HEADLINES AND HEARTSTRINGS

Chapter 2: The Untouchable Star

LENA'S POV

I've covered enough celebrity events to know one thing—red carpets are the best places to watch people pretend.

Pretend they're happy.

Pretend they like each other.

Pretend they don't care about the cameras flashing in their faces every two seconds.

By the time I arrive at the Imperial Grand Hotel, the premiere is already drawing a crowd. Fans scream behind the barricades, clutching posters and phones, hoping for a glimpse of their favorite stars.

Security guards stand shoulder to shoulder, keeping the growing crowd under control.

I adjust the press badge hanging around my neck and step into the designated media area.

"Lena!"

I turn to see Mia, one of the entertainment reporters from another magazine.

"I didn't think you'd be covering premieres anymore," she says with a teasing smile. "I thought scandals were more your thing."

"They are," I reply with a tight smile. "But sometimes the biggest scandals start on a red carpet."

She laughs.

"You haven't changed."

"Never planned to."

My camera hangs from my shoulder while my notebook rests comfortably in my hand. Most reporters are busy discussing fashion choices and predicting who will win awards this year.

I'm here for one person.

Adrian Knight.

The man everyone calls untouchable.

I glance at my watch.

Seven-thirty.

He should be here any minute.

As if on cue, a wave of excited screams erupts from the crowd.

Every camera swings toward the entrance.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce glides to a stop in front of the carpet.

The driver steps out first.

Then two bodyguards.

Finally, the rear door opens.

Adrian Knight emerges.

Even from where I'm standing, I can understand why the world is obsessed with him.

He's tall—well over six feet—with dark hair neatly styled and a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that probably costs more than my yearly rent. His movements are calm and effortless, as though he belongs under the spotlight.

The cameras go wild.

"Adrian!"

"This way!"

"Look over here!"

He smiles politely, turning just enough for every photographer to get the perfect shot.

It's practiced.

Too practiced.

I scribble a note in my notebook.

Knows exactly how to control public perception.

He begins walking down the carpet, stopping every few steps to greet fans, sign posters, and pose for photographs.

No rushed movements.

No irritation.

No arrogance.

Just... perfect.

I hate perfect.

Perfect is annoying.

Because perfect usually means rehearsed.

As he nears the media line, reporters begin firing questions.

"Adrian! What's next after this movie?"

"Are the dating rumors true?"

"Any wedding plans?"

He answers with the same charming smile.

"I'm just grateful everyone came tonight."

"My focus is the film."

"I think my mother would love to hear those wedding rumors."

Laughter ripples through the crowd.

He's good.

Too good.

Then it's my turn.

I raise my voice above the others.

"Mr. Knight."

His eyes find mine almost instantly.

For a second, the noise around us seems to fade.

His gaze is calm, steady... observant.

Almost as if he's trying to figure me out before I've even spoken.

"You've built a reputation as one of the cleanest celebrities in the industry," I begin. "How do you respond to people who believe that's impossible?"

Several reporters turn toward me.

The atmosphere changes.

The smile on Adrian's face doesn't disappear, but something in his eyes sharpens.

"I'd say people are free to believe whatever they want," he replies evenly.

"So you've never made mistakes?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying?"

His lips curve into the faintest smile.

"I'm saying that mistakes and scandals aren't always the same thing."

Interesting.

He's careful with his words.

Very careful.

Before I can ask another question, his publicist steps forward.

"Last question, everyone."

I don't waste the opportunity.

"Mr. Knight, if someone were investigating your life right now, would they find anything worth writing about?"

The crowd falls silent.

Even the photographers pause.

Adrian looks directly at me.

Not annoyed.

Not angry.

Curious.

"I suppose that depends," he says.

"On what?"

"On whether they're looking for the truth..."

He pauses just long enough to hold my attention.

"...or simply looking for a headline."

For the first time in years, I don't have an immediate comeback.

That's not good.

His publicist thanks the press and ushers him toward the theater.

As he walks away, he glances back over his shoulder.

Just once.

Our eyes meet again.

Then he's gone.

"Well," Mia whispers beside me, "you certainly know how to make an entrance."

I barely hear her.

Because something feels... off.

I came expecting an arrogant billionaire who would dodge questions or lose his temper.

Instead, I met a man who answered every question without revealing anything.

A man who looked at me as if he already knew I was searching for cracks in his perfect image.

I open my notebook and write one sentence beneath my earlier notes.

Adrian Knight is either the best liar I've ever met... or the first innocent celebrity I've ever investigated.

And somehow, I have a feeling finding out which one is true is going to change my life.