it?” Her voice cracked. “Because it feels like you’re building walls again. Like I’m outside, watching you fight a war you won’t let me be part of.”

Damien looked down, his voice rough. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” she whispered. “I need your partnership.”

A long silence followed. The kind filled with everything neither of them was ready to say. Then, quietly, she left the room.

The days that followed were colder. They still worked together, rehearsed statements, reviewed scripts, fielded calls, but something intangible had shifted. Those easy glances,the teasing banter, the lingering touches,they were gone.

Celeste started arriving at meetings alone. Damien stopped spending the night at the penthouse. The press didn’t notice the change, but their closest circle did.

It was Quinn, Celeste’s publicist, who finally cornered her backstage before an interview.

“You and Damien? Are you two okay?”

Celeste stared at her reflection in the mirror. “We’re fine.”

“Celeste…”

She turned. “We’ve both been under pressure. He’s doing what he can. I’m trying to be patient.”

Quinn gave her a look. “You’re Celeste Laurent. Not some rookie desperate to prove herself. Don’t shrink to keep someone comfortable—not even Damien Sinclair.”

Celeste nodded slowly, but her eyes remained haunted.

Later that night, she sat in the empty penthouse, scrolling through footage from a new director interested in casting her. Her heart wasn’t in it. She picked up her phone. Hovered over Damien’s contact,then put it down again.

At the same time, Damien sat in his downtown office, nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey, staring at the unread messages from Celeste. He had drafted a dozen replies, all of them unsent.

He knew she was right. He had shut her out. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he was scared. Scared of what would happen if she knew the full truth.

The truth that Veronica’s collapse had shaken industry power structures so hard that Sinclair Media was now under scrutiny from regulators and board members who didn’t like seeing Damien so “personally involved” with his client.

That whispers were beginning to swirl: favoritism. Conflict of interest. Dangerous precedent. That the board had given him a choice, step back, or risk losing control. And Damien, in the last week, had started drafting contingency plans. For Celeste’s protection. For his empire. For their future. But none of that mattered if she didn’t feel like his equal. And he hated that.

The breaking point came at an award ceremony the next weekend.

Celeste was nominated for Best Actress in a limited series. It was her first major nod in over three years. The red carpet shimmered with flashbulbs and reporters, all waiting to capture the couple’s next iconic appearance. But Damien wasn’t there.

He had sent a message: emergency meeting, can’t make it, I’m sorry.

Celeste smiled for the cameras, accepted compliments with practiced grace, gave polished answers to questions about her performance and comeback. But when the envelope was opened and her name was called, she hesitated.

Applause rang out. She walked to the stage, alone.

That night, Damien watched the footage from his phone. Watched Celeste smile and thank everyone but him. Watched her eyes flicker with something that looked a lot like heartbreak before the lights dimmed.

He ran a hand through his hair, swore under his breath. He had pushed too far. And he was about to lose her again. He grabbed his keys.

It was time to fix what fame, fear, and silence had almost destroyed.