The storm outside mirrored the one twisting inside Celeste’s chest. Grey clouds bruised the sky above the penthouse as she stood in front of the window, arms folded tightly across her ribs, barely breathing. Every whisper of the past, every headline that now labeled her “The Fallen Angel,” clawed at the edges of her composure.
"You’re not going to shatter," Damien said softly behind her, his voice a steady baritone of comfort. "But it’s okay if it feels like you might."
She turned to him, eyes hollow. "You don’t understand. You never had to claw your way out of the box the world tried to shove you in. I spent years proving I was more than a pretty face or a scandal waiting to happen. And now... now I’m trending for all the wrong reasons."
Damien crossed to her, touching her cheek with a
