The studio was quiet in a way that made Celeste’s heartbeat sound louder than it should. A single spotlight was aimed at the ivory chair where she sat, legs crossed at the ankles, palms resting on her lap. Across from her, journalist Marsha Langley, poised, gentle-eyed, with a reputation for empathy over scandal, waited for the cue.
The red light blinked on. Live.
Celeste exhaled slowly, her voice even but low when she began. “I’ve been asked why I chose to do this. The truth is, I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but there comes a point in one's life u6where silence protects no one except the people who hurt you.”
A pause.
“I’ve lived a lot of my life in front of cameras. But what people haven’t seen, what I’ve never allowed them to see, is what happened when they stopped rolling.”
Marsha no
