STILL YOURS

The night was dark over Paris, but the city never lost its glow. The Eiffel Tower shone like molten gold against the winter sky, lights sparkling in the Seine’s reflection. I walked slowly, letting the cold air brush my cheeks, my mind finally free after wrapping up the weekend fashion walk. Next week was the year-end showcase, and I still had sketches, fittings, and last-minute adjustments to make—but for a moment, I let it go.

My phone buzzed.

Luca, it flashed across the screen. A small smile tugged at my lips as I swiped to answer.

“I can see you,” he said, voice warm and easy.

I looked up, scanning the street. And there he was—smiling, waving. I waved back, and he started walking toward me.

“You here for…?” I started, but we spoke at the same time.

“Actually, my friend’s proposing,” he said. “His girlfriend came to support him.”

“Congratulations to your friend,” I said.

“Thanks,” he added, and then, almost casually: “And you…?”

“Oh, I just wrapped up this week’s fashion walk for Millie O. Thought I’d walk home,” I said.

“Then I can walk you home,” he offered.

It was only our third interaction, but he seemed… kind, grounded, exactly like his profile had promised—cute and fine as sh*t.

We walked side by side, laughter light between us. I wanted to invite him inside—just for a cup of tea—but somehow it felt too soon, too heavy. I didn’t want him to think I was rude.

Before I could speak, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression tight. “I think they need me there. See you again,” he said, striding off, the energy of someone always needed elsewhere.

I smiled, shaking my head. If Millie were here, she’d tease that I was blushing. But I wasn’t.

The door clicked behind me, shutting out the city noise. My home smelled faintly of lavender and polished wood. Warm golden light spilled from the tall windows, catching on the minimalist lines of my studio corner—rolls of fabric, sketches pinned on corkboards, and a mannequin draped in a half-finished gown. The space was elegant but lived-in, a reflection of me: careful yet imperfect.

I slipped off my coat, hung it neatly, then changed into a soft black sweater and leggings. My hair fell loose as I sat in front of the mirror at my vanity, smoothing a hydrating night mask over my face. I poured a glass of water and held it in one hand, picking up my phone with the other.

The screen lit up with messages—photos from today’s fashion walk. I scrolled through them, tapping and swiping. Each frame showed the looks, the details, the lights catching fabric just right. I paused on a shot of a sleeve I thought could be sharper, another of a dress that needed minor adjustment. Pulling out my notebook, I jotted down quick notes:

Sleeve: taper slightly at wrist Neckline: adjust seam to sit higher Fabric shine: test under soft light Millie O: likes bold colors, accent with gold

I tapped another photo, smiling faintly at the memory of the night walk with Luca—well, our walk.

I placed my phone gently on the nightstand, the glow fading into the warm shadows of my room. Sliding under the soft sheets, I curled up and let my thoughts wander.

I couldn’t help thinking of Luca. How we met on our first date…

Flashback: First Date

It was at a small café tucked in one of Paris’ narrow streets. I had almost turned down the invitation, nerves buzzing in my chest, but there was something about his smile in his profile picture that made me curious.

He arrived slightly early, holding a single flower—a small gesture that made me blush despite myself. We ordered coffee, then walked slowly along the Seine, the winter air crisp but bearable under our scarves.

He laughed easily, genuinely, at my awkward joke about fashion week chaos. His eyes held warmth, intelligence, and a hint of mischief.

At one point, he paused and said, softly:

“I may seem desperate, but… I really wanted to meet you.”

It wasn’t desperation. I could feel the sincerity in his words. It made me consider giving him—and maybe myself—a chance.

I let that memory linger as I sank deeper into my sheets. The thought of giving myself that chance hovered at the edge of my mind, but before it fully formed, I pressed my face into my pillow and let sleep take me.

Morning Sun

Sunlight spilled through the curtains in a way that felt… different today. I blinked against the brightness and reached for my phone. Twenty-three messages from Millie.

My heart raced as I called her before even reading them.

“I’m out of your home! Open the door!” Her voice was breathless, stressed, like she’d run all the way here.

I hurried to unlock, and she came inside as soon as I opened the door, cheeks flushed, eyes wide.

“What happened?” I asked, a little impatient.

“I… drank last night,” she said softly, almost like a secret.

“Okay,” I said, hoping nothing went wrong after that.

She took a shaky breath and continued, voice low and urgent:

“I… I woke up in Viktor Soren’s home this morning…”

Shock hit me like ice. My stomach flipped, and I froze.

Millie’s words tumbled out, hurried, a little embarrassed:

“…on his bed. I… I was sharing the bed with him…”

I was literally shocked. My mind swirled with questions, but I just sat beside her, trying to stay calm. “You must have passed out,” I said gently, making her feel reassured. “You were drunk, and Viktor would have placed you on the bed to rest—nothing more.”

Millie let out a relieved breath, settling a little, and we sat quietly, letting the weight of last night sink in.

Before I could say more, the bell rang.

I went to open it—and froze. Viktor stood there.

Before I could invite him inside or explain that I’d contact him later, he simply walked in. A silence stretched between us, thick and tense.

When Millie and Viktor saw each other, the energy shifted. I felt I should leave before anything exploded. I didn’t know what would happen, and my body froze with uncertainty.

Viktor spoke, low but firm:

“Millie, I know. I’m wrong. I should have said I like you too the moment you told me you see more than as a friend.”

Millie’s little, thin eyes met his, and the room softened around them. There was something almost tender in the air, a warmth that felt like hearts and flowers filling the space. Viktor stepped closer, standing just in front of her, brushing his hand lightly over her natural curls.

I turned my face away, excusing myself, giving them a private moment. I didn’t need to see if they kissed or not. From the corner of my eye, I caught them pull each other into a hug. And honestly… I felt happy. Happier than anyone in the room.

After a long, quiet moment where Viktor and Millie shared their space, I cleared my throat softly, letting it announce my presence without saying a word.

Millie didn’t miss a beat, glancing over her shoulder with a small, teasing smile. “We know you’re here,” she said, like it was obvious all along.

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. “Okay… then let’s have breakfast.”

Viktor turned to Millie, his calm, deep voice gentle but decisive. “Where would you like?”

They stood there, quietly deliberating, weighing their options. I couldn’t help it—I scrunched my nose and made a cute, annoyed face, watching them act like two people deciding on a very serious matter over something as simple as breakfast.

Finally, they passed me, walking toward the door. But just as they reached it, they both suddenly turned, and before I could react, they each wrapped me in a hug—from behind.

“Celeste Laurent,” Viktor’s deep voice rumbled close to my ear. “We are not leaving you on the weekend.”

I laughed softly, leaning into them just enough to play along. “No, no—you two enjoy. I’m not being a third wheel. I’ve got plans too,” I said, trying to sound confident, though my smile betrayed my amusement.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You’ve got plans?”

Millie piped up with a grin, nudging me playfully. “Oh yes—plans with Luca.”

I nodded, a little smug, meeting their eyes. “Yes. Seems so.”

Viktor shook his head, half exasperated, half amused, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. Somehow, even in the middle of all this chaos, Paris felt alive, full of warmth, mischief, and unexpected comfort.