All Chapters of Breaking The Spotlight: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The world loved a fall from grace.As much as the public had adored Richard Calloway once, they devoured his downfall with ravenous delight. Every sordid detail, every dark secret, every shredded lie was picked apart on live TV, trending hashtags, and screaming headlines.Celeste watched it all unfold from the privacy of the Sinclair estate — a fortress now swarming with private security, lawyers, and public relations teams.It should have felt like victory, but it didn't, not yet anyway, because wolves didn’t just die quietly.They bled — and bit back.And in the shadows, something far worse than Richard Calloway stirred.The conference room was alive with tension.Nolan stood by the monitors, flicking through surveillance footage, financial data, and newsfeeds, while Sienna sat at the long table, tablet in hand, tapping notes furiously.Damien leaned over the back of Celeste’s chair, one hand braced beside her, the other resting lightly on her shoulder — a quiet, constant tether."C

The lights above the ballroom glittered like a thousand distant stars, but none of it mattered to Celeste.Not the champagne flute cooling in her hand.Not the stunning silver silk gown clinging to every curve. Not the crowd of billionaires, celebrities, and politicians schmoozing around her, smiling their crocodile smiles.Because somewhere out there in the shadows, Veronica Hale was waiting. A ghost from a past Celeste thought she had buried long ago.It was like acid in her chest, burning slow, eating away at the armor she’d built brick by brick over the years..She searched the room instinctively — and there he was, cutting through the crowd like he owned the air itself, moving with that lethal, coiled grace that made people either want to worship him or get the hell out of his way.When his eyes locked on hers, the world simply fell away, without a second's hesitation, he crossed the room.Celeste didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he was right in front of her, unti

The quiet in Damien’s penthouse the next morning was almost deceptive.Celeste stood at the island counter, nursing a cup of coffee she’d barely touched. Damien’s shirt hung loosely off her shoulders, her bare legs cold against the polished floor, but she didn’t move.She’d slept, a little. In pieces. Twined around Damien like she was trying to hold onto something before it disappeared again.But now, the air buzzed. Like the silence before a bomb drops.Damien came out of the bedroom, already dressed in slacks and a dark shirt, no tie. Sleeves rolled. Barefoot, hair still wet from the shower. He looked calm. Collected.But his eyes, those storm-colored eyes were sharp and focused.He crossed to her without a word and leaned down to kiss her temple. “I made a few calls. We’ll have eyes on Veronica within the hour.”Celeste nodded, grateful, but then, Damien’s phone buzzed. Once. Twice.He frowned, stepped back to check the screen and stilled.“What is it?” Celeste asked, already cold

The morning sunlight spilled like gold across the marble floors of Damien's penthouse, but there was nothing warm about the tension pulsing through the air.Celeste sat curled on the edge of Damien's massive bed, his silk shirt draped over her shoulders, her phone buzzing relentlessly on the nightstand. She hadn't touched it.The intimacy of the last twenty-four hours still lingered in the air, raw confessions, passionate promises, and a private moment that felt like the start of something real again, something more solid and unbreakable.Celeste should've felt invincible , but instead, dread slithered up her spine like smoke.Damien stood near the windows, bare-chested and brooding, talking in clipped tones into his phone."No statements. Not until we confirm the source." Pause. "I don't care if it's going viral, get it pulled, now. If they don't comply, you remind them who the hell they're dealing with."His voice dropped to a low snarl before he hung up and turned to her, eyes stor

The air inside Damien’s private conference suite buzzed with a kind of electric focus that hadn’t been there since Cannes. Now, everything was razor-sharp. There were no distractions, no misplaced trust, just war.Celeste sat at the head of the table, not beside Damien, but in the actual head chair. A deliberate power move, one that said: I’m not just the actress in the story anymore. I’m writing it now.Nolan leaned against the far wall, eyes scanning the newly fortified agenda projected behind her. Katya had been cut, Lena ghosted amd Drew exposed. They weren’t rebuilding, they were replacing.Two new hires were seated across from her. One, a former intelligence analyst turned private security advisor. The other, a sharp-tongued digital strategist who had already tripled the engagement on Celeste’s new foundation campaign in less than fourty-eight hours.Celeste folded her hands in front of her. She’d traded her usual soft glam for a power blaze