Celeste Laurent wasn't a stranger to high-stakes negotiations.
She had closed multi-million-dollar film deals, walked red carpets with studio executives who smiled through gritted teeth, and dodged sharks disguised as friends in Hollywood's elite circles. But standing in front of Damien Sinclair, locked in a silent battle of wills, she realized one thing: This was different.
This wasn't about business. This wasn't about contracts or publicity stunts. This was about survival.
Celeste gripped the edge of the penthouse bar, her nails pressing into the cool marble surface. Across from her, Damien leaned against the couch, completely at ease. As if he hadn't just blackmailed her into a fake engagement with nothing more than cold logic and that damn unreadable stare.
She hated that about him, that he could make chaos look like control.
"So." She folded her arms. "How exactly do you plan on making this engagement 'real'?"
Damien tilted his head, studying her. "The way every power couple does."
Celeste raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how's that?"
"We give them a story." His voice was smooth, even. "A grand romance, few public appearances, some candid 'leaked' moments, a ring that the media can fawn over, something so airtight that even our enemies believe it."
She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "You've thought this through."
"I had to." His expression hardened. "This wasn't an accident, Celeste. Someone is trying to control the narrative. If we don't take control first, we'll both lose."
Celeste's stomach twisted. She hated that he was right.
The entertainment industry thrived on perception. She had built her career on carefully curated choices, never letting scandals define her, never giving the press more than she wanted them to see. This wasn't just a tabloid rumour that would disappear in a few weeks. This was a bomb waiting to explode, and if it wasn't contained, or handed the right way, it could and would destroy both of them.
She exhaled sharply. "Fine. We do this on my terms."
Damien's lips twitched, just slightly. "I'd expect nothing less."
Celeste lifted her chin. "First, there's an expiration date. This ends in three months. There will be no extensions or surprises."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Three months? The media will expect a wedding announcement in six."
She crossed her arms. "Then you'd better come up with a convincing breakup before then."
Damien didn't argue, he simply gestured for her to continue.
"Secondly," she said, "this isn't a real relationship, so don't expect anything and nor will I. There are no blurred lines!"
His gaze darkened, but his voice remained neutral. "Define 'blurred lines.'"
Celeste's jaw tightened. "You know exactly what I mean."
A charged silence stretched between them. The air felt heavier, thick with something unspoken.
Once upon a time, there had been no blurred lines between them, just fire, and heartbreak. A love that had burned so intensely, it had nearly destroyed them both.
Celeste shoved the memories back into the past where they belonged.
Damien's expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his gaze. A challenge.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"Yes." She straightened. "I don't trust you, and I won't let you control me."
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "That's not a condition, Celeste. That's just who you are."
She ignored the way his words sent a pulse of irritation through her.
Instead, she reached into her purse, pulled out her phone, and opened her messages. "I need to speak to my publicist. Damage control starts now."
Damien's eyes sharpened. "Not yet."
Celeste frowned. "Excuse me?"
"You call your publicist, and it leaks before we're ready. We need to plan the first move. Together."
She clenched her jaw. The last thing she wanted was to strategize with Damien like they were business partners. But he was right. Again.
She exhaled sharply. "Fine. What's the plan?"
Damien reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek leather notebook. He flipped it open to a blank page, took a pen from his pocket, and wrote one word. "Paris."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "What's in Paris?"
He met her gaze. "An engagement party."
Her pulse stuttered. "You're kidding."
"I don't joke about business."
She shook her head. "Absolutely not. I am not flying to Paris to throw some ridiculous spectacle for the media."
"You are." He closed the notebook, slipping the pen back into his pocket. "Because that's the only way we kill this scandal before it spirals. We need to go public. We control the first impression, not them."
Celeste's stomach turned. The thought of standing in front of cameras, smiling as if she and Damien were in love, made her skin crawl.
And yet, he was right, again.
She clenched her fists. "I hate you."
Damien's lips curled slightly. "I know."
Three days later, they were in a private jet to Paris
Celeste adjusted her oversized sunglasses as she stepped onto the jet, trying to ignore the cameras flashing outside the tarmac.
The news had already spread. "Celeste Laurent and Damien Sinclair, jet off to Paris for exclusive engagement celebration!"
The media was eating it up.
And Damien? He was completely at ease, already seated in the plush leather chair across from her, scrolling through his phone like they weren't about to execute the most calculated publicity stunt of the year.
Celeste dropped into the seat across from him, pulling out her own phone. Her publicist had already texted her half a dozen times.
Emily: Are you sure about this?
Emily: I mean, it's Sinclair. You two have history.
Emily: History that involves fire and destruction.
Celeste sighed and typed back.
Celeste: I don't have a choice. This ends in three months.
She put the phone down, lifting her gaze to Damien. "You'd better have a plan for how this ends."
He looked up, his expression unreadable. "Do you really want it to end, Celeste?"
Her breath caught. "What did he mean by that?" She refused to let him see it.
She met his gaze head-on. "Yes."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, and then Damien smirked, leaning back in his seat. "In that case, we need to make sure everyone believes it."
Celeste exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax. "Three months, it's only three months. I've got this, I can play the role, I can pretend, and then, when the time comes, I can walk away for good," she tried to convince herself.
The truth was that if she didn't, she wasn't sure she'd be able to survive Damien Sinclair a second time.