The sunlight filtering through Celeste's penthouse windows was warm and golden—but the mood inside the room was anything but.
A laptop sat open on the dining table, displaying a PR briefing titled:
> "Langford–Reyes Engagement Rollout Plan (CONFIDENTIAL)"
Beside it were two black coffees, untouched.
Noah sat at the far end, arms crossed, scanning bullet points with the wary look of a man reviewing a battle map. Celeste stood across from him, perfectly composed in a navy blouse, her expression unreadable.
"This is what you want?" he asked.
"I don't want it," she replied calmly. "I need it."
Kuroda stood near the window, tablet in hand, watching them both like a bodyguard forced into the role of general.
"The engagement announcement hits three angles," he said. "It neutralizes the Cassian leak, regains media control, and—if done right—wins back Langford board confidence before the next Foundation vote."
"And if done wrong?" Noah asked, already knowing the answer.
"Catastrophe," Kuroda said bluntly. "They'll label you a fraud, her a manipulator. You'll both be crucified in court of public opinion before lunch."
Noah leaned back in his chair, exhaling. "That's... encouraging."
Celeste moved around the table and tapped a folder in front of him.
"In there is the timeline, media prep, Q&A contingency, and a prepared quote for you if you decide to speak publicly. You can edit it, of course."
Noah didn't open it. Not yet.
Instead, he looked at her.
"You said if I stayed, we'd do this together. No more halfway."
Celeste nodded once. "Yes."
"So tell me the truth—why an engagement?"
Her voice was steady. "Because Cassian went for the jugular. And in this world, nothing says strength like commitment. A relationship is scandal. A proposal is strategy."
He watched her carefully. "And love?"
There was a pause.
"Love is irrelevant," she said. "In public, at least."
Noah swallowed that truth like a bitter pill. He picked up the folder but didn't open it.
"What happens when this ends?" he asked.
Celeste didn't hesitate.
"We survive. Separately, if we must."
That line cut more than he expected. But he nodded.
Kuroda checked his tablet. "We'll need a formal shoot. A ring. Press contacts on embargo. Social media upload by midnight. I'll vet the hashtags."
"I haven't agreed yet," Noah said.
Kuroda didn't miss a beat. "If you hadn't, you wouldn't still be sitting here."
Before anyone could respond, Celeste's phone buzzed on the table.
She glanced at the screen—and froze.
Noah immediately noticed the change in her posture.
He leaned forward. "What?"
Wordlessly, she turned the screen toward them.
A message from Gabriel Ashford, her ex-fiancé.
> "Congratulations. Let's catch up soon—so I know how to fake it better next time."
Noah's hands curled into fists. "He's baiting you."
Celeste's eyes flickered, but her voice stayed calm. "No. He's measuring me."
Kuroda stepped closer. "Do we respond?"
"No," she said, screen flicking off. "We win."
The boutique was tucked into a quiet corner of Manhattan's Upper East Side, where luxury didn't announce itself—it whispered.
Noah had never been inside a place like this. It didn't even have a name on the door. Just a single brass bell and velvet-lined interior, filled with soft lighting and security cameras hidden so discreetly you only noticed them once you looked too hard.
Celeste walked in like she belonged. Like she owned the place. And, knowing her family, she probably did.
"Miss Langford," said the elderly jeweler in a charcoal waistcoat, stepping forward with a warm smile. "Welcome back."
"Hello, Aldrin," Celeste said, voice softening. "It's been a while."
The man turned his eyes to Noah, appraising but kind. "And this must be the lucky gentleman."
Noah extended a hand. "Noah Reyes."
"A pleasure," Aldrin said, shaking it. "Miss Langford's taste has always been exceptional."
Celeste's expression didn't change, but her eyes flicked toward Noah for a beat.
Aldrin motioned them toward a plush seating area beneath a chandelier that looked like it cost more than Noah's entire college tuition.
"I've pulled several pieces in advance," he said. "Miss Langford requested something… 'discreetly dominant.'" His smile widened. "Quite the paradox."
Celeste's voice was crisp. "I want elegance. And weight."
Noah raised an eyebrow. "You mean the ring or the message?"
"Both," she said.
Aldrin brought out three velvet trays, each more extravagant than the last. Diamonds that looked like they could cut glass. Bands of platinum and rose gold. Every piece whispered legacy.
Celeste leaned forward, her fingers hovering over one band set with a square-cut diamond surrounded by delicate filigree.
"This one," she said, almost to herself.
Aldrin gently picked it up. "Try it on."
She paused. Then turned to Noah.
"No," she said. "You do it."
There was no room for hesitation.
Noah reached for the ring and took her hand—cool, poised, but trembling slightly at the fingertips.
The moment his fingers brushed hers, time slowed.
It was just part of the act. Just another performance.
So why did the air feel heavier?
He slid the ring onto her finger, careful and deliberate.
The diamond caught the light.
So did her eyes.
They didn't speak. Didn't move.
The silence said everything.
Then: click.
Aldrin had raised his phone, snapping a discreet test photo.
Both of them startled slightly.
"Apologies," he said gently. "Just wanted to capture the sizing. But…" he trailed off, studying the image, "…you two photograph beautifully."
Celeste slowly pulled her hand away. "We'll take this one."
As Aldrin left to box it, Noah let out a quiet breath.
Celeste didn't look at him.
Outside the boutique, the winter air bit against their coats.
They walked side by side, the silence lingering.
Finally, Noah said, "You didn't look like you were pretending."
Celeste stopped walking.
Her eyes met his. Cold at first—but only for a moment.
Then she replied:
> "Don't confuse the ring for the role."
She turned, walking ahead before he could answer.
---
Later That Evening
Kuroda burst through the apartment door without knocking. "It's already out."
He handed them a tablet.
On the screen: grainy paparazzi photos from earlier that day.
> "Langford Heiress Spotted Ring Shopping with Mystery Fiancé — Exclusive Look Inside Manhattan Boutique!"
A close-up shot of Noah sliding the ring onto her hand was front and center.
They both stared at it.
Celeste's lips parted slightly.
Noah looked at her.
> "Well," he said. "The lie's officially alive."
The Langford Foundation's private boardroom wasn't just silent. It was sacred.
High arched ceilings, dark-paneled walls, and a gallery of framed portraits lined in perfect symmetry—a visual legacy of every Langford who'd ever served as trustee, donor, or director.
Celeste stood in the center aisle between the chairs and the gallery, arms folded tightly as her eyes swept over the faces of the dead.
Noah followed a few steps behind her, slower. He couldn't help but feel like he was trespassing in a place that had been built to exclude anyone like him.
"You grew up in this," he said softly. "Did it ever feel… normal?"
Celeste didn't turn. "It never felt mine."
She moved to a large portrait hanging near the end. A man in his forties, steel-gray eyes, pale features.
"My father," she said. "Robert Langford. He built this wing. Created the healthcare initiatives. Cleaned up after every Langford scandal before him."
Noah stepped closer, watching her from the side.
"I remember being six," she continued. "I wandered into a board meeting by accident. I had paint on my dress. He smiled and told everyone, 'A little color might help this room.'"
She smiled faintly. Then her face hardened.
"And then he died. And the board spent the next year making sure I remembered I was only a Langford by blood. Not by merit."
Noah's voice was gentle. "That's why you made the Foundation your weapon."
Celeste turned to face him. "It's the only thing they can't take from me. Not legally."
She gestured around. "That's why Cassian went after it. He doesn't want money. He wants proof that I'm not the legacy."
Noah moved to one of the chairs and sat. "You ever think about just… leaving all of this?"
Celeste looked at him with something unreadable in her eyes. "All the time."
He raised an eyebrow. "Then why haven't you?"
"Because no matter how far I run, I'm still branded," she said, touching her wrist as if the name was physically burned there. "They'll always call me Langford. So I might as well control what that means."
Noah nodded slowly. "That's not survival. That's ownership."
She gave him a look—sharper, more appraising than before. Like maybe for the first time, he wasn't just someone standing beside her.
He was someone who saw her.
He cleared his throat. "You ever hear about the time I almost dropped out of school?"
She looked surprised. "You?"
"Yeah. Sophomore year. My sister's condition got worse. My mom picked up extra shifts at the hospital, but we were still short. I came this close to leaving NYU and going full-time as a barback."
Celeste tilted her head. "What stopped you?"
He looked away, then back at her.
"A friend of my mom's found out. Gave us five thousand dollars. Said it was a 'gift.' We never saw her again. I think she used her savings."
A beat.
"I paid it back years later," he added. "But I never forgot how that moment changed everything."
Celeste's voice softened. "And that's why you fight now."
"Because people like that woman—people who give without asking—don't have power. But they deserve it."
Another long silence stretched between them.
The only sound was the low hum of the heating vents and the faint creak of old wood.
Then the doors opened.
Kuroda entered, carrying a sleek black box and a familiar tension on his face.
"It's ready," he said.
Celeste walked toward him.
Kuroda opened the box and removed a USB drive. "Video file, images, quotes, social captions—all preformatted. If you upload this to Langford Foundation's official page, it'll go live across partnered media platforms within sixty seconds."
Noah stared at it like it was a detonator.
Celeste didn't blink.
Then Kuroda added, "Once it's out, there's no retraction. You'll be public. Engaged. And every part of your lives will be theirs to pick apart."
Celeste took the drive without hesitation.
> "Then let them look."
The rooftop was bathed in honey-gold light, the city behind them a canvas of glass and fire.
The skyline blurred at the edges, like a dream sharpened by reality. A perfect backdrop for what was about to become the most strategic lie of their lives.
Celeste stood in front of the camera setup, sleek and statuesque in a fitted dove-gray dress. Beside her, Noah adjusted the cuffs of his blazer—dark charcoal, clean, classic. Understated elegance. It had been Kuroda's choice.
"Ready?" Kuroda asked, his finger poised over the record button on the camera.
Noah glanced at Celeste.
She didn't look nervous.
But he did.
"Do I say anything?" he asked quietly.
Celeste shook her head. "Just stand still. Hold my hand. Smile like you chose this."
"I didn't," he murmured.
She squeezed his fingers lightly. "Neither did I."
The camera light blinked red.
They turned toward it.
Celeste took a breath. Then she began.
> "To our friends, supporters, and partners—
You've seen the speculation. You've heard the whispers.
So let us make it clear.
Yes, we are engaged.
This is not a PR stunt.
This is not a press distraction.
It is, however, a decision made with full hearts and clear eyes.
We've chosen each other in the most unexpected of ways. And we're proud to move forward together—with purpose, integrity, and no further need for explanation."
She paused, then turned to Noah, who met her eyes just long enough to blur the line between act and impulse.
Celeste smiled for the camera. Soft. Genuine.
Noah smiled, too.
And in that moment, it didn't feel like a lie.
The camera light clicked off.
Silence.
Kuroda stepped forward, voice brisk. "I'll handle the upload. Coordinated social drops go out in forty-five minutes."
Celeste nodded once, then turned to the edge of the rooftop, facing the city as the first lights flickered on across the skyline.
Noah joined her.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then, he said softly, "What happens next?"
Celeste looked out at the glowing towers.
> "Now we make the world believe the lie," she said, "until we can't tell the difference either."
---
Ten Minutes Later
In the control room of a private newswire server, the video hit the live feed.
Three minutes after that, it was trending on five platforms.
By the sixth minute, hashtags exploded:
> #LangfordEngaged
#MysteryFiancéRevealed
#PowerCouple2025
At the seven-minute mark, an alert pinged across Celeste's encrypted inbox.
One message.
No signature.
Just a sentence:
> "You just declared war, Celeste. Let's see how far you're willing to go.
– Cassian"*