The car was silent, but not calm.
Celeste sat rigid in her seat, legs crossed, one hand clutched tight around her phone. Her thumb tapped once… then again. And again. The screen glowed with the same headline for the third consecutive time.
LANGFORD GALA GUEST LIST LEAKED — CELESTE LANGFORD SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY BOYFRIEND
Below the text were two candid photographs. One showed her exiting the car, Noah's hand resting lightly on her lower back. The other was worse—too good. It captured them mid-laugh as they walked past a glass wall, reflections shimmering behind them like some kind of dream.
It looked intimate.
Too intimate.
Noah stared at the screen as she tilted it toward him. His jaw tightened.
"They make it look like we're in love," he said finally, voice quiet.
Celeste didn't reply. Her lips were pressed together in a perfect, bloodless line.
"Do we know who leaked it?" he asked.
"Kuroda's checking," she said flatly.
As if on cue, the man himself looked up from his phone in the passenger seat.
"The article originated from NightPulse, a freelance gossip wire. One of my contacts just confirmed Cassian met with a NightPulse stringer three nights ago. Drinks. Dinner. No paper trail, but still…"
"Too convenient," Noah muttered.
Celeste exhaled slowly, her voice colder than the AC. "He wants attention. He wants to create noise."
"And now he has it," Kuroda added. "You trending on socials within an hour? That's not noise. That's signal."
Noah ran a hand through his hair. "Do we issue a statement?"
"No," Celeste said instantly.
Kuroda nodded. "Correct. We let it burn itself out. A denial invites more questions. And too much attention too soon ruins your control over the story."
Celeste finally looked at Noah. Her eyes were clear—but far too calm. That wasn't safety. That was restraint.
"You okay?" she asked. The words came out flat, like she didn't know how to ask them properly.
Noah paused. "I'm fine. I just didn't expect to become gossip column gold overnight."
Her gaze lingered on him.
And then, surprisingly, she said, "You look good in the photos."
He blinked. "What?"
"Convincing," she clarified. "That's all I meant."
Noah smirked slightly, leaning back into the leather seat. "Well… if I'm going to be fake-dating a billionaire, I might as well look the part."
Kuroda's phone buzzed again. He checked it, then passed it to Celeste silently.
She read the message. Her fingers curled around the phone.
Noah leaned forward. "What is it?"
She handed it to him.
It was short. A text from Kuroda's contact at the press monitoring agency:
"Confirmed: Cassian planted the leak. More stories lined up. He's baiting you. Be ready."
Celeste's jaw clenched.
"He's escalating," she muttered. "He's not just watching. He's hunting."
Noah shifted forward. "Why now?"
"Because he thinks I'm vulnerable," she said. "Because this—" she gestured between them, "—gives him a new way in."
The car rolled to a gentle stop in front of her building. The city buzzed outside—louder now. Brighter. Watching.
As the driver opened the door, Celeste turned to Noah, voice quiet:
"If this is war, he just fired the first real shot."
The elevator ride to the penthouse felt like a slow climb into a storm.
Noah leaned against the mirrored wall, hands in his pockets, watching Celeste in the reflection. She stood perfectly still, one arm crossed over her chest, the other gripping her phone, not to use it, just to hold something. Like it was armor.
When the elevator opened into her apartment, the lights flicked on automatically, bathing the minimalist space in a soft gold glow. But there was nothing warm about the air.
Noah stepped in behind her and closed the door with a gentle click.
Celeste tossed her phone onto the marble counter like it had personally betrayed her. Then she paced, which Noah had never seen her do before—not in heels, not in silence.
"Okay," he said finally, "you need to sit down before you start carving stress lines into the floor."
"I'm fine," she replied.
"No, you're doing that thing where you pretend you're in control by staying quiet and looking murderous."
She stopped and glared at him. "I'm not pretending."
"Celeste." His voice was calm but firm. "Talk to me. What does Cassian want?"
She exhaled, running a hand through her hair—a rare break in her perfectly composed mask.
"Power," she said. "The same thing everyone in my world wants. Influence. Leverage. Control."
"He already has that," Noah said.
"Not enough," she replied. "Two years ago, he tried to buy controlling shares in a Langford-linked company—under a shell name, of course. I caught it. Blocked it."
"Wait… you caught it?" he said, surprised.
She met his gaze. "I may not own the empire, but I know where its weak points are. My mother sees me as a symbol. My father used me as an excuse. Cassian sees me as an obstacle."
"And this leak is him trying to—what—expose you? Humiliate you?"
Celeste gave a bitter smile. "Not quite. He wants me off balance. If I lose credibility in public, I lose power in private. He's playing the long game."
Noah leaned forward, bracing his hands on the back of a nearby chair.
"I get that you're used to people circling you like sharks, but this—this is different. He's not just coming after your name. He's coming through me."
Celeste didn't flinch.
"Then hold your ground," she said.
"I'm not trained for this."
"Yes, you are." She stepped closer, her voice low but intense. "You held your own with my mother. With Gabriel. With Cassian. You can handle this."
Noah stared at her. "You keep saying that like this is just a performance."
"It is."
"No." He shook his head. "Not anymore. Not when they're digging into who I am. Not when my real life is on the line."
Celeste paused—long enough to make it feel deliberate. Calculated.
"Do you want to walk away?" she asked.
That question hit harder than it should have.
He looked at her—at the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers were curled tightly at her sides. She looked ready for rejection. Braced for it.
"No," he said. "But I'm not going to pretend this doesn't affect me."
A long silence followed.
Then she nodded slowly. "Okay."
That one word—simple, quiet—sounded like a concession. A rare one.
Before either of them could say anything more, Kuroda's voice cut in from the hallway.
"She's on the phone."
They turned as he walked in, holding out Celeste's buzzing phone. The caller ID read: Verena Langford.
"She's seen the article," Kuroda said. "And she's furious."
Celeste stared at the screen. Her face didn't change. But Noah could feel the temperature drop in the room.
"She wants to meet," Kuroda added. "Tonight. No press. Just you."
"And me?" Noah asked.
Celeste looked at him.
Then handed him the phone.
"She asked for us."
The Langford family estate wasn't where Verena lived. It was where she ruled.
The car ride there was quiet, but not peaceful. Celeste sat with her chin slightly raised, her body perfectly still in a way that told Noah she was running a dozen mental scenarios. Meanwhile, Kuroda drove like a man heading into battle—one hand on the wheel, the other clutching his phone.
The estate came into view like something pulled from an art catalog: minimalist architecture wrapped in glass and stone, surrounded by manicured hedges that didn't so much say "welcome" as "try me."
Inside, the air was cold and lemon-scented, sterile and too still. A maid escorted them wordlessly into the sunken parlor, where Verena Langford waited with all the grace and none of the warmth of a queen expecting tribute.
A sleek tablet sat on the table before her. On the screen: the article.
"Langford Heiress Linked to Mystery Boyfriend — Rumors Swirl Before Upcoming Gala"
Verena didn't rise. She didn't smile. She simply gestured to the pair of chairs opposite her, as if inviting them to their own execution.
Noah followed Celeste's lead and sat. Verena didn't speak for a full fifteen seconds. Just stared. Dissected.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"Do you know what your mistake was, Celeste?"
Celeste's voice was calm. "Choosing orange over crimson last gala?"
Verena's smile was pure poison. "You got sloppy."
Noah's jaw tightened. Celeste didn't react.
Verena slid the tablet forward. "This article paints you as reckless. Emotional. Impulsive. You know what that tells investors? You're not in control."
Celeste responded smoothly, "Then maybe they should stop investing in women and start investing in narratives."
Verena ignored the jab. She turned to Noah now, her expression sharpening.
"You." Her voice dropped. "You were a variable. Now you're a liability."
Noah met her eyes. "Nice to meet you again too."
Verena arched a brow. "Do you understand what kind of damage this causes? You've inserted yourself into a world that tears people apart for less."
"I didn't leak those photos," Noah replied. "And I wasn't the one who invited Cassian Vale into your little kingdom."
Verena smiled coldly. "Cute. Defiant. Very... lower class."
Noah didn't flinch.
Celeste leaned forward. "This isn't his fault. If you want to blame someone, blame me."
"I always do," Verena said lightly. "Because it always is."
Kuroda entered from the hallway then, quiet but purposeful. "Do you want the rest of the house cleared, Mrs. Langford?"
"No need," she said. "This won't take long."
Celeste stood. "Then let's get to the point. What do you want, Mother?"
Verena stood too, finally.
"I want control. I want this little show to stop before it costs us a seat on the board. Before it dents our legacy. I want you to end it."
Celeste's eyes narrowed. "You want me to fire him?"
"I want you to erase him."
Noah stood too, slowly. "You know I'm still standing here, right?"
"You were never supposed to be," Verena said, her tone dismissive. "You're an ornament, Mr. Reyes. And you're out of season."
Before either of them could reply, Celeste laughed. Not politely. Not bitterly.
But dangerously.
"You know what the real problem is?" she said, stepping toward her mother. "He's not the weak one in the room. You are."
Verena's smile faltered for the first time.
"You built a cage," Celeste said quietly. "And you're terrified I finally found a way to pick the lock."
Verena's expression chilled instantly.
"You're playing with fire, darling."
Celeste stepped closer. "So are you. And I'm not twelve anymore."
Noah said nothing. He didn't need to. The look in Verena's eyes said she was seeing her daughter—really seeing her—for the first time in years.
And maybe she didn't like what she saw.
Celeste turned on her heel.
Noah followed without hesitation.
Outside, by the Car
Noah let out a slow breath as the door closed behind them.
"That went well," he muttered.
Celeste didn't answer.
Then, just as they reached the car, she paused. Her face was unreadable, but her voice was low.
"She's going to come after you now."
He nodded. "I figured."
"She'll try to find leverage."
"Good luck. I'm not hiding anything."
Celeste met his eyes, something flickering behind her own.
"Everyone's hiding something, Noah. Even you."
The car ride back from the Langford estate felt colder than the night air outside.
Noah sat in the back seat beside Celeste, watching the blur of streetlights wash across the glass. She hadn't said anything since they left her mother's palace of glass and venom, and Noah wasn't sure if she was biting her tongue or reloading her weapons.
He looked at her—really looked. There was something new in her eyes now. Not anger. Not even fatigue.
Something closer to fear.
Not for herself.
For him.
"So," Noah said quietly, "how many people has your mom crushed this year?"
Celeste didn't smile. "You're not allowed to joke about her unless you've had to live with her."
"Fair enough."
A silence settled between them again. This time, it wasn't hostile—it was weighty. Like standing in the eye of a hurricane.
"You really meant it in there," he said.
She didn't respond, but she didn't deny it.
"You told her I wasn't weak."
Celeste turned her head just slightly, enough to look at him without shifting her whole body.
"Because you're not."
The words weren't soft. They were precise. Measured. True.
"But I am vulnerable now," he added. "She's coming after me. You know that, right?"
"She already is," Celeste murmured.
Noah leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So what happens next? She digs into my past? Tries to find something to make me look like a fraud?"
Celeste was quiet for a beat. Then:
"She'll look for a pressure point. Someone you care about. Someone who can be threatened."
Noah's jaw tightened.
"She won't find one."
Celeste looked at him again. "You sure about that?"
Noah didn't answer. He couldn't.
The car pulled into the underground parking of Celeste's building. The tires hissed over the marble as they came to a stop.
Before either of them could move, Kuroda, who had been unnaturally silent the whole ride, turned around in the front seat.
His expression was tight.
He handed his phone to Celeste.
Noah watched her face shift as she read the message—her jaw locked, her lips pressing into a hard line.
She handed the phone to him.
Noah took it, his stomach already knotting.
It was a screenshot of a post on a gossip forum. The thread was titled:
"So… Who Really Is Celeste Langford's New Boyfriend?"
Underneath it, in bold:
NOAH REYES – Real Name, Background, School, and Family Info Inside (With Pics)
His chest went cold.
He scrolled further.
His mother's name.
His sister's school.
Even the hospital name where she received treatment.
His voice came out low. "How did they get this?"
Kuroda's tone was clipped. "Freelancers. Digital rats. Someone got sloppy on a hospital registry. Could've been a social media leak from a neighbor. Doesn't matter. It's out."
Noah stared at the screen. He felt something twist deep in his gut—not rage, not fear. Just a sharp, deep violation.
Celeste was already dialing her own phone.
"I'm pulling legal in," she said. "We'll threaten takedowns. Privacy violations. It'll slow the spread but not stop it."
Noah nodded.
But he wasn't listening.
He could already feel it happening.
His real life—his sister, his past, his scars—being dragged into a world it didn't belong to.
This wasn't fake anymore.
It was real.
Too real.
And someone out there wanted to burn him alive for stepping too close to Celeste Langford.