Damian Vale hated noise.

He hated the endless ringing of phones, the clicking of camera shutters, the sharp voices of board members trying to impress him, and most of all, the constant whispers that followed his name.

Damian Vale.

Thirty-one.

CEO of Vale Group.

Billionaire.

Cold-hearted.

Untouchable.

That was what the world liked to call him.

He stood inside the top floor of the Vale Tower penthouse, staring down at the glittering city below. From this height, the people looked like moving dots, tiny and insignificant.

Just the way he preferred it.

“Sir,” his assistant, Mara, said carefully from behind him, “the charity gala starts in an hour.”

Damian adjusted the cuffs of his black suit, the silver watch on his wrist gleaming beneath the chandelier light.

“I know.”

“There will be media.”

His jaw tightened.

“I know.”

Mara hesitated before continuing. “And… Miss Celeste Laurent will be attending.”

For the first time that evening, Damian turned around.

His dark eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

Mara blinked. “Because she’s performing.”

Of course she was.

Celeste Laurent.

The country’s biggest superstar.

Singer. Actress. Fashion icon.

The woman whose face was on every billboard, every magazine cover, every screen he couldn’t seem to escape.

Damian disliked celebrities.

Too loud. Too polished. Too fake.

And Celeste Laurent was the loudest of them all.

He had seen one of her interviews once while waiting in an airport lounge.

She had laughed — bright, effortless, intoxicating.

Millions adored her.

Damian had changed the channel.

“Prepare the car,” he said flatly.

Across the city, Celeste Laurent was running late.

Again.

“Tell me why we agreed to this,” she groaned, slipping on a pair of silver heels as her makeup artist followed behind her in panic.

“Because it’s for charity,” her manager, Nina, said.

Celeste rolled her eyes.

“No, I mean why did we agree to perform for his event?”

Nina gave her a look.

“Because Damian Vale donated fifty million.”

Celeste froze mid-step.

“Fifty million?”

“Yes.”

She stared.

“Okay… maybe he’s hot and generous.”

Nina laughed.

Celeste was twenty-six and impossibly famous, but beneath the designer gowns and flashing cameras, she was still just a girl who liked iced coffee, late-night noodles, and making fun of rich men.

Especially rich men who acted like they owned the world.

And Damian Vale practically did.

“I heard he never smiles,” Celeste said as they entered the car.

Nina shrugged.

“I heard he once fired an executive during his own birthday dinner.”

Celeste gasped.

“That’s kind of iconic.”

The ballroom of the Grand Monarch Hotel glittered with gold chandeliers and diamonds.

Every powerful name in business and entertainment had gathered.

When Damian entered, the room subtly shifted.

People noticed.

They always did.

He moved through the crowd like a shadow in a tailored suit, acknowledging greetings with the smallest nods.

Then the lights dimmed.

A spotlight hit the stage.

And there she was.

Celeste Laurent.

She wore a satin red gown that hugged her figure like liquid silk, her hair cascading over one shoulder, lips painted the color of expensive wine.

For a brief moment, Damian forgot the speech he had been preparing in his mind.

She smiled at the audience.

And suddenly the entire room belonged to her.

“Good evening,” she said into the microphone, voice smooth and warm. “Tonight is for hope, for kindness, and for the people who need us most.”

Then she looked directly toward Damian.

“And apparently… for billionaires with very good taste in suits.”

The crowd laughed.

Damian did not.

But something in his eyes flickered.

Celeste smiled wider.

Interesting.

She had gotten a reaction.

The performance was flawless.

Every note perfect.

Every movement effortless.

By the final song, even Damian — who prided himself on emotional distance — found himself watching.

Not just hearing.

Watching.

The way she moved.

The way she laughed between verses.

The way the room seemed brighter around her.

Dangerous, he thought.

Very dangerous.

After the gala, Celeste escaped to the balcony for fresh air.

Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor.

The city lights stretched endlessly before her.

Then she heard footsteps.

Slow. Measured.

Expensive.

She turned.

Damian Vale.

Up close, he was even more intimidating.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Sharp jawline. Black hair slightly tousled as if even perfection had given up trying to tame him.

“Well,” Celeste said, crossing her arms. “If it isn’t Mr. Billionaire.”

His expression remained unreadable.

“You’re louder off stage than I expected.”

She stared.

Then laughed.

“Wow. Straight to the insults.”

“It was an observation.”

Celeste stepped closer.

“And my observation is that you need to relax.”

Damian looked at her.

“No.”

She laughed again, softer this time.

“Do you ever smile?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“No.”

Celeste tilted her head.

“Challenge accepted.”

For the first time, Damian’s lips twitched.

Barely.

But she saw it.

Her eyes widened in triumph.

“Oh my God. That was almost a smile.”

“It was not.”

“It absolutely was.”

He exhaled, something dangerously close to amusement.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, Damian stayed.

They talked.

At first, it was nothing.

Small things.

The event. The city. The absurd number of cameras.

Then somehow it turned into something more.

Celeste told him how exhausting fame was.

How people loved the version of her they saw online but rarely cared about the real woman underneath.

Damian, surprisingly, understood.

People didn’t know him either.

They knew the billionaire.

The empire.

The headlines.

Not the man.

“You know,” Celeste said softly, leaning against the balcony railing, “you’re not as awful as people say.”

He looked at her.

“That may be the nicest insult I’ve ever received.”

She grinned.

“Don’t let it get to your ego.”

Too late.

Something about her made the walls around him feel less solid.

And Damian hated that.

Three days later, they met again.

Completely by accident.

Or so Celeste claimed.

Damian had just walked into the lobby of Vale Media Studios when he saw her sitting on one of the leather couches, sunglasses on, iced coffee in hand.

She waved.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

His eyes narrowed.

“This building belongs to me.”

“Exactly.”

He stared.

She removed her sunglasses dramatically.

“I’m filming here.”

“Why?”

“Movie contract.”

Of course.

A romantic comedy.

The irony nearly made Damian laugh.

The director rushed over.

“Mr. Vale! Perfect timing.”

Damian did not like that sentence.

The director smiled nervously.

“We have a small issue.”

“No.”

“You haven’t heard the issue.”

“The answer is still no.”

Celeste was already laughing.

The director cleared his throat.

“Our male lead dropped out.”

Damian’s face went blank.

“No.”

“We just need someone for a promotional photoshoot.”

“No.”

“Ten minutes.”

“No.”

Celeste leaned forward, eyes sparkling.

“Please?”

Damian looked at her.

That was his mistake.

Because Celeste Laurent knew exactly how to weaponize a smile.

“One photoshoot,” she said sweetly. “For charity.”

He sighed.

Ten minutes later, Damian found himself standing under bright studio lights beside the most infuriatingly beautiful woman he had ever met.

“Move closer,” the photographer said.

Damian did not move.

Celeste stepped closer for him.

Her perfume hit him first — something soft, floral, and dangerously addictive.

“Relax,” she whispered.

“I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re about to sue someone.”

She laughed when his jaw tightened.

The photographer snapped several shots.

Then—

“Can you place your hand on her waist?”

Damian froze.

Celeste looked up at him.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then slowly, his hand settled against the bare curve of her waist.

Warm.

Soft.

Far too distracting.

Celeste’s breath caught.

Their eyes met.

And suddenly the room felt smaller.

Hotter.

The air between them changed.

Not playful anymore.

Something deeper.

Something neither of them was ready to name.

The photographer grinned.

“Perfect. More tension.”

Neither of them had to pretend.

The photos were everywhere by morning.

Every news site.

Every entertainment page.

Every social media feed.

Damian Vale’s hand on Celeste Laurent’s waist.

Her face tilted up toward him.

His dark eyes fixed on hers.

The headline screamed:

BILLIONAIRE CEO DAMIAN VALE SECRETLY DATING SUPERSTAR CELESTE LAURENT?

Celeste nearly choked on her coffee.

“No. No no no no.”

Her manager, Nina, stood in the hotel suite doorway with her tablet raised like evidence.

“It’s trending number one.”

Celeste grabbed the tablet.

The comments were already exploding.

They look insanely good together.

THIS IS MY ROMCOM DREAM.

Tell me why the chemistry is illegal??

Celeste buried her face in a pillow.

“This is a disaster.”

Nina raised an eyebrow.

“The public loves it.”

“That’s not the point!”

Actually… maybe it was a little bit the point.

Because Celeste couldn’t stop staring at the photo.

The way Damian was looking at her didn’t look staged.

It looked real.

And that was exactly the problem.

Across the city, Damian was in the middle of a board meeting when Mara placed a phone in front of him.

He looked down.

The article.

His expression darkened.

The board members exchanged nervous glances.

One of them cleared his throat.

“Sir… should we issue a denial?”

Damian’s jaw tightened.

He hated gossip.

He hated speculation.

And most of all, he hated the fact that the photo had affected him.

Because when he looked at it, all he could think about was the warmth of Celeste’s waist under his hand.

“No statement yet,” he said coldly.

The room fell silent.

Mara blinked.

“Sir?”

He stood, buttoning his suit jacket.

“I’ll handle it myself.”

By afternoon, Celeste was summoned to Damian’s office.

The top floor of Vale Tower felt exactly like him.

Elegant.

Minimal.

Dangerously intimidating.

She stepped inside without knocking.

“You owe me breakfast for this scandal.”

Damian looked up from his desk.

“That’s your opening line?”

She dropped her sunglasses onto the table.

“I woke up to three million people shipping us.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“I’m aware.”

Celeste crossed her arms.

“So what’s the plan, Mr. Billionaire?”

His gaze stayed on her for a long moment.

Then he said something that made her blink.

“We continue it.”

Silence.

Celeste stared.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“The scandal benefits both of us.”

Her brows lifted.

“I’m listening.”

He stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“My company is launching a new entertainment subsidiary next month. Public interest is useful.”

Celeste narrowed her eyes.

“And what do I get?”

He turned toward her.

“Your movie premieres in six weeks.”

She froze.

Okay.

He had a point.

The buzz alone could double ticket sales.

Nina was absolutely going to love this.

“So,” Damian said calmly, “we fake date.”

Celeste let out a laugh.

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

She studied him.

Perfect suit.

Perfect hair.

Perfectly unreadable expression.

The man was offering the most cliché romcom plot in existence, and somehow he still made it sound like a business merger.

Celeste stepped closer.

“Ground rules.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Go on.”

“No actual feelings.”

“Agreed.”

“No controlling my life.”

“Fine.”

“No random kissing unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

For the first time, Damian’s expression shifted.

“Necessary?”

She smirked.

“You never know with paparazzi.”

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.

“Understood.”

Her heartbeat betrayed her.

Fast.

Annoyingly fast.

Then she extended her hand.

“Deal.”

He looked at her hand for a second before taking it.

The moment his fingers wrapped around hers, a small electric shock ran up her arm.

Both of them felt it.

Neither mentioned it.

The first public appearance happened that night.

A luxury restaurant opening.

The media had already been tipped off.

As Damian’s black car stopped outside the venue, flashes exploded like lightning.

Celeste turned to him.

“Ready, boyfriend?”

His mouth twitched.

“Don’t enjoy this too much.”

Too late.

The driver opened the door.

Damian stepped out first, then extended his hand to her.

The moment Celeste placed her hand in his, the crowd erupted.

Cameras.

Voices.

Questions shouted from every direction.

“Celeste! Are you dating Damian Vale?”

“Mr. Vale, how long has this been going on?”

She slipped naturally into the role, leaning closer to him.

His arm moved around her waist.

Again.

That same warm, possessive touch.

Her pulse jumped.

He bent slightly toward her ear.

“Smile.”

She did.

And maybe it was the cameras.

Maybe it was the act.

But when she looked up at him beneath the flashing lights, something about the way he looked back felt far too convincing.

Inside the restaurant, they were escorted to a private corner table.

The moment they sat down, Celeste exhaled.

“Well,” she whispered, “we’re officially the internet’s favorite couple.”

Damian loosened his tie slightly.

“You seem pleased.”

“I am a superstar. Attention is part of the job.”

He gave her a look.

“You enjoy teasing me more.”

She grinned.

“True.”

The waiter poured wine.

The lights were dim and golden.

Soft music played in the background.

For a moment, the fake date felt suspiciously like a real one.

Celeste rested her chin on her hand.

“So tell me something real.”

Damian looked at her.

“About?”

“You.”

He was silent.

Then, surprisingly—

“I hate crowds.”

She blinked.

That wasn’t the answer she expected.

“You?”

His gaze remained steady.

“Too many people. Too much noise.”

Her teasing expression softened.

“That’s why you always look like you want to escape events.”

“Yes.”

Celeste smiled gently.

“I get that.”

He studied her face.

“No cameras,” he said quietly. “No audience. Who are you?”

The question landed somewhere deep inside her.

She looked down at her glass.

“Just Celeste.”

Something in his expression softened.

For the first time, it didn’t feel like two public figures speaking.

It felt like two people.

And that was dangerous.

When the dinner ended, they exited through the front entrance.

More cameras.

More flashes.

A reporter suddenly called out—

“Miss Laurent! Is it true your ex wants you back?”

Celeste froze.

Her ex.

Adrian Cruz.

A famous actor and one of the most public heartbreaks of her life.

The reporter kept going.

“Did Damian Vale steal you from him?”

The question hit harder than she expected.

Before she could answer, Damian’s arm tightened around her waist.

Then he turned to the cameras.

His voice was cool and controlled.

“Celeste is with me.”

The crowd went wild.

But Celeste wasn’t listening to them.

She was looking at Damian.

Because the way he said it didn’t sound fake at all.

It sounded possessive.

Protective.

Real.

And for one dangerous moment, she liked it.

A lot.