Page 52 of Stuck with the Billionaire Celebrity

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t need to. The way she holds onto me, the way she trusts me, is enough for now. But deep down, I know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The next day,we wake up to a storm.

Not an actual storm—though that might’ve been easier to deal with. No, this is worse.

A tabloid article. Front-page news. Photos of us leaving the boutique, entering the restaurant, me hovering close to her like a bodyguard.

They suggest I have a new mystery woman and that I’m controlling and abusive. Then they talk about the accident.

It’slike they don’t realize Grace is the woman with me and that they don’t realize I was the man with her.

Man, these people are ridiculous.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, tossing the paper onto the kitchen counter.

Grace stands beside me, her face pale as she stares at the article. "How did they even?—"

"Someone must’ve snapped some pictures," I say, already running through the list of people I need to call to make sure this story dies down as quickly as possible.

But the damage is done.

And now, the media is swarming. Reporters are camping outside the estate gates, tabloids speculating about the “mysterious woman” I’ve been hiding away. Grace can’t leave.

Hell, I barely feel like I can go.

We hole up in the house, the two of us trapped together by the outside world.

At first, it’s tense. The pressure of media attention, and the fear of the stalker still looming over us. But after a while, we start to settle into a strange kind of rhythm.

We watch movies, play board games, and laugh at how competitive we get over something as simple as Monopoly.

It’s easy, being with her like this. Easier than I ever thought it could be.

And somewhere along the way, the tension between us shifts.

13

GRACE

Theo’s plan is ridiculous. Like, out-of-this-world ridiculous. But I can’t deny there’s a certain charm to it—if you can call baiting a stalker with a fake gala and a fake guest list "charming."

Still, I’m playing my part.

I glance down at the glittering gown I’m wearing, the shimmering silver fabric hugging my body like a second skin. It’s beautiful in that over-the-top Hollywood starlet way, but the fact that I’m only wearing it to be used as bait?

Less beautiful.

"Theo, this is insane," I murmur, standing by the window of the penthouse suite where we’ve been waiting.

Below, I can see flashes of security weaving through the crowd of ‘guests’ Theo hired to make this fake gala look real. Models, actors, and even some high-profile influencers who were more than happy to make an appearance for a fee.

It’s all smoke and mirrors, designed to make one deranged man think he has an opportunity.

“It’s going to work,” Theo says, his voice steady as ever—though I catch the tension in his jaw.

He’s been pacing for the last ten minutes, adjusting his cufflinks, glancing at his phone every few seconds.

“He’s been following your every move, Grace.

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