Celeste had spent years perfecting the art of control. Control over her emotions, her image and even who she let close enough to hurt her, but now standing on the dimly lit balcony of the Grand Rose Gala, with Damien Sinclair's heat pressing against her back, she felt that control slipping through her fingers.
"You're tense," Damien murmured, his voice a low vibration against the shell of her ear.
She clenched her jaw. "I'm fine."
"Liar."
Celeste turned sharply, her gaze locking onto his. The Parisian night stretched behind him, the city's golden lights glowing against the darkness, but it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Damien's eyes. He was enjoying this. Enjoying pushing her, testing her, unravelling her piece by piece.
She exhaled sharply, stepping away. "We did what we came here to do. The media got their perfect couple moment. Can we go now?"
Damien leaned against the balcony railing, looking maddeningly relaxed. "Not yet."
Celeste folded her arms. "Why not?"
"Because," he said smoothly, "we have company."
She stiffened at the sound of the slow, mocking clap that echoed from the shadows.
Celeste turned to see Julian Mercer, a media mogul and tabloid king, stepping onto the balcony with a smirk that made her skin crawl.
Julian was dangerous and not in the way Damien was. Damien was calculated, ruthless, and inescapably powerful, but Julian was a different breed. He thrived on destruction. He built his empire by tearing others down.
Right now, his sharp green eyes were locked onto her like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Well, well," Julian drawled, adjusting the cuffs of his designer suit. "The happy couple."
Celeste didn't move. "Julian."
Damien remained silent beside her, but she felt the subtle shift in his stance. A silent warning.
Julian chuckled. "I have to admit, I didn't see this coming. You and Sinclair? Engaged?" He tilted his head. "Is it love, Celeste? Or just good PR?"
Her fingers twitched at her side, but she kept her expression perfectly neutral. "Believe whatever you want."
Julian's smirk widened. "Oh, I do, and what I believe is that something about this engagement doesn't add up."
Damien finally spoke. "Then you're not as smart as I thought."
Julian's gaze flicked to him, and for a moment, the two men sized each other up. They were two kings in the same industry. Two men who played the same ruthless game.
Celeste swallowed hard.
Julian shrugged. "Don't worry, Sinclair, I'm sure the world will love this fairytale romance." His eyes gleamed with something darker. "For now."
A chill ran down her spine because Julian Mercer never made idle threats, and she had a sinking feeling that whatever game he was playing was only just beginning.
By the time they left the gala, Celeste's head was pounding.
She climbed into the sleek black car, letting out a slow breath as Damien slid in beside her.
The moment the doors shut, she turned to him. "Julian knows."
Damien's expression remained unreadable. "Of course he does."
She exhaled sharply. "And that doesn't bother you?"
"Julian is always looking for leverage," Damien said smoothly. "But he won't move until he's sure."
Celeste clenched her jaw. "We can't afford to give him a reason to dig."
Damien's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Then we don't."
Before she could respond, the car lurched forward, the city lights blurring past them.
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension.
Celeste stared out the window, watching Paris fade into the distance. "Just three months. That's all it is," she told herself.
But with every passing second, she was starting to realize something terrifying, that after the three months she may not be able to, because the longer she played this game with Damien Sinclair, the more she feared, she wasn't pretending at all.
Back at the hotel.
The moment they stepped into their penthouse suite, Celeste was done. She was done with the games, the lies, but above all, she was done with Damien, and his infuriating ability to act like this wasn't destroying her.
She turned on him, eyes flashing. "Why did you kiss my hand?"
Damien arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"In front of Vanessa," she pressed. "Why did you do that?"
Damien shrugged out of his suit jacket, tossing it onto a chair. "It was expected."
Celeste let out a sharp laugh. "Bullshit."
He stilled. "Careful, Celeste."
"No." She stepped closer, her pulse hammering. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to cross lines and act like it means nothing."
Damien's gaze darkened. "And what if it didn't mean nothing?"
Her breath caught. And there it was again, that warning.
She shook her head. "You don't get to play with me."
Damien stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His scent, a mix of dark spice and something uniquely him, engulfed, it was suffocating and intoxicating all at once.
"I'm not playing," he said softly.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Then what is this?"
He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was gentle, almost reverent.
"Maybe," he murmured, "it's not a game anymore."
Her world tilted. "No, this wasn't real. It couldn't be. What is he thinking."
She took a shaky step back. "I can't do this."
Damien's jaw tightened, but he didn't stop her.
She turned, heading for the bedroom, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears. As she reached for the door handle, Damien's voice stopped her cold.
"You're running."
She squeezed her eyes shut. He was right, but she couldn't let him see it, so she opened the door, stepped inside, and locked him out.
For now, she didn't, just lock him out of the fromm but also locked him out from the one place he had no business being, her heart.
Outside the hotel room, Celeste could hear Damien, his voice, dark and unwavering. "Celeste."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Go to bed, Damien."
There was a click of the door. Tdoor swung open, revealling Damien standing in the doorway, his gaze molten steel. He had unlocked it.She had forgotten he had access.
"You don't get to do that," she whispered, her voice shaking with fury.
Damien stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I just did."
Her pulse thundered. "You're crossing a line."
He exhaled slowly, his gaze raking over her like he was seeing every piece of her, every fear, every wall, every weak spot she thought she'd hidden.
"Maybe it's time we stopped pretending that the line was ever there."
Her breath caught. She didn't want him to do this. Or did she?
He stepped closer, his fingers ghosting along the curve of her wrist. She couldn't pull away. Or didn't she want to, neither was he pulling away.
His voice dropped, a whisper against the storm.
"I told you, Celeste." he said, his lips a breath away from hers. "This isn't a game anymore."
And for the first time since she agreed to this charade, Celeste wasn't sure if she wanted to win.