Chapter 50 - Bleeding But Not Dead

Vincent Mercer was not a man to take humiliation lightly. Damien Sinclair and Celeste Laurent had cornered him publicly, stripping Mercer-Calloway of their leverage, embarrassing him in front of investors, the press, and the entire industry. His bruised ego wouldn’t heal with time. It needed blood. And Mercer had no intention of fighting fair. He didn’t need to.

“Activate the contingency,” Vincent growled into his phone, his tone like a viper poised to strike. “Use the girl. She’s the soft spot.”

“Yes, Mr. Mercer.”

Mercer smiled coldly. This was the art of war. You never attack the fortress head-on. You find the crack behind the walls.

Two days later, Celeste’s world jolted. The headlines hit like a wrecking ball.

EXCLUSIVE: Celeste Laurent’s Protégé Linked to Scandal—Mercer-Calloway Releases Confidential Footage

The footage was damning. Clipped conversations. Misrepresented contracts. Allegations that Celeste’s charity project had misused funds under her management, using edited clips and doctored signatures. At the center of it all was a face Celeste trusted. Kira Vasquez. The same young actress they had tried to protect from Veronica Hale’s manipulations.

The media spun the story viciously. Mercer had positioned it to appear that Celeste had used Kira as a front for a fraudulent charity venture, making herself look like a power-hungry actress exploiting vulnerable women.

Social media went nuclear. Within hours, sponsors began pulling out of Celeste’s project. Board members questioned Damien about Celeste’s trustworthiness. Old industry snakes, who had always hated Celeste’s rise, pounced.

Inside the war room of Sinclair Tower, Celeste stood frozen, the weight of betrayal crushing her chest.

“She was supposed to be safe,” Celeste whispered, voice cracking. “I gave her everything. She… she couldn’t have done this willingly, Damien. She’s being used.”

Damien’s face was carved from stone, but even he felt the punch to the gut. Mercer had crossed a line, dragging an innocent girl into a battlefield meant for titans.

“This is Mercer’s playbook,” Damien said coldly. “He wants to shake your image. Undermine your credibility. Make you radioactive, so no one will stand beside you.”

He placed his hand firmly on her lower back, grounding her.

“But he forgot one thing.”

“What?” Celeste whispered.

Damien’s gaze burned. “You’re not alone in this.”

She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. This was bigger than her career now. It was war against the cancer that had eaten the industry from the inside. And this time, she wouldn’t back down.

“Call the crisis team,” Celeste said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “We’re going public. Not with denial. With the truth.”

Damien smirked, pride shining in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

Together, they stood in the heart of the storm and they would remind the world why empires built on lies always crumble.

The conference room in Sinclair Tower buzzed with the tense hum of crisis management. PR teams, legal advisors, and cybersecurity experts filled the space, all waiting for orders.

Celeste walked in, no longer the shaken woman from earlier, but the indomitable force the world had seen when she first took Hollywood by storm. Her posture was regal, her chin high, and her voice, when she spoke, cut through the noise.

“We don’t react. We lead,” Celeste declared, scanning the room. “We’ve been hit with a doctored narrative. It’s time we control the truth.”

Damien, standing beside her, nodded toward his legal team. “We’ve already gathered evidence of video manipulation. Digital forensics will confirm the metadata. And we have statements from third-party organizations that audited the charity accounts.”

One of the PR leads spoke up cautiously. “Ms. Laurent, the media has already painted you as the villain. Even if we release the truth, they might spin it.”

Celeste gave a tight smile. “Then we won’t just release the truth. We’ll broadcast it. Damien, prepare the media room. I’ll face them head-on. Every camera, every reporter. I want them looking into my eyes when I expose Vincent Mercer.”

Damien studied her face for a beat longer than necessary, pride warring with concern. She was fearless, but he’d seen too many powerful figures break under the weight of public crucifixion.

Celeste, however, was different, she wasn’t just fighting for herself, she was fighting for Kira and every other woman who’d been chewed up by this corrupt industry.

“Already in motion, sweetheart,” Damien said. “We’re taking the fight to Mercer. And when we’re done, there won’t be a single boardroom in this town that doesn’t know Sinclair-Laurent is the future.”

Celeste’s expression softened at the way he said Sinclair-Laurent. Like they were already a united empire. And maybe, in his vision, they were.

Three hours later, Celeste stood at the podium, cameras flashing like lightning. She wore a sleek black suit, no makeup to hide behind, just raw honesty. Her voice was steady and unapologetic.

“This isn’t just about me,” Celeste began, locking eyes with the crowd. “This is about the culture that allowed men like Vincent Mercer and Veronica Hale to operate in the shadows, manipulating young talent, silencing voices, rewriting narratives to serve their power.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in.

“Yes, they used Kira Vasquez. They used her pain, her vulnerability, and they weaponized her against me. But they underestimated both of us.”

Celeste’s team streamed in the unedited footage on the massive screen behind her. Side by side, they showcased the doctored clips versus the original recordings. The receipts were undeniable.

By the time Celeste finished her speech, the entire room was silent. Reporters scrambled to rewrite their headlines.

Mercer’s carefully constructed narrative shattered in real-time.

But it didn’t end there. As the sun set over the city, Damien and Celeste sat in his penthouse, maps of the industry spread before them like a battlefield.

“We cornered him publicly, but Mercer still controls several key distribution pipelines,” Damien explained, tapping on the chart. “He’s bleeding, but he’s not dead.”

Celeste leaned closer, eyes gleaming with strategic fire. “Then we suffocate him. We cut off every partner who enables him. Every client. Every advertiser. We make it impossible for him to breathe.”

Damien’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

“Maybe I always was like you,” she countered, softer now. “But I needed to remember who I was before the world tried to break me.”

They exchanged a look heavy with meaning. Past and future collided in their gaze. It wasn’t about him leading and her following. It was about them standing side by side, a power couple the world couldn’t touch.

Damien poured them both a glass of whisky. As they clinked glasses, Celeste added with a smirk, “You know what Mercer’s mistake was?”

Damien arched a brow. “Besides underestimating you?”

“He forgot empires built on fear crumble when the people stop being afraid.”

Damien’s smirk deepened. “Then let’s show him exactly what fear looks like when it turns against him.”