Celeste stepped out of the hotel’s side entrance into the bite of the late afternoon breeze, tugging her coat tighter around her shoulders. The lunch with Arden had ended exactly as she’d expected: a polite chess match with a faint metallic taste of venom underneath every carefully chosen word.She could still feel the weight of Arden’s smile across the small bistro table, too sweet amd too sharp. The girl was talented, no question about that, but the charm was an armor, and Celeste had seen enough armor in her time to recognize the real fight beneath.By the time Celeste’s car pulled up to the curb, her phone was already vibrating. Jade’s name flashed on the screen.“She didn’t waste time,” Jade said the moment Celeste answered.“What did she do?” Celeste asked, sliding into the backseat, nodding to her driver.“Check her stories.”Celeste swiped through notifications until Arden’s face filled her screen. The younger actress had posted a sleek black-and-white selfie from the restaura
They woke to the fallout before they even had coffee. Nothing they hadn't expected to happen. After all that's all journalists do. They hunger for gossip. Celeste’s phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand, vibration after vibration, until Damien cursed under his breath and rolled over, silencing it with a palm, but he could already see the glow of notifications lighting up the dark room.They lay there for a moment, tangled in sheets, the early dawn pressing pale light through the curtains. Celeste’s hair was still pinned messily from last night’s gala. The event where Arden Rowe had arrived draped in her old comeback gown, smiling that sharp, unearned smile for every camera willing to capture the bait.Celeste watched Damien read, his jaw working. She didn’t need to see the screen to know: photos side by side, headlines drooling for drama. Celeste vs. Arden: Passing the Crown?She pushed herself up on one elbow, voice still raspy with sleep. “Tell me.”Damien didn’t soften it.
The invitation came stamped in heavy gold foil, the kind of gala that dripped old money and new gossip, a charity masquerade where the real currency wasn’t the donations but the headlines made at the door.Celeste hadn’t wanted to go, but Damien had insisted."Visibility matters babe," he said, smoothing a stray lock of her hair as she leaned against his chest that morning. "Let them see your face while they whisper about Arden behind your back."So she plucked up her old 'ductch courage' as they say and went. She let Quinn fuss with her hair, let Marisol approve the vintage gown, deep emerald silk, nothing borrowed, nothing repeated. Celeste had learned that trick years ago: never wear the same thing twice in the same circle. Too easy a target.They arrived late on purpose, not too late to insult the host, but late enough to make the cameras starve for her. Damien stepped out first, immaculately tailored in charcoal and black. He held out his hand firm and determined. Celeste took it
The following morning at the beach house, daybreak broke with pale sun and the hush of the Pacific pressing against the glass walls. Celeste stood barefoot in the kitchen, mug in hand, staring out at the waves as if they might carry an answer in. She should have felt peace. She’d fought for it, bled for it, but something inside her still bristled against the silence.Damien came in behind her, fresh from the outdoor shower, damp hair curling at his temples. He kissed her shoulder, and reached around to snag her coffee. She let him steal it without protest.“You’re awake early,” he murmured.Celeste tilted her head back against his chest. “Couldn’t sleep.”“Thinking about Arden?”A flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at the name’s power to poison the air even here. “No. Not today. Today I’m trying to just… be here.”Damien studied her for a beat, then handed back her mug. “Then be here. Arden will still be trying to wear your skin tomorrow.”She huffed a laugh into the ceramic rim. “
They moved into the beach house on a Tuesday morning when the fog hadn’t yet burned off the Pacific. The movers came at dawn, all soft footsteps and cardboard boxes stacked like towers in the glass-walled living room. By ten, it was just them: Celeste barefoot on the polished concrete floors, Damien in rolled-up sleeves, sleeves dusted with salt air and sunlight.The house perched above the surf, built into the cliff the way Celeste sometimes imagined she’d been built into Damien, raw edges, solid foundations, waves pounding at the walls but never pulling it loose. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Pale wood and steel beams that felt both modern and timeless. A promise of permanence in an industry where everything else slipped like sand through fingers.It was Damien’s vision, his gift to her, though he’d never called it that. He’d bought the lot while she was halfway across the world shooting Afterlight, long before the Veronica scandal detonated her life, long before they’d found their way
The house smelled like ocean salt and leftover coffee when Celeste woke. The sun was still low enough to cast the bedroom in a watery blue light. She lay there for a moment, eyes on the endless stretch of water through the glass. The night before came back in flickers, Damien’s steady voice in the dark, the cold knot in her stomach when she’d read Arden’s name next to Jasper Kent’s.She rolled over. Damien’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets already cool. A soft clink of porcelain told her he was up, somewhere in the house.Celeste pulled on one of Damien’s old sweatshirts and padded barefoot down the hall. She found him on the deck overlooking the cliffs, coffee mug in hand, laptop balanced on the low table beside him. His phone buzzed every few seconds with muted notifications.She pressed a kiss to his shoulder before sinking onto the chair across from him. “You’re working.”He didn’t look up. “Watching.”She folded her legs under her, tugged the sleeves over her hands. “Watchi