Chapter Seventeen: Close Enough to Burn
Celia was pacing the penthouse like a caged tiger, ranting at the city skyline.
"I swear, if Vanessa drops one more expose, I'm going to—" She jabbed a finger at the window. "—rain down memes so savage she won't survive the algorithm!"
Prince barely glanced up from the laptop on his desk. "Sit down before you break something."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Celia snapped. "Am I ruining the evil billionaire aesthetic with my peasant-level stress?"
He exhaled slowly, like she was a particularly noisy cat he couldn't get rid of. "You're loud."
She marched over, plopped herself on his desk, and leaned dangerously close. "And you're broody. So what? We balance."
For the first time, his eyes flicked up to hers. Close. Too close.
Celia's smirk faltered. Her heart stuttered. Okay. Wow. When did his eyes get that intense? And why does his face have to look like it was designed by the same people who make Greek statues?
He didn't move away. His voice came low, steady. "You're not what I expected."
Her breath caught. "Yeah, well… maybe you should update your expectations."
The air between them sizzled. For one insane second, Celia thought he might actually—
"Darling!" Lila's voice screeched through the penthouse, shattering the moment. "It's a disaster!"
Prince leaned back instantly, mask snapping into place. Celia nearly slid off the desk in frustration. Of course. The universe has zero respect for romantic timing.
⸻
Lila shoved her phone at them. "Look!"
On the screen was a fresh headline, plastered across every gossip outlet:
"Heiress Beverly Spotted in Prince's Penthouse! Secret Lovers or Strategic Cover-Up?"
Below were paparazzi photos — grainy shots of Celia at the window, Prince beside her, and one particularly damning angle where it looked like he was brushing her hair back from her face.
Celia's jaw dropped. "WHAT—?! That never happened!"
Lila gasped. "Oh, but it looks like it did, darling! The whole internet thinks you're lovers now!"
Prince's expression was unreadable, but his fists tightened on the arm of his chair. "Vanessa staged this."
Celia groaned. "Oh great. So now I'm not only the Fraud Heiress, I'm also your fake mistress? Perfect. Just slap it on my reincarnation résumé!"
⸻
By evening, the internet was boiling over:
TeaTimeWithTasha: She's totally sleeping her way out of the scandal 👀
Vanessa4Life: Told you Beverly was rotten to the core!
PrinceDefenseSquad: idc if it's real, they look HOT together 💅
Celia buried her face in a pillow. "I can't. I literally can't. The comments are thirstier than I am!"
Prince stood near the window, glaring down at the city like he was plotting to buy and burn it. "We can't let her control the narrative."
"Um, hello?" Celia popped her head up. "She already is controlling it! I'm trending under #FraudMistress!"
He turned to her, something sharp and dangerous in his gaze. "Then we take control back."
Her pulse jumped. Not because of his words, but because of the way he was looking at her. Like she was no longer just a pawn in Vanessa's game — but his partner in a war.
Celia swallowed. Oh no. Nope. Don't fall for this. He's grumpy, mysterious, and way out of your league. Also, he's technically part of a scandal that might destroy you. This is NOT a safe love interest.
And yet her heart betrayed her with one loud, traitorous thump.
⸻
Later that night, the storm outside the penthouse rattled the windows. Celia sat curled up on the couch, scrolling through hate comments with the dedication of someone stabbing themselves repeatedly for fun.
Prince appeared silently, setting a mug of tea on the table beside her.
She blinked. "Wait… are you being nice? Is this… billionaire hospitality?"
He didn't answer. Just sat across from her, watching the storm.
Celia picked up the mug, warmth seeping into her hands. For once, she didn't fill the silence with jokes. She just sat there, sipping, letting the thunder drown out the chaos outside.
And for a fleeting second, she thought — maybe being trapped here wasn't the worst thing.
Until Lila burst back in, tablet glowing with fresh disaster. "Darling—it's worse!"
Celia groaned. "It's always worse."
But when she looked, her stomach dropped.
Vanessa's latest post wasn't a document or video. It was a promise.
"This is only the beginning. Tomorrow, the real bomb drops. #GoodbyeBeverly"
Celia's mug slipped in her hands. Prince caught it before it spilled, his eyes locking onto hers.
And for the first time, she saw real concern there. Not just suspicion, not just control. Concern.
Her chest tightened. Because if Vanessa's next move was bigger than this…
Neither of them would come out clean.