LOGINParis trapped them inside luxury.The suite was expansive—floor-to-ceiling windows, soft lighting, neutral tones meant to soothe. Instead, it felt like a carefully designed cage. One bedroom. One living area. Too much shared air.Celeste paused just inside the door, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.“One room,” she said.Arrow exhaled slowly. “PR insisted.”“Of course they did.”They stood there, neither moving, like strangers negotiating territory after a storm.“We need rules,” Celeste said finally.Arrow nodded. “Agreed.”She crossed to the window, using distance as armor. “No touching.”“No lingering,” he added.“No conversations after midnight.”A pause. “No rehearsing alone.”He looked at her then. Really looked.“That last one is important,” he said.She swallowed. “Too important.”They sealed the rules without shaking hands.PR called within minutes.“Post-dinner photoshoot,” the assistant chirped. “Balcony shots. Intimate framing.”Celeste closed her eyes.Arrow
By morning, they were no longer just a couple.They were a narrative.Celeste learned that word the hard way—through trending hashtags and slowed-down videos, through strangers assigning meaning to moments she barely remembered. The internet had decided their story was no longer theirs.She lay on the edge of the hotel bed in Milan, phone glowing against the dim light, scrolling despite herself.#ArrowCeleste#ContractLove#ClauseFiveWho#EnemiesToLoversSomeone had clipped the moment Arrow looked at her during the fashion show. Another slowed the second he defended her at dinner. Entire threads dissected his body language, her expressions, the space—or lack of it—between them.He looks like he’s holding back.She’s already gone.This is what forbidden love looks like.Celeste shut the phone off and pressed it face-down against the mattress.“They think they know us,” she murmured.Across the room, Arrow stood by the window, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. He’d been awake longer
Milan didn’t sleep when power couples arrived. It watched.From the moment Celeste stepped out of the car, the city seemed to lean forward – fashion editors perched behind sunglasses, paparazzi crouched low like predators, investors disguised as philanthropists. Every eye measured her worth, her posture, her proximity to the man beside her.Arrow De La Vega.His presence anchored the chaos. One hand rested at the small of her back – not intimate, not distant. Strategic. Protective enough to read as affection.Celeste hated how steady it made her feel.“Relax your shoulders,” Arrow murmured without looking at her. “You’re tense.”She inhaled slowly. “Easy for you to say.”His lips twitched, barely. “I was born tense.”Cameras exploded as they walked.“Mrs. De La Vega! Smile!”“Arrow! Look at her—yes, like that!”“Together! Together!”They stopped on the marble steps, perfectly framed. Arrow angled his body just enough to shield her from the worst of the flashes. Celeste lifted her chin
By sunrise, Clause Five was no longer private.It had escaped the confines of contracts and boardrooms and crawled into the bloodstream of the world. News tickers looped it relentlessly. Legal analysts debated its validity. Relationship experts condemned it as emotional extortion disguised as strategy. Meme pages reduced it to cruel humor.But none of them understood what it meant to wake up inside it.Celeste sat on the edge of the bed, phone heavy in her hands, scrolling until the words stopped making sense. Each headline felt like a fresh incision, precise and deliberate.LOVE-FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE EXPOSEDPOWER COUPLE CONTRACT PUNISHES FEELINGSROMANCE OR RUIN? THE CLAUSE THAT CONTROLS HEARTSHer reflection in the darkened window looked unfamiliar – eyes hollow, shoulders tense, spine too straight for someone who hadn’t slept.Across the penthouse, Arrow paced.He moved like a caged animal – measured but restless, each step sharp with restrained fury. His phone vibrated endlessly on
Celeste didn’t sleep. Not a second.She lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, hearing Arrow’s words on repeat.“Then we’re done here.”He didn’t slam doors. He didn’t shout. He simply left.And somehow, that hurt more.When she finally rose from bed, the penthouse was silent. Arrow was gone. His suit jacket missing from the chair. His watch gone from the nightstand. His presence nowhere to be felt.He had fled the way people do when they’re afraid of what they’re becoming.She brewed coffee with trembling hands, but she didn’t drink it. She stared at the cup until it went cold.Her phone lit up.Father:Come to Montaire immediately. We need to fix this before the merger collapses.She didn’t answer.He called.She didn’t pick up.He called again.On the third call, she answered – only to say, “Not today,” and hang up.Her father didn’t control her anymore. Not today.By noon, her chest felt tight. Too tight. She paced the living room. The office. The balcony. Counting seconds
Celeste stared at the photo for so long she forgot how to blink.Her own face. Her own coat. Her own morning grief, frozen in a grainy snapshot.Someone had followed her. Someone wanted her to know.The phone buzzed again.Pretty wife. Shame if the world saw this from the wrong angle.Celeste slammed her phone onto the bed, chest tightening.She wasn’t afraid of the media. She wasn’t afraid of the threats. She wasn’t even afraid of losing her company. She was afraid that this was bigger than her.Bigger than Arrow.And she didn’t know how to fight it.She found Arrow in the kitchen the next morning. He sat at the table with coffee untouched, staring at something on his tablet – graphs, numbers, projections. The markers of a company under strain.He didn’t look up when she entered.Distance. The thing she had asked for. The thing that suffocated her now.“We have another problem,” she said softly.He lifted his eyes slowly – tired, guarded. “What happened?”She handed him her phone.







