A week had passed since Maureen's disastrous attempt to expose her, but the fallout showed no sign of ending. If anything, it had grown worse.
Every time Celeste stepped outside the gates, there were cameras waiting. Reporters who pushed microphones in her face, eager to chase headlines. Strangers shouting questions she could barely process:
"Are you really an imposter?"
"Did you fake the amnesia?"
"Who are you working for?"
At first, she tried to answer, but each word was twisted, taken out of context, turned into a headline meant to sting. After a few days, she stopped trying altogether.
Now she did her best to ignore them, keeping her head down whenever she walked to the car. Even short errands became an ordeal. Elise tried to shield her, but no matter what they did, the gossip would not die.
One afternoon, as Celeste left a doctor's appointment, another swarm of cameras met her on the steps. The flashes stung her eyes, making her feel dizzy.
"Celeste! Celeste!" someone shouted, practically shoving a phone in her face. "Is it true you were planted here to steal the family fortune?"
Her chest tightened, breath catching in her throat. She tried to move past them, but the crowd shifted with her, blocking her path.
"Look at me, Celeste! Look over here!"
"Do you regret lying to the Laurents?"
"Are you getting kicked out?"
The words blurred together, each one hitting her like a slap.
Before she could think, a hand caught her elbow, steadying her.
Damien.
He stepped between her and the shouting voices, calm and firm, using the quiet power he always carried. "Give her space," he said sharply, glaring at the nearest reporter.
When they hesitated, he guided Celeste toward the car, shielding her with his body.
"Damien," she breathed, overwhelmed, "I can't do this anymore."
He helped her into the backseat and closed the door, taking the front passenger side with a controlled calm. "You shouldn't have to," he told her. "Let's go."
As the driver pulled away, Celeste felt tears welling up, hot and heavy.
"I'm tired," she whispered, voice breaking.
Damien turned in his seat, looking at her with steady eyes. "We'll get through this. You're not alone, okay?"
She nodded, trying to hold herself together.
But outside the window, the crowd still pressed in, a reminder that no matter how many times she insisted she hadn't meant to deceive anyone, the world was not ready to forgive so easily.
And in the back of her mind, one question refused to leave her alone:
If she wasn't Celeste…
then who was she really?