Pretend To Be Mine

**“BREAKING: Celeste Monroe, aka Cellie, caught in explosive hotel room scandal.”** **“Popstar or Pornstar?”** **“America’s Sweetheart Turns XXX.”** #CelesteMonroeSexTape #PopStarTurnedPornStar #CelesteExposed She blinked at the headlines, her trembling fingers clutching her stomach as she watched her entire career crumble in real time. The video was everywhere. Her voice. Her body. Her moans. The grainy footage showed just enough to leave nothing to the imagination. It didn’t matter that the man’s face was blurred. It didn’t matter that it had been filmed without her consent. The internet had already decided. She was a slut. A sellout. A starlet “accidentally” going viral. “Shit...” she whispered. Celeste's vision blurred with tears as she stared at the screen. “This can’t be real… This can’t be happening, Ava! How could I be this foolish, this careless?” Her knees buckled, and she crumpled onto the couch, fingers trembling against her dry lips. Ava didn’t respond. She muted the blaring television and tossed the remote aside like it disgusted her. “Cellie, crying won’t fix this. We’re already trending in ten countries. The damage is done—we need a strategy. Now.” Her manager’s voice was firm, controlled, even as she scrolled through her iPad, her face taut with tension. Celeste wrapped her arms around herself as if she could physically hold her world together. “My career is over. What could possibly fix this? Any second now, my followers will start dropping like flies…” A sharp whistle from Ava cut her off. “Spoke too soon.” She spun the iPad around and showed Celeste her i********: feed. “No!” Celeste gasped. “Two thousand gone in six hours?” She grabbed the device, her fingers ice-cold, lips quivering as she stared at the plummeting numbers. “Breathe, Cellie. We’ll figure something out,” Ava said, rubbing her forehead, eyes scanning every inch of the screen for a lifeline—until Celeste’s sudden scream pierced the air. “No! No! Ava—” “What?” Ava lunged for the iPad. “f**k!” Celeste cursed, slamming her palm onto the center table. “Yes, f**k! I just lost it… the Sephora deal. Ava, we bled for that contract!” Celeste choked on her words. Her usually luminous eyes were bloodshot, her entire face worn down by six straight hours of emotional hell. “I’ll reach out to them—” Ava started. “Don’t bother. They won’t respond. I wouldn’t, if I were them.” “I’ll try—” Ava was cut off by a notification lighting up her screen. *GUCCI PR TEAM.* Her stomach flipped. Before she could open it, the door burst open. “Cellie, you have to see this! It was posted minutes ago,” Helen, her assistant, rushed in, waving her phone. Ava immediately blocked her path. “We’ve had enough disasters for one night. Give her space.” Helen refused to budge. “No. She needs to see this. It’s about Vanhart… Vanessa. She just uploaded a video.” Celeste lifted her head, startled. “Vanessa?” Ava snatched the phone. “Let’s see what that b***h is yapping about now.” The video began. “**Hola, mis hermosos fans!**” “She says ‘Hello, my lovely fans,’” Ava translated flatly, rolling her eyes. Vanessa continued, “…so y’all been watching your favorite p**n queen—oh, my bad!” She laughed, sharp and vicious. “Your pop queen, trending for screwing her way through life. Y’all thought that Cybertruck came from music? Please. Now you know what she does behind closed doors.” Ava hissed and slammed the phone down. “I can smell the cheap wine and desperation through the screen.” She turned, livid. “And I blame you!” she snapped at Helen. “That leech is stealing the spotlight while we’re scrambling!” “I’m not feeding off any man!” Celeste shouted, voice raw, cheeks flushed. “We know that. We’ve watched you hustle—every damn night, every studio session,” Ava said, her tone softening for the first time. She pointed at the phone. “Get that out of her sight.” Helen tucked it away, shamefaced. “I need time alone.” Celeste turned toward the stairs, stumbling slightly. “Cellie, wait!” Ava reached for her, but Celeste pulled away. “Where’s she going?” Helen asked quietly. “To a pool party,” Ava deadpanned. “Where do you think? Her room.” “There are like six rooms upstairs—” “Oh, shut it. My head’s pounding,” Ava muttered, collapsing into a chair. Helen joined her, pulled out her phone, and began scrolling through images, her eyes scanning with purpose. “Ava, I have an idea.” “On what?” Ava muttered, eyes closed. “On this whole situation,” Helen said. Ava cracked one eye open, skeptical. “It better be worth the headache.” “It is. Trust me.” Helen stood and held up her phone, flashing a few images. Ava squinted. “What’s this?” “I’ll explain everything. But we need to talk to Cellie first.” “Don’t test my patience,” Ava warned. “I swear I’ve got something big. This could save her.” Helen’s voice brimmed with urgency. “…Fine. Let’s go.” --- Celeste stepped out of the bathroom, her face pale, cheeks blotchy from crying. A crumpled tissue clung to her fingers. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of everything. She barely had the strength to cross the room before dropping onto the bed’s edge, staring blankly at the wall. Soft knocks had been tapping on her door for a while now, but she hadn’t responded—until the creak of the door finally broke the silence. “I said I wanted space…” Her voice cracked like dry leaves. Helen stepped in, followed closely by Ava. “She has something you need to hear,” Ava said. “Something?” Celeste’s eyes burned with renewed frustration. “Something that will magically fix my career? Bring back my followers? Reopen my contracts? Wash away the shame I’ve been dragged through?” Helen nodded solemnly and pulled out her iPhone. “Oh?” Celeste blinked, bitter amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Let’s hear it,” Ava said, her fingers drumming on her thigh with urgency. Helen took a breath. “We say you’re dating someone.” Celeste blinked. “Excuse me?” “A man the world *loves.* Someone with a reputation too bulletproof to question. The kind of guy whose name makes headlines go quiet.” Celeste choked. “Are you out of your mind?” “I knew it!” Ava groaned. “You said it was going to be good.” Helen swiped to a Forbes list and handed the phone to Celeste. “Right at the top—Adrian Blackwood.” Celeste scoffed. “Who the hell is that?” “A billionaire CEO. Hotel tycoon. Philanthropist. The press worships him. Literally.” “And how is *another* man going to save me? A man *ruined* me. We don’t even know who leaked that tape—it could be the guy in it!” Ava suddenly straightened, eyes narrowing. The wheels were turning. “Wait… I see where she’s going. We flip the narrative. You’re not a victim. You’re exclusive. You’ve *leveled up.* You survived the scandal—and now you’re dating someone too powerful for the media to question.” Celeste zoomed in on Adrian’s photo. Sharp jaw. Cold brown eyes. A smile that looked like it had never been real. “No. I disagree!” “Too late.” Ava smirked. “I just broke the internet with a new headline.” The iPad lit up with chimes—notifications rolling in like wildfire. Celeste spun to her, eyes wide in horror. “Please tell me you didn’t post that already…” “Trust us,” Helen said, her voice low and steady. “This is just the beginning.” Ava looked Celeste dead in the eye, cold and relentless. “Now answer me one thing… Who is the man in that video with you?” Celeste froze. Her eyes darted away. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her lips parted, but the words never came. Just a broken breath. Her mouth opened again, mumbling something inaudible. The room went still.