Nolan lounged back in his leather chair, a glass of dark whiskey swirling lazily in his hand. His phone sat next to him, buzzing intermittently with notifications, but he didn't need to check them, he already knew. She was panicking. The post had hit like a bomb.
He took a slow sip, eyes gleaming as he scrolled through live feeds from the runway. There she was: frozen, hands wrapped around herself, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut as the cameras and reporters swarmed. Every trembling movement, every tiny shiver, every hesitant breath, it all sent a thrill of satisfaction through him.
"Oh, Celine," he murmured under his breath, voice low and amused. "You could have avoided all this… if you'd just signed that damned document."
His grin widened as he noticed her clutching herself, utterly vulnerable. She was exposed, anxious, human , and he was watching it unfold in real time.
A flicker of curiosity passed across his features as his mind landed on the man she had been with, Who is he? How much does she rely on him? The thought made him sip his whiskey again, contemplative but still pleased with the chaos he had orchestrated.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number. "Check on him," he said smoothly, voice calm, controlled. "I want to know how he reacts… if he's involved enough to interfere."
He leaned back again, letting the sound of notifications pinging on his tablet fill the room. Every alert, every retweet, every shocked comment on her social media feeds made him smile wider.
"Perfect," he whispered to himself. "Absolutely perfect."
The soft click of the door caught his attention. His mother stepped in, an elegant, sharp-eyed woman in her fifties, draped in silk and pearls, her silver hair was coiled into a perfect chignon, each strand gleaming like spun steel under the soft light. Even in her age, she carried the air of someone accustomed to control, influence, and knowing how the world should bow to her family.
She paused in the doorway, eyes narrowing at the screen. A small, approving smile crept across her face. "Well done, Nolan," she said softly, almost reverently. "I see you've handled your business… efficiently."
He glanced at her, smirk tugging at his lips. "She's exactly where I wanted her," he said, leaning back, fingers steepled. "Frozen. Vulnerable. Public."
His mother's gaze softened just slightly, though her tone remained sharp. "Celine Monroe… she never should have underestimated you. All those years, and she still thinks she can play with power like it's a game. Yet here she is, trembling on display."
Nolan raised his glass again, swirling the whiskey. "It's… satisfying," he admitted. "Watching her panic, seeing her world crack under my timing… I've waited a long time for this."
She moved closer, her eyes scanning the screen, clearly enjoying the public unraveling. "And the man she leans on?" she asked, voice low, almost teasing. "Curious… who is he? Is he enough to shield her, or will he falter?"
Nolan's smirk deepened. "I've asked someone to check. I want to know everything about him… his history, his ties, his weaknesses. If he interferes, I'll know."
His mother let out a soft, approving laugh, like the sound of someone enjoying a masterfully executed plan. "Clever boy," she murmured. "You've done exactly what needed to be done. Let's see how long she survives under the weight of her own mistakes."
Nolan's gaze returned to the screen. There she was, trembling, frozen, eyes squeezed shut, completely at his mercy, unaware of just how much control he still sought over her life. Satisfaction coursed through him again, deeper this time, reinforced by his mother's pride.
***
Celine's hands were still trembling as August helped her settle onto the couch, her body tense, wrapped in a blanket. Her breath came in short, jagged bursts, panic still buzzing through her chest.
She reached instinctively to the side table, where a small drawer held her medication, something she kept for moments exactly like this. August had always known about it; he didn't need her to say a word.
With his steady presence, she pulled the little bottle out, shaking slightly as she opened it. August's hand brushed hers, a quiet reassurance: "Take it slowly. I'm here."
A single pill, swallowed with a sip of water he handed her, and she leaned back into the cushions, letting the blanket cocoon her. August gently lifts Celine from the couch, carrying her to the bed. Her body is limp from exhaustion and lingering panic. He lays her down carefully, tucking the blanket around her like a shield from the world outside.
She curls slightly, trembling, her face buried in the pillow. Soft, shaky sobs escape her lips, small but piercing, a release of all the tension, fear, and humiliation from the day. August sits beside her, one hand brushing her hair back from her face, gently stroking her head.
"It's okay," he whispers, voice low and steady. "You're safe now."
Celine doesn't respond, only lets the sobs shake her body as August remains a quiet anchor, letting her release everything she's been holding inside. Slowly, the tremors ease, and the sobs begin to soften, her breathing gradually finding a steadier rhythm.
Stacy sat at the sleek, glass-topped desk in Celine's study, phone in hand, eyes scanning the flood of notifications and social media posts. The anonymous post was going viral, multiple accounts sharing screenshots of the images and accusations. Comments flew like wildfire, some mocking, some questioning Celine's credibility, and a few whispering about her Chanel collaboration.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. Celine needed her calm, her focus, now more than ever.
"Okay," Stacy muttered to herself. "Step one: contain the damage."
She quickly drafted a private message to Celine's PR team:
"Stop all public statements until we confirm the source. Flag every post. Prepare holding statements. No reaction without approval."
Next, she called Celine's legal team, keeping her voice steady.
"Listen, we have an urgent situation. Someone posted a defamatory message online with images. We need a takedown request and an immediate review of all sensitive content associated with her name. I want updates every fifteen minutes."
She could feel her own pulse racing, but she knew she had to stay strategic and in control. The last thing Celine needed was someone panicking on her behalf.
Then Stacy moved to social media monitoring, opening multiple tabs to track posts, comments, and shares. She flagged key accounts for removal, drafted responses to media inquiries, and prepared a briefing for potential corporate partners like Chanel, just in case they called for clarification.
Stacy stared at her laptop one last time, eyes tracing the endless streams of reposts and screenshots. The numbers were still climbing. Every second, another post, another comment, another whisper.
She let out a long, weary sigh and leaned back in her chair.
Step two, she reminded herself. Go and see Celine.
Not a call. Not a text. She needed to see her boss, to make sure she was safe, to see what state she was in. Online damage control could wait for a few minutes, this was personal.
She grabbed her coat and purse, checked her phone quickly to confirm that PR and legal were still actively issuing takedowns and documenting everything. "Keep it moving," she muttered under her breath. Then she squared her shoulders and left.
The city streets were quiet compared to the chaos in her head. Every notification she had silenced, every buzzing thought she pushed aside. Her focus was singular: get to Celine.
When she arrived at August's building, her heart skipped slightly, not from nerves, but from worry. She pressed the buzzer and waited. The door opened moments later, and August stepped aside silently.
"She's resting," he said softly. "Not moving much."
Stacy nodded, keeping her voice low. "I know. I just… I need to check on her."
August didn't protest. He stepped back, letting her pass. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and something warm from the kitchen. Stacy's eyes immediately went toward the hallway leading to the bedroom.
Celine was there, curled under the blanket, face pale, hands wrapped tightly around herself. Her body shook slightly even in sleep. The world outside, the posts, the headlines, the flashing cameras , hadn't reached her yet, but Stacy could see the toll clearly.
She didn't disturb her. She simply stood there for a moment, taking it in, letting herself absorb the weight of everything Celine had just endured.
Stacy reached for her phone one last time, quickly scanning for urgent notifications from PR or legal. Nothing could be done right now that would matter more than making sure Celine was okay. She tucked the phone back into her pocket and whispered softly, just to herself, "We're still holding the line. You'll be safe here."
And then she waited, quietly, ready to act if needed.