Chapter 5
1188 Words
The scandal hit the internet like wildfire.
By 9 a.m., #CallaTheGoldDigger was trending. By 10, there were photos. Doctored ones. Of her in Damian’s arms months before they’d even met.
By noon, her entire life had been ripped apart.
“I’m sorry,” Calla whispered into her phone. Her best friend, Arlie, was sobbing on the other end. “They published your name too. And your workplace.”
“I’m getting hate mail, Cal. They think I helped you trap him.” Arlie sniffled. “This isn’t what we imagined when we dreamed of your fairy tale.”
Calla swallowed the lump in her throat. “No. It’s not.”
She hung up, shaking.
Damian’s penthouse was strangely quiet. Almost too quiet. Like the storm hadn’t touched it yet.
But it had. She could feel it coming.
When he finally walked in, he didn’t greet her. Just handed her a folder.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Damage control.”
Inside were prepared statements, a timeline of their relationship—scripted and tidy. Even a list of “approved” answers for interviews.
“You want me to lie to the public?”
He looked at her, cold and distant. “That’s what this was from the beginning.”
“No. This was a deal. Not public humiliation.”
“You didn’t think the spotlight would burn?” he snapped.
She slammed the folder shut. “You could’ve warned me.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
“Because you’ve done this before?”
“No.” His jaw clenched. “Because I didn’t think it would matter. But now you’re in it, and you need to play your part.”
“You sound like your father,” she said before she could stop herself.
The air shifted.
Damian’s eyes darkened. “Don’t ever compare me to him.”
She stood, heart racing. “Then stop treating me like I’m just another asset to manage.”
“You are,” he bit out.
Silence.
He didn’t mean it. She saw it the second the words left his mouth.
But it was too late.
She turned and walked out—barefoot, without her phone, without a plan.
Just away.
The elevator dropped her into the city like a pin into a grenade.
Photographers swarmed within minutes. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, shielding her face, ducking into a random side street.
She needed air. Distance. Time to think.
Instead, she got Celeste.
Literally.
The sleek black car that pulled up beside her was so predictable it might as well have had her name scrawled across it in diamonds.
The tinted window rolled down.
“You’re not very good at hiding,” Celeste purred.
Calla stopped walking. “I’m not hiding.”
“Really? Because you look like a kicked puppy.”
Celeste stepped out of the car. Perfect red heels. Designer coat. Hair like a shampoo commercial.
She was the picture of calm poison.
“I assume you’re behind the headlines,” Calla said flatly.
Celeste smiled, not bothering to deny it. “You’re not the first girl Damian has used. But you are the first he tried to keep. That’s dangerous.”
“He didn’t keep me. He hired me.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Celeste circled her like a predator. “Pretending he’s yours? Sleeping in his house, knowing he still thinks about me?”
“He doesn’t.”
“Oh, sweetie. Men like Damian don’t stop thinking about women like me. They just… pause.”
Calla’s fists clenched. “You don’t know him like you think.”
“And you do?” Celeste raised a brow. “You’re new, darling. You haven’t even seen him angry yet.”
She leaned in. “When he turns on you—and he will—make sure you’ve got somewhere else to go.”
Then she climbed back into her car and disappeared into traffic, leaving Calla breathless with rage.
When Calla returned, Damian was on the phone, barking orders.
“No one releases anything until I sign off,” he said. “And fire the consultant who leaked the press packet. I don’t care how connected he is.”
She paused in the doorway. “You’re not just letting it blow over.”
He turned. His voice softened. “I’m sorry.”
“For which part?”
“For not protecting you better.”
Calla blinked. The sincerity in his tone cracked something inside her.
“I’m not made for this,” she admitted. “This world. The lies. The headlines.”
“You’re stronger than you think.”
“You barely know me.”
Damian stepped closer. “I know enough.”
There was silence.
Then she asked, “Is any of this real for you?”
He didn’t answer.
And that was the answer.
The following night, Damian took her to a gala.
Not because he wanted to—but because they had to show face. A united front. A perfect couple.
Calla wore a deep emerald dress that hugged her body like a secret. Damian’s eyes lingered just a second too long when he saw her.
“You clean up well,” he murmured.
“So do you,” she said, fastening his cufflinks.
“Let’s give them something to talk about,” he added with a smirk.
As they stepped out of the car into flashing cameras, Calla slipped her hand into his.
Not because she had to.
Because tonight, she wanted to.
Inside the ballroom, whispers followed them. Eyes trailed them. And somewhere near the champagne tower, Celeste watched with venom in her gaze.
“You look radiant,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Celeste,” Damian greeted coolly. “Still slithering around high society, I see.”
“Always.” She turned to Calla. “Do you know what this event supports?”
“Homeless youth,” Calla said without blinking. “Maybe next year you can donate your personality.”
Damian choked on his drink.
Celeste’s smile dropped, just for a second.
And that—that—felt like a win.
They danced once.
Just once.
Calla’s hand in Damian’s. His palm warm on the small of her back. They moved slowly, as the orchestra played something classical and tragic.
“You surprised me tonight,” he said softly.
“How?”
“You fought back. You weren’t just surviving.”
She looked up at him. “Maybe I’m adapting.”
He held her closer. “Be careful. You adapt too well, and you might forget who you are.”
“Maybe I want to.”
Damian stopped moving.
Their eyes locked.
And before she could second-guess it, she rose on her toes and kissed him.
Softly. Slowly. Fully.
Not for the cameras.
Not for the contract.
Just… for them.
And for the first time, Damian Vale kissed her back like he meant it.
Like maybe this vow—this impossible, messy, complicated vow—was beginning to unravel.
And underneath?
There was something dangerously close to real.
- Writer
