The following week was... quiet.
Too quiet.
The tabloids thought they were simply busy. Work, travel, the usual celebrity schedule. After all, Elio had a photoshoot in Berlin, and Aurélie was seen at an architectural symposium in Lyon. No one suspected the tension — the weight of unspoken words — stretching between them like a glass thread ready to snap.
But Lina noticed.
On their flight to Berlin, she leaned over from her seat and whispered, "You've looked at your phone sixteen times in the last hour."
Elio didn't respond.
She added, "And not once did you type anything."
He finally looked up. "I don't know what to say to her."
Lina gave a sympathetic smile. "Then maybe start with the truth."
He exhaled slowly. "The truth is... I miss her. But I also don't want to keep chasing someone who doesn't want to be caught."
Lina shrugged. "Some people aren't afraid of being caught — they're afraid of being held."
---
Meanwhile, in Lyon, Aurélie was anything but composed.
She sat at a corner table of the Hôtel Dieu café, trying to focus on the blueprint spread before her. A luxury apartment proposal. Clean lines. Minimalist design. Perfectly cold. Just like the walls she kept building around herself.
But her eyes kept drifting to her phone.
No new messages.
She'd replayed their last conversation in her head a hundred times. Elio's words had haunted her. "You can't live as if life has guarantees."
And yet... hadn't she spent her entire life clinging to exactly that?
Predictability. Control. Protection.
She had watched her parents' marriage crumble. Had seen business partners betray one another with champagne smiles. Had witnessed high society swallow people whole, spit out only the glossy shell.
So, yes. She had built walls.
Because walls didn't fall apart the way people did.
But now... something inside her was shaking. And she hated it.
---
A few nights later, both found themselves in separate hotel rooms. Both unable to sleep. Both staring at different ceilings, in different cities, with the same ache in their chest.
At 1:47 AM, Elio picked up his phone.
He opened her name.
He typed:
"Hope Lyon is treating you better than Berlin is treating me."
He stared at it for a minute.
Then deleted it.
At 1:53 AM, Aurélie picked up hers.
She opened his name.
Typed:
"How did your shoot go?"
Deleted it.
Closed her eyes.
---
Two days later, they were both summoned to a film premiere in London.
It wasn't optional. Their faces were on the campaign poster, a collaboration between St. Laurent and an independent art house director. They'd walk the red carpet together. Sit side by side. Smile, pose, endure.
Aurélie arrived first. Her black velvet gown hugged her frame, understated yet impossible to ignore. Cameras flashed. She smiled politely.
Then he appeared.
Elio, in a crisp white tux with a midnight lapel, stepped out of the car like he belonged to another era. All charm and danger.
Their eyes met.
And for a split second, time froze.
He walked toward her. Slow. Measured. Intentional.
"Bonsoir," he said, gently.
"Bonsoir," she replied.
"You look... breathtaking," he added.
"You look like trouble," she returned, lips twitching.
They both almost smiled. Almost.
And then the cameras took over.
They posed. She looped her arm through his. They stood as one, elegant and perfectly distant. Neither too close nor too far.
A calculated nearness.
Inside the theatre, as the lights dimmed and the film began, they found themselves alone in the back row.
"Do you ever feel like all of this is just... a performance?" Elio asked softly, eyes on the screen but not really watching.
Aurélie tilted her head. "What part?"
"This. Us. Them. The whole world."
She paused. "Maybe. But even performances have truth in them. Somewhere."
He looked at her. "I'd like to find that part. The truth in all of this."
She didn't respond.
Not because she didn't want to.
But because she wanted it too much.
---
After the film, there was an afterparty. Champagne towers. Candlelight. More smiles.
They drifted apart among the crowd, each caught in separate conversations. But they kept finding each other across the room. A glance. A half-smile. A silent question.
Finally, near midnight, Aurélie stepped outside to the balcony for air.
Elio followed minutes later.
The London night was brisk. The city lights shimmered across the river.
She didn't turn around as he approached.
But she spoke.
"Why do you keep showing up?"
"Because I want to," he said honestly.
"And what if I never come closer?"
"Then I'll stand at this distance. As long as it's real."
She turned then. Eyes filled with something too complex to name.
"This isn't what we planned," she said.
"I know."
"This wasn't supposed to feel like this."
"I know."
"We had rules."
"We're breaking them."
A long silence.
Then she said, "I don't know what I'm doing, Elio."
He smiled sadly. "Good. That means you're finally being honest."
She took a step closer.
Just one.
And that was enough.
He didn't touch her. Didn't kiss her. Just stood there, letting the silence hold them.
Letting the night stretch around them like a fragile promise.