LOGINIt 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.Paris woke up to blood in the water. The headline dropped at exactly 06:12 a.m., timed for maximum damage.FASHION MOGUL VALERIE SINCLAIR REUNITES WITH EX?INSIDE THE DANGEROUS HISTORY BEHIND ECLIPSE’S POWER CO-LEADSBy the time Valerie’s phone started vibrating nonstop, the article had already been mirrored, dissected, and monetized across every fashion blog, gossip column, and finance platform that mattered.She read it once. Then again. By the third time, her grip on the phone was white-knuckled.It wasn’t explicit. That was the genius of it. No confirmations. No denials. Just suggestion. Carefully curated photos from seven years ago. Cropped images of proximity. A timeline reconstructed with surgical malice. Enough truth to feel real. Enough omission to let the world fill in the gaps.She exhaled slowly through her nose, the way she did before killing a deal. “This wasn’t a leak,” she said aloud to the empty penthouse. “This was a strike.”Her assistant Mia was already calling. V
The Eclipse Project Council chamber was designed to intimidate.Glass walls curved like a crown around the top floor of the Parisian tower, framing the city as if it existed solely to bear witness to the decisions made inside. The table was obsidian-black, polished to a mirror finish, long enough to seat kings, queens, and the people who controlled them. Power lived here. Deals that reshaped industries were born and buried in this room.Valerie Sinclair entered without pause.The doors hadn’t even finished closing behind her before the room subtly shifted, heads turning, breaths catching, attention recalibrating. She wore ivory silk and quiet menace, hair pulled back with surgical precision, heels striking marble with confidence sharpened by years of conquest. This wasn’t her first council, but it was her first Eclipse council, and everyone knew it.She didn’t acknowledge the stares. She never did. Valerie Sinclair didn’t arrive to be admired, she arrived to dominate.Sebastian was al
Sebastian Hart moved through the vaulted glass lobby of Hartstone Agency like a predator on a mission. The polished floors reflected his sharp Oxfords, the angular cut of his suit, the meticulous control he exuded. Cameras tracking arrivals, assistants hovering, phones buzzing, butcnone of it distracted him. He had always been the storm behind the glass. Unseen, unshakable, untouchable.His office awaited, perched on the forty-second floor, panoramic view of L A stretching into a gold-tinged horizon, but the city below, glittering, chaotic, hungry, was nothing compared to the storm that brewed behind his eyes. He had returned from a business trip hours ago, and the echoes of Eclipse, of Valerie, of the conversation that had left both of them unshaken yet electrified, still hovered in the air around him.He let the elevator doors close with a soft chime and exhaled, a controlled release that betrayed nothing. Everything in his world had a place, a purpose, a schedule. Everything except
Valerie’s Ferrari Roma cut through the morning traffic like a blade, scarlet paint gleaming under the rising sun as it pulled into the private underground entrance of Sinclair Empire headquarters. The security gates slid open before the engine had even settled, sensors recognizing her arrival, the building itself responding like a loyal subject welcoming its queen home.Valerie stepped out without waiting for the valet. Black heels struck concrete with lethal precision. Her posture was immaculate, chin high, shoulders squared, every inch of her radiating controlled fury.Word had already spread.The moment she entered the private elevator, messages began lighting up internal channels. Assistants straightened. Executives silenced conversations mid-sentence. Designers froze where they stood, sketchpads forgotten, because Valerie Sinclair angry was rarerity, and her being focused was terrifying.By the time the elevator doors opened onto the executive floor, her rage had sharpened into s
Sebastian Hart’s gaze didn’t waver, not once. It was the same calm, piercing look that had once undone her completely, the same eyes that could see through every carefully constructed wall she had built over seven long years.“Someone is framing me,” Valerie whispered, her voice tight, brittle, yet sharp enough to cut glass.Hart’s jaw tightened. “Framing you?” His voice dropped, serious, low, dangerous. “Valerie, if anyone thinks they can touch you, they’re about to find out what that really means.”She stared at him, every nerve on fire. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just someone leaking rumors. This is a full-scale attack. On my empire. On me. On you, by proxy.”His lips twitched in that infuriating, half-smile. “On me?”“Yes, on you, too.” Her voice hit a growl. “Because this partnership? They expect us to crumble in the public eye, and if they succeed, it’ll be catastrophic.”Hart’s eyes darkened, the kind of storm that had made her knees go weak years ago. “Then we make them reg
Los Angeles woke up hungry.Hungry for gossip, for power shifts, and for the storm that exploded inside the Global Fashion Council the second Valerie Sinclair stepped into the private lounge and found Sebastian Hart waiting like fate had personally arranged the ambush.But by the next morning, the city would be hungrier still, because the news hadn’t leaked yet.Only a handful of the world’s most influential executives knew what seeped through Valerie’s veins as she stood in the mirrored elevator soaring toward the council’s upper floor:They had signed her. Without her knowledge. To him. The Eclipse Initiative, was set to be the biggest fashion × film collaboration in global history, and she was trapped in it, with Sebastian.Her assistant Mia stood beside her, clutching her tablet like a lifeline. “Valerie, you look like you’re about to...”“Burn the building down?” Valerie finished, voice ice-cold.“Yes. Also that.”The elevator chimed. Valerie stepped out, every inch of her postu







