By sunrise, the rumour mill was at a fever pitch, splattered across phone screens and plastered on tabloid covers. Each outlet zeroed in on Celeste, branding her a calculating gold digger who'd ensnared Caspian Hayes for his money. Social media took off on the "contract wife" hashtag, and in coffee shops and offices, strangers made fun of her background and concocted secret deals. Inside Hayes Enterprises, board members huddled in tense clusters, preparing for inevitable blowback.
On the thirty-second floor, Caspian tore into his senior executives as sunlight knifed across polished glass walls. The crispness of his suit could not disguise the tight set of his jaw or the dark circles under his eyes. A silver-haired official pushed a file across the table. "This cannot continue," he intoned. "We require evidence that your marriage is authentic. If not, we might freeze your stake until order is restored."
Caspian stiffened and glanced at bold headlines about Celeste's overdue bills and the suspicion surrounding the timing of their union. Rage boiled beneath his calm exterior, but he was too proud to reveal that. "You want proof of a genuine relationship," he repeated, voice terse. The official nodded as his colleagues shot one another loaded looks, each aware of Soren's sway. The fragility of Caspian's role crackled in the silence.
On the other side of the frosted door, Celeste hovered, heart lurching as scraps of conversation bled through. It burned in her ears how words like freeze and question her motives. The tabloids had already labelled her a schemer, but the prospect of derailing Caspian's inheritance seemed far worse. Panic bubbling in her chest, she ground her hands at her sides.
At last, the door swung open. Caspian appeared, his face set with resolve. He stopped in front of her without looking at the curious staff. His tone held a razor edge. "They demand reassurance. We'll give them nothing to doubt." She felt her stomach bind up at the memory of how quickly the world had become hostile. "How?" she asked, voice low. He breathed out, jaw tightening with frustration. "By telling them whatever they want to hear."
She gulped; she understood the tenuous partnership they had. Hayes Enterprises appeared to buzz with speculation, each worker stealing furtive looks in their direction. When he led her toward the elevator, there was determination burning in his eyes, half-anger, half-committed. Caught between relief and dread, she trailed, not knowing what he had in mind. And at that moment, they both knew there would be no easy exit from this public tempest.
Flashes popped beneath blistering studio lights, photographing Caspian and Celeste in a series of strategically posed embraces. A well-known photographer directed each shot, coaxing bright smiles and clasped hands for a Glossies magazine profile. The magazine promised a glowing spread, declaring them the very picture of romance. Staff moved around them, adjusting lights and smoothing Celeste's hair. Her makeup is flawless, tension knotted beneath her genteel surface. Caspian was inches from him, his expression schooled, but energy crackled through the space between them.
The photographer, with a bright scarf, cued them in closer. "I need that magic," she said, snapping her fingers. Caspian wrapped his arm around Celeste's waist. Her pulse skimmed, unsure whether from his proximity or her own building disquiet. That recent almost-kiss flashed before her eyes, the fire of that one moment lurking in her waking nights. His eyes skimmed her features, distant but intense. She wondered whether he remembered that same spark or just played his part for the camera's unwavering eye.
Flashes blipped, capturing the fragile moment when Celeste leaned instinctively into him. A hush rippled through onlookers as if they understood deeper chemistry was at play. She shuddered, desire and ancient pains colliding in her chest. The ghost of his cologne's spice dragged her back to gentler times when they laughed without pretence. For a moment, a gentleness broke over Caspian's eyes, his lips almost lifting into a smile. The lens clicked, trapping that tender hush for all time.
When the photographer called a break, assistants rushed to reconfigure the backdrops. Celeste broke free of Caspian's embrace, her heart still pounding. Nearby gossip ignited about a "contract marriage." Shame burned in her cheeks, remembering the tabloids' brazen speculation. Caspian extended her a water bottle, her features grim. Neither spoke. Old sparks ignited too easily; she hated that, too, and suspicion simmered under every public display, still.
And finally, the last shot was finished. Caspian gripped her hand, leading her off-set. He lowered his voice. "You handled all this well." She saw something like respect in his eyes and offered a thin smile, not sure if he was complimenting her or just glad. Then his voice sank to a near whisper. "You're a good actress." Her spine went rigid, and she was unsure if he was deriding her efforts or complimenting them. The question remained, provoking a strange mixture of pride and unease.
Talia walked around her fancy bedroom, not caring about the shiny skyline outside the tall windows. Her mind whirled back to the earlier photo shoot, which had seemed to unfold with almost too much ease, shadowed by Celeste's hushed nervousness. She had expected an obvious gold-digger, but she had seen fear and uncertainty behind Celeste's forced smiles. Now, Soren's demands hung over her, though, urging her to root out anything that might discredit Caspian's wife. Torn between loyalty to her father and compassion for a woman she'd derided, she felt her usual unshakeable resolve starting to unravel.
Soren sat in his private study, the walls lined with mahogany shelves and stately volumes. His dark suit highlighted his lean frame and, even more, his steeled demeanour. When Talia walked in, he skipped the pleasantries. "I think you saw them posing," he said, not looking up from a folder. "Report." She clasped her hands, alternating between one and the other, and tried to remember Celeste's shaky steadiness and the looming hooded gaze behind Caspian's eyes. "They appeared…cooperative," she ventured. Soren raised his gaze, flashing impatience. "I need more than that."
His gaze constricted her, requiring loyalty. "Find a weakness," he urged, voice cool. "It's the only way to protect this family," Talia recalled Celeste's eyes, her genuine distress when the cameras caught her off guard. That moment weighed on Talia's conscience, adding nuance to her attempts to follow Soren's orders. Even so, his towering presence made it clear to her there were debts to pay: the pricey education, the travel, the comfort she'd known her entire life.
"I will keep digging," she said, her throat thick with quailing. Soren's jaw twitched. "Do so quickly. No excuses." The unspoken threat hung in the air, and she dropped her gaze. She could almost feel her heart thrumming, an anxious tattoo caught between father and cousin.
Her footsteps echoed outside in the hushed corridor. That smile of uncertainty on Celeste's face and that look of guarded strength on Caspian's played like a video loop in her mind, breeding doubt in everything she ever believed. When dealing with Soren's description of Celeste as a parasite, had she jumped to a conclusion too quickly? Guilt battled familial duty, tying a knot in her stomach. Then, she felt a dark presence behind her. She turned to meet Soren's frosty gaze. "You will remember where your loyalties lie," he said, slow syllable by measured syllable. Talia caught her breath, pulse thudding at the reminder. She gave a hesitant nod, unsure how much longer she could maintain the charade.