It was midnight. Celeste lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. The text message and the way Damien had reacted were keeping her awake. Plus, despite everything, Celeste really wanted to trust him.
She had spent her entire life controlling her own narrative. Every move calculated, every emotion hidden behind the perfect smile. And yet, somehow, Damien Sinclair was peeling back those layers without even trying, and that infuriated her even more. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, fighting sleep, but a noise outside her room snapped her fully awake. A soft click. The click of a door closing.Her heart pounded. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed heĺ silk robe from the chair and carefully, she padded barefoot down the hallway, her breath shallow. The living room was dimly lit, and at first, she thought she was alone. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Damien standing near the floor-to-ceiling window, with a drink in his hand, his silhouette outlined against the city lights. She exhaled, letting some of the tension slip from her shoulders. As she stepped forward, his voice cut through the silence. “You should be asleep.” Celeste frowned. “So should you.” Damien turned slowly, his grey eyes unreadable in the dim light. He was still dressed from earlier, wearing his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the image of effortless power. “I don’t sleep much,” he admitted. She crossed her arms. “Guilt keeping you up?” His lips curved. “I don’t do guilt, Celeste.” She didn’t doubt that, but somwthing didnt feel right, something in his behaviour was off. “You didn’t tell me Julian was watching me.” Damien’s jaw tightened, and for a second, she thought he wouldn’t answer. “He’s been circling for a while. He’s waiting for the moment you slip.” Celeste shivered. “Why?” Damien swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching it like it held all the answers. “Because people like Julian don’t create stories,” he said quietly. “They destroy them. And you…” His gaze lifted, locking onto hers. “You’re a headline worth ruining.” She swallowed hard, trying to absorb just this little information. Julian had always thrived on scandal, on twisting reality into something ugly. And now, with her engagement to Damien, she was in his crosshairs. She took a slow breath, steadying herself. "I can handle him,” she said. Damien’s smirk was humorless. “That’s the problem.” She frowned. “What does that mean?” “It means,” he said, stepping closer, “that Julian doesn’t play by the same rules you do. He’s not after an exposé he wants destruction, and if you’re not careful, he’ll burn you to the ground.” Her stomach twisted, but she refused to let the fear show. "Then I’ll just have to be smarter than him.” Damien studied her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable, then he let out a low, dark laughter. “What?” she snapped. He shook his head, amusement flickering through his eyes. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Celeste bristled. “Enlighten me.” Damien exhaled, stepping even closer, his scent, dark spice and something uniquely him, wrapping around her. “The only way to beat Julian,” he murmured, “is to stop playing fair.” A shiver ran down her spine at the way he said it, it wasn't a suggestion but a clear warning. By the time Celeste arrived at the media event the following morning for Vogue, she had pushed the conversation with Damien to the back of her mind. Or at least, she had tried to. The press conference was being held in a luxury ballroom, filled with journalists, cameras, and some of the biggest names in the industry. Celeste moved through the crowd with effortless grace, her black silk dress hugging her frame as she took her seat at the long panel table. Beside her, Damien sat, his presence commanding without a word. To the world, they were the picture of a power couple. They looked untouchable, even unshakable. Until - "Celeste,” a voice called from the audience. “One question.” The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She knew that voice. It belonged to no one other than Julian Mercer. Standing at the back of the room with a microphone in hand, his smirk sharp enough to cut. Damien’s entire body went still beside her, and the room quieted. Julian tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Your engagement to Mr. Sinclair happened rather suddenly. Some people are wondering...” His smirk deepened. “Is this love, or just another PR stunt?” Celeste forced her expression to remain neutral, even as her pulse pounded. She could feel Damien beside her, tense and dangerous. She could let him handle this, but she wasn’t about to let Julian Mercer win, so she smiled, a slow, deliberate, and lethal smile. “I understand why people might be sceptical,” she said smoothly. “After all, love in the spotlight is often a fragile thing.” Julian’s smirk widened as if he thought she was walking into his trap. But Celeste wasn’t finished. She turned, looking at Damien, letting the cameras capture every second of it. Then, in front of the entire room, she leaned in and kissed him. The moment their lips met, the room exploded. Flashbulbs. Shouting. A frenzy of movement. But all Celeste could focus on was him. Damien’s hand slid to the back of her neck, his grip firm, his mouth pressing against hers with slow, deliberate intensity. The kiss was supposed to be for show. It was supposed to be controlled. But the moment his lips moved against hers, the second he deepened the kiss just enough, she forgot where they were. She forgot about the cameras, and everything else around them. When they finally pulled apart, Damien’s gaze burned into hers, something dark and unforgiving flickering behind his stormy grey eyes. Celeste barely had time to process it before he turned his attention back to Julian and, with a smirk, said, “Does that answer your question?” The room erupted in chaos, and Julian’s jaw clenched, the first flicker of frustration crossing his face. Celeste felt a rush of triumph, but as she turned back to Damien, still breathless, still feeling the phantom heat of his lips against hers, she realized that the rules had just changed and she wasn’t sure she was ready for what came next.The sun hadn’t even broken the horizon when Luna’s phone started buzzing. At first, she ignored it. The night had left her drained, body aching, throat raw, the memory of Adrian’s touch lingering in every nerve. She wanted nothing more than to curl deeper into the sheets, into the warmth of his body sprawled beside her, and pretend the world didn’t exist, but the buzzing didn’t stop. It grew louder, longer, until finally she reached for the phone on the nightstand, squinting at the flood of notifications. Mentions. Shares. Headlines. Trending hashtags stacked one after the other.Her chest tightened. The title of the thread at the top nearly made her drop the device.LUNA REYES STRIPS BARE IN NEW SONG — FANS IN TEARSShe sat bolt upright, heart hammering. Her thumb trembled as she clicked one of the links, and the studio demo, the one she had recorded hours ago, the one raw and unfinished, the one she had poured her soul into, poured through the tiny speaker.The unpolished, raw, unpr
The studio lights were low, the kind of warm glow that seemed to melt into the walls, soft enough to blur the sharp edges of memory. Midnight wrapped itself around the city outside, but inside, the air was thick with silence, the kind that presses against your chest before something monumental happens.Luna stood in the vocal booth barefoot, headphones cupping her ears, eyes closed. Her hands trembled at her sides, but her voice, when it came, was steady, not polished, not rehearsed, but naturally raw.This wasn’t the pop princess the world remembered. This wasn’t the carefully packaged Luna Reyes who smiled on red carpets and sang songs written by executives who thought they knew what people wanted, this was her marrow, her pain and her defiance.Adrian sat in the control room, alone except for the engineer who had been sworn to silence and signed half a dozen NDAs before stepping foot inside. His gaze didn’t leave her. Every flicker of her mouth, every shift in her shoulders, every
The penthouse was still heavy with the echoes of what they’d shared hours ago. The sheets smelled like sex and sweat and of a promise carved into skin, but mornings never allowed luxury for long. By the time sunlight fractured across the glass walls, the war outside had already sharpened its teeth.Adrian was awake before her, as always. Luna stirred to the low cadence of his voice, sharp and clipped, carrying the weight of empires. He stood at the end of the bed in nothing but dark slacks, his body taut, the phone glued to his ear as if the world would crumble if he let go.“Kill the piece before it circulates again. No, I don’t care if Vega’s lawyers threatened a lawsuit, file three in return. Find out who fed him those contracts, and if anyone else so much as whispers his narrative, blacklist them. Permanently.”He ended the call with a snap, his jaw a cut of granite, eyes burning like the city skyline behind him.“Morning,” Luna croaked, her voice raw.His head turned. In an insta
The rehearsal room, in their home, was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the faint echo of instruments warming up. Luna stood at the center of the stage, microphone in hand, but her voice wouldn’t come. Her throat felt clogged with something heavier than nerves, something darker. She opened her mouth, inhaled, and nothing, not a note, not a breath, just a hollow ache that had been building all day and hadn’t let her go.She sank onto the edge of the stage, legs dangling, shoulders trembling. The lights above her felt like a spotlight on her failure. Every headline, every smear, every whisper from Daniel’s venomous words pressed down on her chest. She had faced press attacks before, industry betrayal, public scrutiny, but this… this was something new. Her body refused to cooperate. Her voice refused to obey.Adrian arrived without warning, moving across the rehearsal space silently until he was at her side. His hand brushed her shoulder, firm and grounding.“Lun
The attack came on a Tuesday morning. Luna had barely rolled out of bed when her phone buzzed itself into a fit of hysteria. Hundreds of notifications stacked like dominos, spilling across the screen, mentions, tags, messages. She didn’t have to click to know. She could feel the storm brewing before she even opened a single post.Adrian was already standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows of their penthouse, his shirt sleeves rolled, jaw locked tight, his phone pressed to his ear. His entire body was a wall of cold, controlled fury, the kind that promised disaster for anyone stupid enough to provoke him.“Pull the article. Now. No, I don’t give a damn about your advertisers. If you run with Daniel Vega’s statement again, you’ll regret it. Don’t test me.”He ended the call without a goodbye, his phone clattering onto the marble counter as his hands raked through his hair.“Luna.” His voice softened when he turned toward her. That was how she knew it was bad, Adrian only lowered his gua
The headlines came fast, ruthless, and calculated.Daniel Vega Secures Multi-Million Partnership with Iconic ProducerEx-Lover of Luna Reyes Positions Himself as New Industry PowerhouseIs Adrian Cross Losing His Grip on Music’s Brightest Star?The words weren’t just designed to sting, they were designed to divide.Luna sat at the kitchen island, her phone glowing with a fresh article every minute. The applause of the Phoenix Performance was already fading, drowned beneath the venom of Daniel’s carefully orchestrated press blitz. Her chest tightened with every scroll, every smug photo of Daniel shaking hands with industry names that should have been her allies.It wasn’t just betrayal, it was strategy and Adrian knew it.He moved with clipped precision around the penthouse, phone in one hand, sharp orders spilling quietly into the receiver. “Pull the advertising contracts. No, don’t cancel, restructure. Make it clear they’ll bleed money if they follow Vega. Do it by end of day.” His j