The first thing Genevieve became aware of was the heaviness in her limbs, that bone-deep fatigue that came after a night of chasing a performance high and crashing straight into exhaustion. The couch's worn velvet arm dug into her cheek, imprinting a faint pattern against her skin. She blinked at the ceiling, the golden afternoon light pooling across the living room like honey.
It was 1:07 p.m.
The muffled sound of Annika's voice drifted from the next room sharp, urgent, the kind of tone she used when she was smiling with her mouth but clenching her jaw. Genevieve's brow furrowed.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, and then the words filtered in.
"She's unstable. I know, I know — she... madam please Genevieve she's—"
Genevieve froze, her bare toes curling into the carpet.
"—She's twenty-two," the sponsor's voice cut in, colder than glass. "That's practically ancient in her field. The other girls are younger, fresher. She's burnt out, and if she won't retire gracefully, the industry will force her out."
Something inside her chest twisted, sharp and deep.
There was a pause — Annika's voice again, quieter now.
"If we can just get one more campaign—"
"No. We're not risking it. We don't want her name attached to us when she inevitably… unravels."
Genevieve's pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the rest. Her body moved on instinct — standing, walking toward the doorframe — but she didn't step into view. She just stood there, letting the words slice through her in silence.
The bitter irony was almost laughable. All those years of sacrifice the blisters, the starvation diets, the rehearsals until her knees screamed and here she was, reduced to nothing more than a cautionary tale in someone's marketing meeting.
Her lips curved upward, but there was no humor in it. Only a strange, aching calm.
Annika's head whipped around at the sound of movement.
For a second, she froze mid-gesture, still clutching her phone like she was holding a live grenade. Then she spotted Genevieve sitting up on the couch.
"Oh, perfect," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Sleeping Beauty decided to join the living—at one in the afternoon. What's the occasion, a national holiday?"
Genevieve rubbed her eyes, still groggy. "I—"
"No, no, don't strain yourself," Annika cut in, pacing toward the coffee table and scooping up a mug that may or may not have had actual coffee in it. "I've just spent the last twenty minutes groveling to a sponsor who thinks you're the human equivalent of a dumpster fire. So, really… your beauty rest? Totally worth it."
Her laugh was sharp, humorless, but somehow still laced with that I've-seen-worse bravado that kept her from crumbling. "And by the way—who exactly asked you to wake up? 'Cause if it wasn't the ghost of your career, you might as well have stayed asleep."
Annika's words still clung to the air, sharp and sour. Genevieve pushed herself up from the couch, the blanket sliding off her legs and pooling around her waist.
Her throat felt dry from sleep, but her voice came out steady. "You know…" She brushed a strand of hair from her face, eyes locking on Annika. "For someone begging a sponsor to stay, you've got a talent for burning bridges."
Annika's brows shot up. "Excuse me?"
Genevieve's gaze flicked to the phone still in Annika's hand. "It's just… if I were trying to keep a brand deal, I probably wouldn't call "That" Sponsor."
There was no shout, no dramatic point of the finger just the cool edge of someone who'd heard enough. The quiet in the room felt heavier than yelling ever could.
Annika laughed, but it was sharp and humorless. "Oh, so Sleeping Beauty has opinions now."
Genevieve tilted her head, letting the silence stretch. She could hear the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the muffled traffic outside everything except an apology.
Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a dare. "You asked who told me to wake up? You did. Loud enough for the whole building to hear.
Genevieve's fingers crept toward her phone, like a thief in a heist movie. She was careful,quiet, stealthy.
Annika's eyes snapped open, and before Genevieve could even touch it, the phone was snatched. "You're mad" Annika said, waving it like it was radioactive. "If you touch that, I swear you'll spontaneously combust."
Genevieve froze, one hand mid-air. "What? That's ridiculous."
"Ridiculous? Maybe. But also highly probable," Annika said, leaning back on the couch, smirking. "I read it somewhere. Science. Probably."
Genevieve rolled her eyes, but the twitch at her lips betrayed her amusement. She lunged for the phone anyway, slow, exaggerated, like she was daring Annika.
Annika yelped, snatching it up again. "Do you want me to call the fire department too, or are you feeling lucky?"
Genevieve flopped dramatically onto the couch, hands in the air. "Fine, fine! You're clearly the hero here. Save the world, Annika!"
Annika grinned, holding the phone triumphantly. "Don't thank me yet. The world owes me big."
Anika slid Genevieve's phone into the drawer and shut it with a decisive click.
"You don't need this," she said, leaning on the desk like she was delivering a TED Talk. "Especially now. The internet is a cesspool. You open one app, and bam—people are tearing you apart like it's a sport you don't need that....you don't want to die...do you?."
Genevieve propped her chin in her hand, smiling sweetly. "Mhm. Spoken like a woman who just spent an hour watching those AI Cat videos ."
"That was wholesome," Annika shot back.
Genevieve's grin widened. "You're a hypocrite."
Annika opened her mouth to argue, but the drawer buzzed. Both of them froze.
Genevieve's heartbeat kicked up. Please be him, please be him.
She yanked the drawer open just enough to see the screen light up: Lukas Reinhardt.
"Yes!" she breathed, her whole face brightening. "It's Lukas!"
Annika's shoulders tensed instantly. "Oh, great," she muttered, rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck.
Genevieve was already leaning forward. "Give it here."
Annika held the phone just out of reach. "Nope."
"What? He's my boyfriend. And my manager." Genevieve laughed, reaching again. "You don't just ignore Lukas."
Annika was already backing up. "Watch me."
"Anni—!" Genevieve hopped off the stool, chasing her into the hall. God, she's actually running. Over a phone call.
"You don't need him hyping you up right now," Annika called over her shoulder, dodging past the couch. "You need to lay low, breathe, detox—"
"What I need," Genevieve said, breathless but grinning, "is to answer my phone before he hangs up!"
"Not happening!" Annika clutched it to her chest like a priceless artifact.
Genevieve lunged, nearly grabbing her wrist. "Anni, come on! I'm happy! You could at least be neutral about it!"
"Neutral?" Annika scoffed. "When it comes to Lukas? Not in this lifetime!"
"Annika!" Genevieve's voice rang down the hallway, half laughter, half outrage. "You're acting like I'm trying to steal state secrets!"
"Worse," Annika shot back without slowing, glancing over her shoulder. "You're trying to to him."
"It's just a phone call!" Genevieve picked up speed, bare feet slapping against the floor. "From my boyfriend, might I add!"
"That's exactly the problem!" Annika hugged the phone tighter to her chest, weaving past the couch like a pro.
Genevieve lunged, almost close enough to grab her wrist—
—and her foot caught the corner of the rug.
The floor rushed up fast. She hit it with a thud, her ankle twisting in that old, traitorous way that sent pain knifing up her leg.
"Ah—! No, no, no—" Her laugh broke into a sharp cry, one hand clamping over the tender spot. It was the same ankle that had betrayed her too many times before, and the ache was instant, deep.
Annika skidded to a halt. The smirk vanished. "Genevieve?"
Genevieve's eyes were shut tight, her breath uneven. "I'm fine," she tried, voice tight. "Just… give me a second."
The phone disappeared into Annika's bra in one smooth motion as she dropped to her knees beside her. "Did you twist it? Let me see."
Genevieve shook her head, blinking fast against the sting. "It's fine. I've had worse. I just—ugh—" she hissed when the pain flared again.
Annika's jaw tightened. "Stay still. Don't argue. I'm getting ice."
Genevieve managed a weak laugh.
Annika rolled her eyes, helping her up. Taking Genevieve Inside
Annika knelt beside her, the annoyance she'd been holding on to slipping away when she saw Genevieve's face. "Let me see," she murmured, carefully pulling up the hem of Genevieve's hands to check the swelling. Her fingers were gentle, almost hesitant, as if she was afraid pressing too hard would break something in more than just bone.
"what is your problem," Annika asked quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Genevieve's damp cheek. "If you'd just slow down once in a while—"
Genevieve sniffled, eyes glassy, and for a second it seemed like she was about to apologize. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, took a shaky breath… and then said, "Do you think I should call him?"
Annika froze. The softness in her face shuttered so fast it was almost audible.
"I'm done"
She says walking away
Genevieve blinked up at her, still clutching her ankle. "What? It's relevant!"
"It's insane," Annika shot back, though she was reaching for the ice pack . "You ruin everything."
Annika sighed, her fingers brushing gently over Genevieve's ankle. "It's not swelling," she murmured, voice softer than usual. "You'll be fine—"
"I need my phone," Genevieve interrupted, already trying to sit up straighter. Her eyes were still glassy from the tears, but that stubborn spark was back.
Annika shot her a look. "Genevieve—"
"Please. Just for a second," Genevieve pressed, leaning closer like persistence might wear Annika down. "I need to call him—"
"No." Annika's voice cut firm now.
Genevieve blinked, thrown by the shift.
"You're a smart girl, Gen," Annika continued, leaning back on her heels. "Too smart to go running straight into the fire when you're already burning."
"That's not—"
"Yes, it is," Annika said sharply. "Do you even hear yourself? In one night, your world went from private to plastered all over the internet. People are chewing you up like it's a sport. And him? He's in the middle of that storm. If you reach out now, you're just stepping into it willingly."
Genevieve's lips pressed into a thin line.
Annika's eyes softened, but her tone stayed firm. "Sometimes the smartest move isn't fighting back—it's going quiet until the noise dies down. Lay low. Let them choke on their own assumptions. Then you decide what to do, not when everyone's watching for your next mistake."
Genevieve stayed quiet, her fingers curling into the hem of her shirt.
"And for the record," Annika added, tapping her own chest where she'd hidden the phone, "this isn't me being mean. It's me making sure you survive this with more than just your ankle intact."
Genevieve crossed her arms, glaring playfully at Annika. "Fine, if you're not giving me my phone… what am I supposed to do all day?"
Annika leaned slightly against the mirror, glancing at her reflection as she applied one last swipe of lip gloss. Then she pointed at the clock. "Well, you woke up when half the day was already gone," she said casually. "It's 2:20. So you've got… plenty of time."
Genevieve huffed. "Plenty of time for what? Watching the walls? Staring at the ceiling?"
Annika smirked, tilting her head. "You could do what I do. Catch up on some TV, read a book, crochet a little if that's your thing… or maybe try baking. Something productive instead of obsessing over a phone you don't have."
Genevieve rolled her eyes, flopping back against the sofa. "Crochet and baking? You're really making me feel useless here."
"I'm just giving suggestions," Annika said, her voice smooth but teasing. "It's not my fault you're impatient. You've got creativity—use it. Or just sit there and brood. Your choice."
Genevieve groaned dramatically, staring at the ceiling. "I hate you."
Annika smirked over her shoulder, adjusting the blazer over her chest. "And yet, you're clearly learning from me"
And like that... Anika was gone. Hours passed and Genevieve was proud of the process of the top she made.
Genevieve's hook paused mid-stitch, her mind drifting as she worked the yarn.
Last year…
♡♡♡
She had just arrived at her agency building, her heart practically skipping. Two tech companies had sent her massive boxes for her brand ambassadorships. Each box gleamed with sleek, shiny phones—four of each inside. The lounge was prepped for her livestream, and she had been positively buzzing.
"Hey everyone!" she had beamed into the camera, the boxes spread around her. "I'm thankful for the wonderful gifts and oh my.....four of each!?thank you thank you thank you let's unbox and see."
The viewers' comments had flooded in, hearts and cheers and little digital fireworks scrolling endlessly across the screen. Genevieve's grin had been unstoppable, genuine happiness spilling over.
But then…
Annika had appeared. Quietly at first, then decisively, like a cat stalking prey. In a blink, she had scooped two phones from each box into her arms, tucking them neatly into her blazer pockets.
"Annika! What—" Genevieve started, but Annika just raised an eyebrow.
"They're safer with me," Annika had said smoothly, ignoring the horrified look on Genevieve's face.
The staff in the lounge had erupted. "Annika! Seriously?!" one assistant exclaimed. "Those were for Genevieve's giveaways!"
Annika crossed her arms, unwavering. "Genevieve's not going to carry all eight phones herself. She'll survive without them for now."
Another staffer stepped forward, hands on hips. "That's… incredibly selfish, don't you think?"
Annika smirked. "Selfish? Or smart? Sometimes someone has to think ahead for her."
Genevieve had groaned, tugging at her hair. "You can't just take them all! That's—"
Annika interrupted with a shrug. "I've got this under control. Trust me."
The bickering had gone on for a good five minutes, voices overlapping in a chaotic mix of exasperation and defense, until Genevieve had reluctantly let it go… though the memory of Annika's smug grin had stayed with her.
❥˙❥❥
The crochet hook slipped from Genevieve's fingers, landing softly onto the sofa. Her heart jolted. Of course.
Four phones. Hidden. Somewhere. Annika had them all tucked away, and now the thought of them sitting just out of reach made her blood hum with urgency.
Genevieve jumped to her feet, hair falling into her eyes as she scanned the apartment. "No… no, no, no!" she muttered, pacing.
She threw open drawers, yanked bags from shelves, and tossed clothes aside. Jackets flew across the floor. Pillows were thrown onto the ground. Her yoga mat ended up half-rolled and abandoned in the middle of the room.
"Where are you?!?" she hissed at the air, as if the phones themselves might answer.
The walk-in closet became a battlefield. Every shelf, box, and pocket was rifled through. Shoes tumbled. Scarves and belts tumbled down like a small avalanche.
Genevieve's chest heaved. Her ankle throbbed, but she barely noticed. The world around her was chaos incarnate. She came out and finally looked under the bed there they were all 4 phones.
Genevieve carefully picked up the first phone, her fingers hovering over the screen. She took a deep breath, her heart skipping a beat. This was it—the moment of truth.
The screen lit up, demanding a password. She paused, thinking through every possibility Annika might have chosen. And then it clicked the date of her personal best performance, the one moment she had poured everything into the stage and never forgotten.
With a steady hand, she typed the numbers.
Click.
The screen unlocked on the first try.
Genevieve froze for a second, eyes wide, before a triumphant grin spread across her face. "Of course," she whispered, glancing around as if to boast to the empty room. "Amature ."
Her fingers lingered on the phone, excitement and relief bubbling together. This was more than just a device—it was her little victory, proof that persistence and a sharp mind paid off.
She immediately dialed his number
"Come on come on come pick up..."
The phone rang, each chime tightening the knot in Genevieve's chest. Finally, Lukas picked up.
"Genevieve? Are you… okay? What's happening?" His voice was cautious, soft, but concerned.
She couldn't speak. Her chest heaved as tears started spilling over. "I… Lukas… I would never do what they're accusing me of! I… I—"
"Shh… slow down," Lukas said gently. "Breathe. Talk to me."
She broke completely, sobs rattling her body. "It's… everything! The posts… the lies… the rumors—they're saying I'm… I'm—"
Lukas took a deep breath, his voice suddenly sharper. "Genevieve… listen. I have to tell you. Almost all your sponsors dropped you. Every ambassadorship… gone. And the public—" He paused. "Listen, yes, Ross & Vale called you a fraud. That you're nothing but a shallow attention-seeker, that everyone knows you're fake. That your talent was just… luck. They didn't even try to sugarcoat it. And the other sponsors? They're saying things like you're manipulative, selfish… a disaster. Every Opera House? Pulled out, except the Mariinsky. You're left with only them."
Genevieve's knees buckled, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline. "No… no… it can't be true…"
"It is," Lukas said firmly, almost coldly, but his voice softened when he heard her trembling sobs. "I'm sorry, I know it's brutal. But you have to understand—they framed it as their opinion, but it's meant to hurt. It's humiliating. It's… disgusting. And you didn't deserve any of it."
Tears spilled freely now. "I… I worked so hard… I didn't do anything wrong…"
"I know," Lukas whispered, steady and patient. "I knew who you were the whole time. That's the only thing that matters. Everyone else? They don't matter. Not now. Not ever."
Genevieve pressed the phone against her cheek, letting herself collapse into the warmth of his voice, even as the echoes of humiliation and betrayal clawed at her.
Lukas' voice softened after the brutal truths had spilled over the line. "Genevieve… where are you right now?"
Genevieve blinked through her tears, her voice trembling but sharp. "No… no, where are you?"
"I'm… at a hotel," he admitted, a pause hanging in the line.
Her brow furrowed, confusion cutting through her grief. "A hotel? But—"
Lukas exhaled. "—bathroom problems. The place was a disaster. The Grand Astoria. I didn't want to worry you with it."
Genevieve didn't have the mental space to question him further. Her sobs had left her drained but resolute. "I'm coming," she whispered.
Within the hour, she had managed a small sense of normalcy: a hot bath to wash away the sticky weight of tears, brushing her teeth with mechanical precision, then pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black crop top that hugged her figure just right. She threw on a baseball cap and sunglasses, a shield against the world outside.
Her hands shook slightly as she slid into one of Annika's cars, the engine rumbling beneath her. Despite the chaos and humiliation she'd just endured, every beat of her heart pushed her forward. She needed to see him. Needed to be near Lukas.
The engine hummed beneath her as Genevieve gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. The city blurred past in streaks of sunlight and shadow, but her mind was elsewhere replaying Lukas' voice, the harsh words from sponsors, and the sting of betrayal.
Her chest felt tight, a mix of grief and adrenaline. I'm going to see him. I have to see him. The thought was a lifeline, steadying her even as her hands trembled slightly.
She checked the rearview mirror reflexively, adjusting her cap and sunglasses as if they could hide the traces of tears still clinging to her face. Every stoplight felt like an eternity, every passing car a reminder that time was moving too slowly.
Her thoughts flickered back to the phone call. Lukas' calm voice, his steady reassurances and yet, the raw truth he'd delivered. It hurt, yes, but it had also sparked something fierce inside her. I can't stay here. I won't stay here.
The hotel's name ran through her mind repeatedly: Grand Astoria. Familiar enough, yet far enough to feel like a world apart from her apartment, her chaos, and the scrutiny she couldn't escape.
Her foot pressed harder on the accelerator, the tires gripping the road as her resolve hardened. She wasn't just going to see himshe was going to be there for herself too. To face whatever came next, with Lukas waiting, and maybe, just maybe, a sliver of hope threading through the pain.
♡♡♡
The towering facade of the Grand Astoria finally appeared ahead, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Genevieve exhaled sharply, parking the car quickly, hands still trembling. She adjusted her cap and sunglasses one last time, then stepped out, heart pounding with anticipation and nerves, ready to confront the world or at least, the moment with Lukas that could make it feel bearable again.
The Grand Astoria's reception took one's breath away. Marble floors stretched endlessly, gleaming under the sunlight streaming through towering glass windows. Crystal chandeliers hung like constellations above, and the soft hum of classical music threaded through the air.
As she walked, she passed a few well-known faces celebrities laughing softly, photographers snapping discreetly—and she couldn't help but feel slightly out of place. Her heart hammered, but not from intimidation. From urgency. From the need to be with Lukas.
She approached the reception desk, polished to perfection, and leaned slightly forward. "I'd like to see Mr. Lukas Reinhardt, please," she said, voice calm but firm.
The receptionist raised an eyebrow, skepticism sharp in her gaze. "May I have your name?" she asked, fingers hovering over the call button beneath the desk.
Genevieve smiled politely but shook her head. "I'd rather not give it," she replied evenly, not a trace of hesitation.
The receptionist's hand lingered over the button, ready to summon security or make a call, when Genevieve quickly pulled out her phone and dialed Lukas. A few tense minutes passed as she spoke softly, explaining the situation, waiting with the poise of someone used to negotiating obstacles.
Finally, a soft click came through. Genevieve hung up, and the receptionist, still eyeing her suspiciously, handed over a small card with the suite name. "He will see you there," she said curtly.
Genevieve gave a subtle nod of thanks and turned, walking away with measured confidence. Behind her, the receptionist's lips pressed into a thin line, a snarl threatening at the corners as she muttered under her breath.
Genevieve held her head high, the gleam of the marble floors reflecting her determination. Every step toward the elevator, every passing glance, reminded her: she was here, and nothing not humiliation, not gossip, not disbelief was going to stop her from seeing Lukas.
Genevieve finally pulled back a little, her hands still resting against his chest. She let her eyes roam over him, really seeing him for the first time that day. Lukas had always had a quiet kind of presence tall, with broad shoulders that somehow made him look both protective and effortless. His dark hair was slightly tousled from the afternoon light streaming through the window, and his piercing gray eyes held a mixture of warmth, amusement, and unwavering focus. The kind of gaze that could make her feel like the only person in the world.
"You know," he said softly, a playful lift at the corner of his lips, "you really should have called me sooner. You look like a storm just walked through you."
Genevieve sniffled, trying and failing not to smile. "A storm…? That's generous. I was more like a tornado."
He chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. "Well, tornado or not, you're here now. And I promise… I'll keep you grounded."
She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was genuine. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not easy," he admitted, voice softer now, almost conspiratorial. "But I like a challenge." He leaned a fraction closer, his thumb brushing her cheek lightly. "Especially when it involves you."
Genevieve felt the tension in her shoulders ease for the first time all day. The storm outside the lies, the humiliation, the sponsors felt distant, if only for a moment. She allowed herself a small laugh, brushing away a lingering tear.
"You're ridiculous," she whispered, shaking her head, but the warmth in her chest told her she didn't mean it as an insult.
"And you love it," Lukas said, grinning now, eyes glinting with amusement.
For a while, they stayed like that, a fragile bubble of relief and quiet intimacy in the midst of chaos. Genevieve let herself savor it, feeling grounded, seen, andfinally
—safe.
♡♡♡
Annika unlocked the door with the same care she always did, as if noise might change anything.
The apartment was a mess: drawers yanked open, clothes in heaps, the couch cushion gutted like some animal had clawed it.
She just stood there for a second. No gasp. No curse. Just… air in, air out.
She set her bag down, fished her phone from her pocket, and sent a single text to the cleaning service she used once a year for spring dust. Need you tonight.
The cake box was still in her hands.
The one from her bakery: the one tourists queued two hours for, the one Parisians called the soft cloud. She sat on the couch's wooden frame, balancing the box on her knees, the faint sweetness seeping into the air.
She ate in silence, fork cutting through the cream's delicate layers, letting the TV's hum fill the room. The screen flickered colors she didn't bother to focus on.
She'd told Genevieve this would happen. Not in so many words, Genevieve never listened to so many words, but she had warned her. And still, she went.
Annika chewed slowly, the taste warm and rich on her tongue, but somewhere underneath, the sweetness felt thin.