Late morning light filtered through the penthouse windows. Soft, golden.
But the air was heavy—too heavy.
There, in the middle of the quiet living room, someone was already waiting.
Noah.
The boy from thirteen years ago was now unmistakably a man. Sharp, angular features. Slender eyes, high nose, clean lines—no double eyelid, yet striking. The smirk tugging at his lips never quite faded. A calculated charm, laced with something colder. He was handsome in a way that felt dangerous. Alluring, yes. But unsettling.
Wearing a beige trench coat over a black shirt, he lounged on the sofa with one leg draped over the other—as if this room, this life, belonged to him.
"Oh? You made it. Busy?"
Celeste didn't reply. She sat across from him, silent, composed.
"What do you want?"
He gave a slow smile, then casually dropped a white envelope onto the table.
"You know how this works. Started with curiosity back then…Same thing now."
She held his gaze. Unmoving.
Noah didn't flinch. If anything, he seemed entertained. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a microSD card and placed it beside the envelope.
"Here's the original. You know as well as I do—some candid shots of you playing house with a second-rate actor? Not exactly a smoking gun. This is just me being polite."
Celeste opened the envelope calmly, leafing through the photos one by one.
Noah watched her—like he was already reading the ending.
She glanced up. Their eyes locked.
Then, silently, she drew on her power. Focused. Centered. She let the charm ripple beneath her skin, subtle and strong, like silk laced with static.
She waited for the flicker in his breath. The glaze in his eyes.
But—
Nothing.
Instead, Noah's smile widened.
"You're still using that little party trick, huh?"
His voice was part sneer, part amusement.
Celeste exhaled, grabbed the flash drive, and tossed it clean into the trash.
"That thing of yours,"
Noah said, tapping his jaw lazily,
"might just feel like static to me. But to everyone else? Pure narcotic."
For a second—just a second—her eyes flickered.
He leaned back, arms folded, sinking into the velvet couch like a bored king.
"God, I'm tired of this life."
He let the words hang in the air, fingers tapping under his chin.
"I want out. Thought I'd go independent. Buy me a little media company. Doesn't even have to be in Korea. Anywhere will do."
"…That's what this is about?"
He tilted his head.
"Or—"
He leaned in, planting one hand flat on the table between them. The distance between their faces narrowed to a breath. His voice dipped—low, deliberate. A lazy grin curved his lips, but his eyes burned darker beneath it.
"What if we made it a harem?"
He tilted his head slightly, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
"Sounds fun, doesn't it?"
Her brows pulled tight in instant disgust.
"I always thought you and Daniel were endgame, you know? But lately… not so sure. And you? You're clearly not over him either. But if it's two—why not three? You've got enough power to handle that, don't you?"
"You're insane," Celeste snapped, her voice like ice.
"Oh, deeply," he agreed with a wink.
He let the silence simmer, eyes never leaving hers. Then, with a lazy shrug:
"Didn't really start this looking for anything, not seriously. But the more I think about it… joining your little empire might not be so bad. I play well with others—especially after dark."
His grin widened, wicked and knowing. He leaned in just a bit closer, his breath brushing her cheek as he murmured:
"It's always the unexpected one who steals the throne. And once I'm in… I make sure the queen never forgets me."
Celeste exhaled a sharp, bitter breath.
"God, you talk so much bullshit."
He chuckled low in his throat.
"Maybe. But even bullshit leaves a scent when it burns right."
Noah stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat with a flair that was all performance.
"Still fiery. Still adorable."
A crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"Alright,"
he said with a sigh, as if he were doing her a favor.
"I've said my piece. I'll wait for your answer."
He strolled to the door with infuriating ease—but just before stepping out, he paused.
"If it's a no?"
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.
"I publish. Everything. By tomorrow night."
A beat passed. Then came the grin—lazy, lopsided, and cold.
"How's this for a headline?"
'Celeste and the Two Men? Or Is the Langley Legacy All Thanks to Supernatural Seduction?'
Click.
The door shut behind him.
His scent lingered. His voice, too—like smoke curling through the corners of the room.
Celeste didn't move.
Her fingers hovered above the envelope. Next to the untouched cup of coffee, her hand began to tremble.