Her breath hitched at that, just once. She stared at their joined hands like she was surprised they were there.
"I don't know how to be anything else," she admitted.
"I know," he said softly. "That's why I'm here."
She let her shoulders drop, finally allowing her weight to settle back against the headboard. The tension didn't vanish, it loosened
For a moment, she said nothing. Then, quieter:
"Stay," she said. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't begging.
It was honest.
He didn't answer with words. He stayed exactly where he was, hand in hers, solid and unafraid, and for the first time since the show, since the noise, since Nolan's shadow crept back in, Celine felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.
Not safety yet.
***
The morning sunlight spilled into the office, sharp and almost accusatory, but Celine didn't flinch. She had stayed home for a week, letting the world storm past her while she rebuilt herself in quiet. Today, she was back.
She stepped through the glass doors, heels clicking lightly on the polished floor. Staff glanced up, some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled judgment, but she held her gaze steady, calm, measured. Each step felt deliberate, a small reclamation of territory she had nearly let slip away.
"Good morning, Ms. Celine," one of the assistants said. Slightly nervous. She nodded, allowing a faint, controlled smile.
Her office awaited her, tidy as she had left it, but she noted the subtle stirrings: whispers that stopped when she entered, eyes flicking toward her every few seconds. She didn't acknowledge them. Not yet.
She set her bag down, exhaled slowly, and opened her laptop. Emails poured in: some from clients, some from her PR and legal team updating her on the harassment takedown progress. She skimmed through quickly, making mental notes. A week away had not slowed the world, but she had returned stronger.
"Celine," Stacy's voice came softly from the doorway, bringing her focus back. "I've briefed the team. All sensitive posts flagged. Media inquiries redirected. No one is discussing the station incident anymore."
Celine nodded, grateful. "Good work. Keep monitoring, but quietly."
"Yes, ma'am," Stacy said, her tone respectful but confident. She lingered a moment, sensing the tension still coiled beneath Celine's composure, then left silently.
Celine leaned back in her chair, letting her fingers rest on the desk. She could feel the lingering anxiety, the residual tension from the week before, but it no longer controlled her. She was ready to act, to reclaim her work, her reputation, and her life.
The door opened again. One of her colleagues, a usually chatty junior, peeked in nervously. "Ms. Celine… welcome back."
She looked up, eyes sharp but kind. "Thank you. Let's get to work," she said, voice calm and assured. The words carried authority without harshness, a subtle warning that she was back, but in control.
As the day unfolded, emails, calls, and meetings filled the hours. But with each decision she made, each instruction she gave, she felt the weight of last week lift slightly. She was cautious, yes, still protective of her boundaries, but she was herself again, unafraid to face the world she had paused for only a week.
Celine's phone buzzed. This time, it was a call she had been bracing herself for, Mr. Zen, Chanel's representative, calling from Paris.
"Ms. Monroe?" his smooth, precise voice came through the line.
"Yes, Mr. Zen," she replied, sitting up straighter, letting her professionalism mask the residual nerves from last week.
"I wanted to update you regarding the collaboration," he began. "Chanel has decided to move forward with your designs. The winter line, thanks to your vision, is trending in Paris. People are calling it… remarkable."
Her chest lifted slightly. Relief, delicate but real, spread through her. She had feared the worst after the online storm.
"That's… wonderful news," she said, careful not to let her voice tremble.
"Yes," Mr. Zen continued, "but there is a matter I must address, personally, not professionally. Chanel advises that you take care with your personal life. Public perception is delicate. One misstep, and it can affect partnerships."
Celine swallowed. She had worried they might cancel outright. Instead, they were cautioning her, a warning, not a rejection.
"I understand," she said calmly. "I assure you my personal affairs will not interfere with my professional responsibilities."
"Good," he said, a faint warmth creeping into his otherwise formal tone. "I see potential in you, Ms. Monroe. Don't let me down."
The line went silent for a moment before the click.
Celine set her phone down, exhaling slowly. Her heart still raced, but in a lighter, more focused way. Chanel hadn't pulled out. They believed in her. They trusted her work.
And now, she reminded herself, it was her responsibility to show them they were right, not just for the brand, but for herself.
She leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a small, victorious smile. The storm outside hadn't disappeared, but for the first time since last week, she felt the calm of being in control, in her element, and one step ahead.
By late afternoon, Celine was in her office, reviewing the last edits for a campaign when a quiet knock came at the door.
"Delivery for Ms. Monroe," a courier said, handing her a small, tastefully wrapped box.
She frowned, puzzled for a moment, then untied the ribbon. Inside, a bouquet of cream and blush peonies, soft, fragrant, and perfectly arranged. Nestled among the petals was a small card in familiar handwriting.
"You are strong."
Her fingers hovered over the note for a moment, a slow smile tugging at her lips. Not flashy. Not demanding attention. Just… a quiet recognition of everything she had endured over the past week.
She breathed in the scent of the flowers, letting it anchor her. The office felt lighter somehow. Even the tension from the Chanel call earlier seemed less sharp.
Stacy peeked in, noticing the bouquet. "Someone's lucky," she said softly, smiling knowingly.
Celine chuckled lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know," she admitted. Her eyes lingered on the note. "And I needed this more than I realized."
For a moment, she just sat there, letting the calm wash over her. The peonies, the note, the timing, it wasn't about grand gestures. It was about presence. About knowing someone saw her struggle and believed in her strength.
With a final glance at the flowers, she set the card beside her laptop and returned to her work, feeling just a little more invincible. The chaos outside hadn't vanished, but inside her office, for now, she was anchored.