Noah stood in the entryway of Celeste's penthouse, half-expecting someone to scream at him for showing up five minutes early. The place was all sharp lines, muted grays, and cold elegance—like a showroom where even the shadows were perfectly arranged.
It didn't feel like someone lived here.
It felt… staged.
Much like everything else in Celeste Langford's world.
"Coffee?" Kuroda appeared silently from the kitchen, a dark mug already in his hand.
Noah took it gratefully. "Lifesaver."
"You'll need it."
Kuroda leaned against the marble counter, eyes scanning Noah like he was evaluating a combatant, not a college student in slacks and a borrowed designer jacket.
"Verena Langford isn't like her daughter," Kuroda began, voice low and crisp. "She's more polished. More polite. But ten times as dangerous."
"That's comforting," Noah muttered, sipping the coffee. It was strong. Unapologetically bitter. Like everything else in this place.
"She'll smile at you and offer you scones," Kuroda continued. "Then dissect your bloodline, ambition, and net worth in under ten minutes."
"She does that to all of Celeste's boyfriends?"
"All the real ones. The fake ones don't usually last long enough to warrant a brunch."
Noah raised a brow. "So I'm special."
"You're a weapon," Kuroda corrected. "Deployed to serve a purpose."
Before Noah could respond, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Celeste entered the room with the kind of effortless grace that made it hard to tell if she was awake or sleepwalking. Her silk robe draped just off one shoulder, and a thin gold chain sparkled against her collarbone.
She wore sunglasses indoors and carried a steaming espresso.
"Who taught you to speak so early in the morning?" she asked Kuroda without looking at him.
Kuroda inclined his head. "I was briefing your date."
Celeste pulled her sunglasses down just enough to glance at Noah. "He looks like he survived."
"Barely," Noah replied, straightening his shirt collar.
She gave him a once-over. "You'll pass. My mother won't eat you alive in the first five minutes. Maybe six."
Noah took another sip of coffee, then asked, "What exactly is the goal of this brunch? Aside from public humiliation?"
Celeste walked past him to the breakfast bar, plucking a strawberry from a ceramic bowl and popping it into her mouth before answering.
"She wants to assess you. Not as a boyfriend, but as a potential liability."
"Reassuring."
"She'll test you. Pick at you. Smile through all of it. And if you make even one mistake—like staring too long at the art on the walls or mentioning your GPA—she'll know you're not who I told her you are."
Noah frowned. "Who did you tell her I was?"
Celeste looked up. "Someone dangerous enough to be worth my time."
The silence that followed was brief yet profound.
"Got any flashcards?" he joked, trying to ease the pressure.
"You don't need flashcards," Celeste said, setting down her coffee. "You need a backbone. And charm. And the ability to pretend like brunch with a narcissistic social queen is something you've done a thousand times."
She paused, then added more quietly, "And don't mention your mother. Verena will turn it into a weakness."
Noah's throat tightened. "How do you even—"
"I read your file."
He didn't reply.
She didn't apologize.
Kuroda cleared his throat. The car will be here in ten. I've arranged for a side entrance. No press. No eyes."
Celeste nodded, then walked toward her room, calling over her shoulder, "Fix your tie. It's crooked."
Noah stood there, fingers twitching at his collar, stomach tight.
This wasn't just brunch.
It was a battlefield in silk and citrus glaze.
And his survival depended on how well he could smile through the bloodletting.
The rooftop garden of the Indigo Crown Hotel smelled like fresh orchids and old money.
It was the kind of place where the air itself felt expensive—where the waiters moved in silence, the napkins were folded like origami, and the glassware sparkled like it had been threatened into submission.
Noah adjusted the cuffs of his charcoal blazer for the hundredth time.
He and Celeste were led by a host past a line of floral hedges to a shaded table set for four. The skyline stretched beyond them like a hand-painted backdrop. A violinist played something delicate in the distance.
At the table, already seated with the kind of practiced grace that said I was born into this, was Verena Langford.
And next to her—unexpected, unwelcome—was Gabriel West.
Celeste's ex.
The one Kuroda had warned him about.
Verena stood smoothly, all warmth and pearls, and kissed Celeste on both cheeks with a crisp "Darling." She then turned to Noah with a smile like a needlepoint blade.
"And this must be Noah."
Her voice was soft, musical—and utterly devoid of sincerity.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Langford," Noah said, offering his hand.
She didn't shake it. She merely placed her fingers lightly in his and pulled them back like she'd touched a theatrical prop.
"And you remember Gabriel, of course," Verena said, waving vaguely.
Celeste's smile didn't move an inch. "How could I forget?"
Gabriel stood and gave a smirking nod to Noah. "So this is the lucky man. You've got the posture of someone who still believes in sincerity. That'll go away quickly."
"Don't be rude, Gabriel," Verena scolded gently, without looking at him.
They all sat.
The Knife Beneath the Napkin
Brunch began with champagne poured by a silent server. Plates of blood orange tartlets, smoked salmon, and microgreens were placed with military precision.
Verena turned to Noah with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "So tell me, Noah—what is it that you do?"
"I'm in law school," he replied calmly. "Second year."
"Oh, how practical." Her eyes sparkled with polite condescension. "Do you come from a family of lawyers?"
"No, ma'am. My mother's a nurse. My dad was a mechanic."
Verena's smile never faltered, but her fingers twitched against the stem of her glass.
Celeste cut in smoothly. "And yet Noah has a scholarship, top grades, and internship offers lined up. Quite the portfolio."
Gabriel leaned back, sipping his drink. "Interesting. So you've always been… ambitious?"
Noah met his eyes. "Some of us have to be."
There was a flicker of tension.
Celeste's eyes darted between the two men; her voice was cool. "Gabriel, why don't you tell us more about your latest consulting firm? Or are you still pretending to be a founder of it?"
Verena chuckled, like this was a charming game. "Children, be nice. You know how fragile appearances are."
That sentence, directed at no one and everyone, landed like a veiled threat.
The Turning Point
Midway through the meal, Verena leaned slightly forward, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin.
"I hope you understand, Noah," she said sweetly, "that I'm only concerned for my daughter's well-being. The last time she was involved with someone unsuitable—"
"Verena," Celeste interrupted, voice calm but cutting, "don't."
Her mother turned to her with a patronizing tilt of her head. "I'm only saying, darling. You do have a pattern."
Celeste's lips tightened. Her fingers curled slightly against her water glass.
Noah took a breath. "With all due respect, Ms. Langford, Celeste doesn't need protection. She's more capable than half the CEOs I've met."
Verena smiled. "You've met CEOs?"
He didn't blink. "Yes. Through mock trial and externships. And I know power when I see it."
There was a pause.
Then Verena laughed softly. "Well. He's quick."
Gabriel raised a brow. "Quick doesn't mean honest."
"Neither does rich," Celeste snapped, finally turning her full attention to him.
The tension at the table froze like glass about to shatter.
Verena set down her fork gently.
"I suppose we all have our truths," she said. "And our prices."
No one spoke for several beats.
Then, finally, Celeste stood.
"Thank you for brunch, Mother. But we have another engagement."
Verena smiled, as if that had been her goal all along.
Exit Strategy
Back near the elevator, Noah followed Celeste in silence, the weight of her silence louder than any insult.
He caught up just as she hit the call button.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?" she replied, not looking at him.
"I didn't know she'd bring Gabriel."
"I did."
She finally turned to face him.
"And that's what makes it worse."
The elevator dinged.
She stepped inside.
Noah hesitated, then followed.
He didn't know what he was walking into anymore.
But it definitely wasn't just pretend.
The elevator ride down was quiet.
Too quiet.
Noah stood beside Celeste, glancing at the reflective gold walls as if they might offer guidance. She stood rigid, arms crossed over her stomach, her face an unreadable porcelain mask. Only the subtle, white-knuckled grip of her fingers on her elbow betrayed any emotion.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But the words formed and dissolved in his throat.
When the doors finally opened to the private valet corridor, Celeste strode out first, heels clicking with brisk finality.
"Celeste—wait," Noah called, lengthening his stride to match her pace. "Can we just—talk for a second?"
She didn't stop, but she didn't speed up either. A small mercy.
Noah tried again. "I didn't mean to make things worse back there. I thought—"
"You thought what?" Her voice was cool, almost bored. "That a clever line would impress my mother? That jumping in to defend me would earn you brownie points?"
"No." He exhaled, frustrated. "I just didn't like how she talked about you. Like you were broken. Like you were some cautionary tale."
Celeste stopped abruptly.
They were alone now, standing beneath a cascade of bougainvillea vines that lined the corridor between the valet and the garden path. The city hummed beyond the walls, distant and irrelevant.
She turned slowly to face him.
"Noah, you don't get to be offended on my behalf," she said, quietly. "This isn't your story."
"I know that."
"Do you?" she asked, stepping closer. "Because every time you try to protect me, it feels like you're forgetting what this is."
"I'm not—"
"This is a contract. You're my boyfriend for rent. Not my therapist. Not my knight. Not my salvation."
He flinched.
But her voice softened then, and her eyes—those eyes that had been steel and glass for so long—lowered, just slightly.
"I pay you to lie convincingly. Not to care."
He nodded slowly. "I get it."
She stared at him for a long moment. "Do you?"
Noah looked at her—not the flawless image she projected, not the polished shield she used like a weapon—but her.
"I think I do," he said quietly. "And I think maybe that's the problem."
Her eyes flickered. For a split second, there was something raw in them. Not sadness. Not fear. Just… exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion you carry in your bones.
Then she stepped back, voice clipped again. "We should go. Kuroda's waiting."
But just before she turned away completely, her fingers brushed his arm.
"Don't believe everything they said about me," she murmured. "Not all of it's true."
Then she was gone, heels clicking down the hall, the moment already slipping into shadow.
Noah stood there, motionless.
The mask had cracked.
Even if only for a second.
And now he wasn't sure if he could keep playing pretend.
The car ride back to Celeste's penthouse was silent.
Celeste hadn't spoken a word since sliding into the back seat of the black town car. She sat on one side, staring out the tinted window, her body perfectly still except for the faint movement of her thumb against her palm—like she was counting invisible heartbeats.
Noah sat on the opposite end, watching her reflection in the glass rather than risk looking at her directly.
When they arrived at her building, Celeste turned to Kuroda and said simply, "Give us five minutes. I need air."
Kuroda met her eyes through the rearview mirror, gave a curt nod, then stepped out of the vehicle.
Noah moved to follow her, but Celeste paused at the door. "Not you."
She looked over her shoulder, her expression unreadable.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
And just like that, she was gone again, leaving Noah alone in the car with the weight of everything unsaid.
He sank back into the seat with a quiet exhale.
A few seconds later, the driver's side door opened, and Kuroda slid back in, buckling up in one smooth motion. The car hadn't moved yet.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Kuroda said, without turning around, "Do you know what her mother wanted today?"
Noah frowned. "To humiliate her?"
"Worse. She wanted Celeste to break."
Kuroda's voice was calm—almost too calm.
"She's done it before. Years ago. In different ways. Back then, Celeste was still learning the game. Now? She plays it better than any of them. But it still costs her."
Noah looked out the window. "She hides it well."
"She hides everything well," Kuroda said. "That's what she was taught. Pain is weakness. Emotion is vulnerability. And love?" He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Love is a liability."
Noah shook his head. "That's… sad."
"It's survival."
The driver turned on the engine, and the car began to move.
Kuroda's voice dropped a note lower, warning threaded in silk.
"I've seen people fall for her. Men who thought they were the exception. Who thought they could fix her, melt her, make her feel."
He turned his head slightly, just enough for Noah to catch the edge of his gaze.
"They didn't last."
"I'm not trying to fix her," Noah said quietly.
"Good." Kuroda nodded once. "Because if you fall for her, you'll lose. She won't break. You will."
The silence returned, heavier now.
Noah didn't respond.
Because deep down, some part of him knew Kuroda wasn't wrong.
But it was already too late to pretend he wasn't slipping.