Chapter 52 - Thread By Thread

The envelope sat on Damien’s desk, thick and ominous, stamped with the federal seal. It was the kind of correspondence that carried weight, not just in paper, but in implication. He didn’t need to open it to know what it was. The subpoena had been coming for weeks. Vincent Mercer’s coordinated legal assault was beginning to take on a new shape, more than hostile takeovers and silent boardroom warfare. This was a strategic pivot. Public, aggressive, and meant to destabilize Sinclair Media from the inside out.

Damien stared at the letter without moving. The silence in his office was absolute, save for the low hum of the air conditioning. Celeste stepped in quietly, her heels soft against the marble floor.

“You got it,” she said gently, reading his expression. “The subpoena.”

He nodded once. “Federal hearing. They’re targeting acquisitions made during the Sinclair-Horizon merger. Claiming insider manipulation tied to Mercer-Calloway’s competitive interests.”

Celeste moved to his side, her hand finding his shoulder. “You knew this was coming.”

“Yes,” he said. “But this, this opens a door they won’t close. Every decision I’ve made, every boardroom deal, it’ll all be up for public dissection.”

“They’re trying to break you,” she said. “Trying to unravel you thread by thread.”

“They’ll drag you in next,” Damien said bitterly. “They’ll find a way to twist everything.”

Celeste tilted his chin toward her. “Let them try. We’re not the ones hiding skeletons.”

The courthouse steps were lined with media vans and camera crews. The subpoena alone had leaked, but Damien’s appearance in person had drawn a crowd. His legal team flanked him like an armored wall, but it was Celeste who held his hand, grounding him.

She wore a tailored black dress and a soft trench coat, her hair pulled back with purpose. She looked like the actress the world remembered, poised and magnetic, but there was something sharper now. She wasn’t here for the optics. She was here for him.

As reporters surged forward, Celeste stopped briefly. “We trust in the truth. We trust in each other. That’s all you need to know.”

There was no spin. No script. Just honesty, sharp and clear.

Inside the courtroom, the environment was frigid with tension. Damien sat under oath, expression unreadable, his posture the definition of composed power. The prosecutor, a slick man named Harland, tried to unravel his responses with clipped precision.

“Mr. Sinclair, during the Horizon merger, did you at any time use insider information to secure holdings that would disadvantage Mercer Broadcasting?”

“No,” Damien said without hesitation. “All moves were reported and filed through legal channels.”

“Did you have any knowledge of Ms. Veronica Hale’s affiliation with Mercer-Calloway prior to the board fallout?”

Damien’s eyes flickered briefly. “She kept her alliances hidden. I found out with the rest of the board.”

“Convenient,” Harland said. “And yet you’ve worked closely with Ms. Hale before. Including while she was romantically linked to you?”

Damien’s jaw flexed. “My personal history with Ms. Hale has no bearing on the financial integrity of my company.”

But Harland smiled. “The court will decide that.”

Celeste waited outside, pacing with quiet fury. The media continued to spin speculation, but she stayed off her phone. She didn’t need distractions. She needed to be ready for Damien.

When he exited, his expression hadn’t changed, but she could see the tightness in his jaw. The rage he didn’t show the cameras. She took his hand.

“We keep moving forward,” she said.

He nodded. “Together.”

That night, Damien stood at the windows of their penthouse, the skyline glittering behind him. Celeste came up behind him, her robe falling softly around her frame.

“I couldn’t protect you from this,” he said. “I thought by pushing you away before, I was keeping you safe.”

She stepped in front of him, resting her palms on his chest. “Damien. You don’t get to do that anymore. No more protecting me by pretending I’m fragile.”

His voice cracked. “I’m scared, Celeste. Not of losing the company. Of losing you.”

“You won’t,” she whispered. “Not unless you give up first. I never wanted to leave in the first place remember."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “They want to tear us apart. Veronica wants me back. I'm not giving up on us. Not this time, not next time, not ever."

The next morning brought worse news.

Veronica Hale’s name trended within hours of a new scandal breaking, a twisted exposé from a tabloid columnist alleging Celeste’s early career was built on manipulation. A "former co-star" accused her of weaponizing her relationship with a director to sideline competitors. No name was listed. No evidence. But it didn’t matter. The smear was loud.

It hit Celeste hard. She stared at the screen, her fingers curling into fists.

Damien took the tablet from her hands. “This is Veronica. It’s timed. It’s fiction.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “It’s believable enough for people to whisper.”

He knelt in front of her. “One way or another babe, I'm going to help you bring her down to below ground."

Celeste met his gaze. Her voice steadied. “You're so different from before. I love this version of Damien Sinclair.”

But in a smoky corner of a forgotten bar in East Hollywood, Veronica Hale passed a slim envelope to a man in a rumpled suit. Once, he had been Sinclair’s top fixer, a ghost who buried scandals. Now, he had a price.

She whispered, “Find me everything Celeste ever tried to hide. Then bring it into the light.”

The man took the envelope with a sardonic smile, his nicotine-stained fingers brushing the edge like it was gold. “She’s clean, you know. Your golden girl doesn’t have the dirt you want.”

Veronica leaned in, her voice venom-soft. “Everyone has dirt. If she doesn’t, dig until you make it.”

He hesitated, glancing at the contents of the envelope, untraceable cash and a black business card etched with nothing but a phone number. “This’ll cost more than it used to.”

“I’m not asking for a favor,” she said, her smile brittle. “I’m buying a reckoning.”

He chuckled low. “Sinclair never thought I'd flip. But money? That never lies.”

Veronica straightened her blazer and slid on her sunglasses, the flash of paparazzi already building outside the door. “And neither do headlines. I don’t need her truth, just a version of it.”

As she vanished through the back exit, the fixer opened his laptop and started typing. His fingers moved like a machine trained in destruction. Celeste Laurent’s name lit up across old studio logs, casting calls, archived interviews. He wasn't just looking for truth. He was building a narrative, something poisonous that looked too real to ignore.

Back at the Sinclair penthouse, Celeste tried to sleep but the adrenaline wouldn’t let her. She lay awake next to Damien, her mind chasing shadows. Her past wasn’t spotless, no one's was, but she’d spent years keeping it clean. Now someone wanted to rewrite it in blood.

“Come here,” Damien murmured, his arm wrapping around her. “You’re not alone in this.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I feel like I’m waiting for a trap to snap shut.”

“I promise you this much, we will get through this together."

The next morning, Damien called a strategy meeting, not just with lawyers and PR teams, but with their inner circle: Aria, Matteo, Sonya and Myles, who was trying to earn his way back.

Celeste stood at the center, no longer just the actress but a general beside her partner.

Damien clicked on the screen behind him. “Veronica’s pattern is clear. She uses manufactured chaos, character assassination, and legal distraction. But she’s sloppy with timing.”

Aria nodded. “She moves emotionally. That makes her vulnerable.”

Celeste took a breath. “She’s trying to unearth a version of me that never existed. We let the story simmer, then we counter it with one of our own, documented, clean, and undeniable.”

“Receipts?” Matteo asked.

“Everything,” Damien said. “Behind-the-scenes footage, charity work, contracts, directors willing to speak. We’ll build a media narrative stronger than her lies.”

Sonya leaned forward. “You’re going to wage a PR war.”

“No,” Celeste said. “We’re going to end one.”

Outside the high-rise, a different war brewed.

Veronica sat in the back of a stretch car, sipping from a chilled glass of champagne as her phone lit up. The fixer had sent a file. The headline glared in bold red across the screen:

Celeste Laurent: Star, Survivor or Star Maker’s Secret Mistress?

The file was heavy with speculation, thin on facts, but that didn’t matter. Veronica knew how to sell a story.

She smiled coldly and forwarded it to a notorious online gossip blog with a single line:

Truth always finds a spotlight.

Within the hour, it would trend. Within the week, it would bleed.

But what she didn’t count on, was that Damien and Celeste had already started filming their truth. A documentary crew, once hired to tell a love story, had been quietly reassembled for something bigger:

A public exposé on industry manipulation, and the monsters hiding behind powerful names. And Veronica Hale was about to become the face of it.