The air was different. Celeste could feel it before she saw it. The quiet buzz of her phone didn’t stop, not once since the sun rose. Mentions, messages, missed calls. Her name was everywhere, pulled through the public shredder. Damien’s penthouse, once a fortress above the city’s chaos, felt like it was sinking beneath it.
She stood at the glass wall overlooking the skyline, a mug of untouched coffee cooling in her hands. Behind her, Damien was on the phone with a crisis consultant, pacing, terse, clipped. Celeste didn’t need to hear the details to know what they were saying.
It had begun. The smear campaign was out.
Celeste Laurent slept her way to the top.
Laurent’s career was built on secrets.
Sinclair’s mistress or mastermind?
Her face was everywhere. So was the lie.
Damien end
