February 2025.
Celeste had been living in the shadows for almost a year now. After her quiet escape to Scotland, she had been content with her peaceful life—away from the whirlwind of fame and manipulation that had once defined her every move. But when Columbia Records reached out, everything changed.
The call came on a cold, crisp morning in February. The voice on the other end was familiar, one she hadn't heard in months—her manager from her former days of fame.
"Celeste, we don't care where you are or what you're doing. We need you back in the studio. We want another record. We've invested too much in you for you to just disappear."
She paused, the weight of her past settling heavily on her shoulders. The thought of returning to the industry, of falling back into the trap of it all, made her stomach twist. But this time, it was different. This time, it was on her terms.
"Fine," she said. "I'll make an album."
They agreed. Columbia would fund everything— a new studio, whatever she needed. The catch? They wanted a record, and they didn't care if it was a folk album, a rock album, or a pop album. They wanted to profit off her, but they didn't need her face. They didn't need the glitz, the glamour, or the public persona that had once defined her. They just wanted the music.
And Celeste—finally free to create without the constraints of her past image—agreed. She set up a recording studio in the secluded mansion she had bought years ago, now working on a new sound that would completely separate her from her former self.
Folk.
It was a genre she had never fully explored, one that would allow her to be raw, vulnerable, and introspective. It was her way of returning to her roots. A way of taking back control of the narrative, of expressing herself without the weight of her former persona.
But there was still something looming over her. Riot.
After months of living in fear that he might track her down, Celeste knew she had to do something drastic. She couldn't risk him showing up, disrupting her quiet life, and dragging her back into the darkness.
In a moment of clarity, she made a decision. She contacted Riot.
The meeting was set in secret. She didn't want anyone to know about it—no one except the people who truly mattered to her.
When they finally sat face to face, Celeste knew it had to be the last time.
"I'm done," she said, her voice cold. "I'm done with everything. This is the end."
Riot didn't flinch. He had always been unpredictable, but Celeste saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. He knew what was happening. She was moving on.
"I'm paying you to leave me alone," she continued. "40 million. That's all it'll take for you to disappear from my life forever."
Riot stared at her for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Then, finally, he spoke.
"You think money will make me forget you?"
"I don't care if you forget me. I just need you to leave."
He took the money without hesitation. It was a deal. And as she handed over the sum, Celeste felt the weight of her decision settle into her chest. She had freed herself from the one thing that had kept her in chains for so long.
And with that, Riot was gone.
Now, the world could finally see her music again. But Celeste herself? She remained unseen.
By the time her folk album was finished, Celeste was living a life far from the public eye. The album was ready for release, and Columbia was eager to distribute it—but Celeste wasn't interested in the promotion. She was done with the cameras, the lights, the constant pressure to be someone she no longer recognized.
In 2027, her new album—The Quiet Roads—was released. It topped the charts, of course. It was undeniable. But Celeste was a ghost in the machine. The album's success was solely based on her music, her talent, and her name—without the persona attached. She had done it. She had created art on her own terms.
The public never saw her. No interviews, no press conferences. The music spoke for itself.
Celeste had built the life she had always dreamed of—a life of freedom, peace, and silence. She and Liam had settled into their own world. No paparazzi, no reporters, just two people living in a quiet cottage, surrounded by rolling hills and farmland.
But as her sister Rollie's fame grew, the two remained in contact, though Celeste still kept her distance from the media circus that followed her sibling's rise. Rollie had no idea about Celeste's secluded life, but she knew her sister was doing well—whatever that meant.
Occasionally, Celeste would invite Rollie and her boyfriend to visit. They would take the long drive from the city to the countryside, staying in the mansion Celeste had long since retreated into. It was a strange contrast—the life her sister was living and the one Celeste had chosen. But Celeste knew she couldn't let Rollie fall into the same traps she had. She couldn't let her sister follow the same path of fame, power, and eventual loss.
For now, Celeste was content. She had her music, her privacy, and the peace she had always craved. Her face may not have been seen in years, but her art was immortal.
The question was—would the world ever learn the truth?
Would they ever know who the real Celeste was? Or would she forever remain the legend, the ghost, the one who had vanished from the spotlight and into the quiet roads of her own making?