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 morning, Celine was in her office, reviewing the last edits for a design 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.
***
Celine stepped out of the office building, the evening air brushing her face, her heels clicking softly on the pavement. Her mind was still buzzing from the day, Chanel, clients, social media fallout, but seeing him there made the tension melt a little.
August was leaning casually against his car door, arms folded, tall and steady in the fading light. He looked up as she approached, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
Without thinking, without planning it, she found herself walking faster, drawn to him. Relief and something else, boldness, maybe, pushed her forward.
Before she realized it, she was at his side. She reached up, tugging lightly at his collar, a playful, impulsive gesture.
"Hey—" he started, surprised, but she cut him off with a kiss.
It wasn't just a quick peck. It was full of the week's emotions: exhaustion, gratitude, frustration, and a spark of something tender she hadn't dared feel aloud. Her lips pressed against his, bold yet fleeting, a rush of heat and relief.
August froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide, taken aback by her sudden move. Then, instinctively, he leaned down slightly, one hand finding hers at his chest, holding it gently as if to anchor her.
Celine pulled back slightly, cheeks burning, realizing what she had done. "I… I'm s—" she stammered, words tumbling out in a jumble.
He didn't let her finish. Instead, he cupped her face lightly, tilting his head, and kissed her back, slow, steady, deliberate. This time, there was no shock, only warmth and reassurance, as if he was telling her wordlessly: I'm here. You're safe. And I feel the same.
Her hands trembled slightly at his chest, gripping his jacket, and a laugh escaped her, soft, relieved, almost incredulous.
"You—" she started again, flustered, "I—"
He smiled against her lips, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, stopping her words with another gentle kiss.
Celine's heart raced, cheeks flushed, mind spinning, and yet, in that moment, everything felt alive, urgent, and utterly theirs. For a few heartbeats, there was only them.
Celine pulled back just slightly, breath uneven, cheeks still glowing. She stared at him, eyes wide, words caught somewhere between embarrassment and delight.
"I… I can't believe I just—" she began, then stopped, her hands still resting against his chest.
August chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that made her stomach flutter. "Believe what?" he teased, tilting his head. "That you kissed me?"
"Yes!" she admitted, voice a little high-pitched, flustered. "I—It was—"
He smiled, leaning just a fraction closer, his eyes soft but mischievous. "It's okay," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "You don't have to explain."
Her fingers fidgeted with the collar of his jacket, and she let out a nervous laugh, trying to steady herself. "I… I just… felt like I needed to," she confessed.
"Needed to," he repeated, echoing her words, and in his voice there was no judgment, only warmth and understanding. "Then it's good you did."
She blinked, heart hammering. "You're… you're not mad?"
"Mad?" He shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Not at all. Just surprised, pleasantly surprised."
Celine let out a small laugh, leaning a little into him, feeling the tension of the week melt further. "You always manage to stay calm," she said, half-teasing, half-admiring.
"Someone has to," he replied, with that same easy smile, "especially when you're prone to impulsive kisses."
She laughed again, this time softer, more relaxed, letting herself stay close to him.
Celine slid into the passenger seat, settling in with a sigh. The city lights reflected off the car windows, streaks of gold and white as traffic flowed around them. August started the engine, his hands steady on the wheel, his presence a comforting anchor beside her.
"I… I got the call from Mr. Zen today," she began, her voice soft, still riding the adrenaline from the day. "Chanel isn't canceling the collaboration. In fact, the winter line, the one I designed, it's trending in Paris. People are calling it remarkable."
August glanced at her, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "That's incredible, Celine. You did that. You made it happen."
She let out a quiet laugh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I was so worried… after everything that happened last week. I thought maybe they'd pull out, or… I don't know, question my professionalism."
"And?" he asked gently, his hand still resting near hers on the center console.
"And they didn't. Mr. Zen even warned me to… ," she said, cheeks warming at the memory of the polite caution. "But then he said… he sees potential in me. He said, 'Don't let me down.'"
August's eyes softened, his smile becoming something warmer, more tender. "You won't. You're stronger than they realize, and you've proved it to yourself this week."
Celine glanced at him, her heart fluttering a little. "I… I feel like I'm finally… getting back some control. And having you here… it makes a difference."
He reached over instinctively, brushing a hand lightly over hers. "I'll always be here, Celine. You don't have to face any of it alone."
She let herself lean just a little toward him, the tension of the day melting. "I… I don't usually let anyone see me like this," she admitted, voice soft.
"I know," he said quietly, eyes on the road, yet full of warmth. "And you don't have to."
For the rest of the drive, they didn't speak much. The traffic hummed around them, the city glowing in the evening light, but inside the car, there was only quiet relief, shared triumph, and the growing bond between them.
When she reached for his hand, he didn't hesitate, letting her fingers intertwine with his. It was simple. Silent. Perfectly intimate.
Celine closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back against the seat, letting herself savor the calm. The chaos outside still existed, but here, with him, she could breathe, she could rest, and she could feel alive again.
