FLORENCE’S POVRaiden didn’t say a word as he led me away from the group, down a gravel path that wound through the vineyard toward a quieter patch of garden closer to the house. It was all rose bushes and old stone walls and creeping vines, and for a brief moment, I felt like we’d stumbled into someone’s private love story.The air here was still, sacred almost, as if even the bees buzzing near the blossoms knew to keep it down.“Raiden?” I asked gently. “What’s going on?”He stopped walking but didn’t turn around just yet. I watched his shoulders rise, then fall with a long exhale.“I don’t like the way Chris was flirting with you,” he said finally, his voice low and calm. “He’s got that whole harmless charm thing going, but I see through it. And I didn’t love watching you laugh at his jokes.”My brows lifted slightly. “You dragged me into a secret garden because you were jealous?”“Not just jealous,” he said, finally turning to face me. His eyes searched mine with quiet intensity.
FLORENCE’S POVThree hours and what felt like a million photos later, the shoot finally wrapped.Everyone was sun-drunk and emotionally winded, hovering somewhere between exhilaration and exhaustion. The air smelled of lavender and camera flash, and the vineyard around us glowed golden in the soft, late-afternoon light.But the results?They were extraordinary.Emily stood barefoot in the grass, wrapped in a loose linen robe the color of pearl, sipping chilled lemonade from a glass that looked almost too elegant for this world. Her braid had loosened over the shoot, strands falling gently around her face, giving her a soft, earthy glow.She didn’t look like someone recovering from a scandal.She looked like someone who had just stepped into her power.Rosa and I walked over slowly, like approaching a moment we didn’t want to break.“Hey,” I said gently. “How are you holding up?”Emily turned to us and smiled. Not forced, not shaky. A real one. “Honestly? I’m good.”“Really?” Rosa aske
FLORENCE’S POVOur last few days in Paris went surprisingly smoothly.It was as if all the drama had cracked open the sky, and now the sun could finally shine through. We stopped walking on eggshells, stopped checking over our shoulders. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.And with that breathing space came something quieter. Sweeter.Raiden and I stopped working, or thinking, or strategizing. We just… existed together.One morning, he took me to a flower market tucked into a sleepy corner of Rue Cler, where stalls overflowed with peonies and sunflowers and wild sprigs of lavender bundled in newspaper. We walked slowly, fingers brushing but never fully entwining, like we were suspended in the space between a first kiss and forever.Another day, he surprised me with a day trip outside the city. Just two hours from Paris was this sleepy, golden-drenched village called Vézelay, where the streets were cobbled and wine was poured like water. We had lunch at a tiny c
MASON’S POVMy heart tore in two as I walked away from Florence at Fashion Week.Telling her I respected her new relationship… that I wanted to be friends…It felt like I floated up out of my body and watched someone else speak those words with a calm I didn’t feel. Someone more collected, more mature, more self-sacrificing.That wasn’t me.And yet… it was the only version of me I wanted to be around her right now.Because what was the alternative? Beg? Cling? Remind her of a love she had spent so long trying to recover from?I couldn’t be that selfish anymore.Still, as I turned the corner away from the crowd, my legs took me to the one place that felt familiar.Chris’s hotel room.***“And… you’re okay with being friends?” Chris asked as he popped open another bottle of beer like it was just water. The room around him was a disaster. Clothes half-folded in piles on the chair. Camera equipment scattered like he’d been mid-shoot and never stopped. Plates from room service littered
MASON’S POVThe jet ride home was quiet.Too quiet, considering the war I knew I was flying into.The luxury didn’t register. I didn’t taste the wine, didn’t hear the engines. I sat there staring out the window, watching clouds smear against the sky like brushstrokes on glass.I’d agreed to move back into my parents’ estate—not because I wanted to, but because returning to the mansion I once shared with Florence felt like walking back into a coffin. At least at the estate, there were people to blame. Walls I hadn’t painted. Silence I hadn’t created.Control was easier to tolerate than grief.A black car pulled up to the jet before it even fully powered down. No welcome committee. Just a driver and two security guys.Subtle. Functional. Meant to say: You’re back. You’re needed. Don’t ask questions.I didn’t.***The estate looked exactly the same. That was the worst part.Immaculate hedges, polished floors, servants who still wouldn’t meet your eye.As soon as I stepped out of the car,
FLORENCE’S POVThe Blackwood private jet was exactly what you’d expect from Raiden: understated elegance, all clean white leather seats and warm wooden trim. No obnoxious gold, no velvet—just quiet charm and impeccable taste. Even the glassware looked like it had been chosen by someone who appreciated minimalism over flash.Rosa was already curled up in one of the corner seats with her legs tucked under her, champagne in one hand and a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries on her lap. She looked like she belonged there—like her life had always included private jets and French confections at 40,000 feet.Raiden was fast asleep, head tilted against the plush headrest, hair falling slightly into his face. His tie was loosened, his shoes were off, and his arms were crossed like he was guarding a secret. I couldn’t help but smile.I took the seat across from Rosa and buckled in.“So,” I started, propping my chin on my palm. “How is it that you’re flying back with us? Tired of having your
FLORENCE’S POVIt took Annalise ten full minutes to come out of the bathroom.I didn’t say anything. I didn’t knock. I didn’t push.I just sat on the floor with my back against the door, knees pulled to my chest, eyes flicking toward the clock every few seconds, trying not to let panic cloud my voice when I spoke.“I’m right here, Anna,” I said softly. “Take your time.”The only response I got for a while was the low hiss of the tap and the occasional rustle of movement.My stomach twisted.Finally, I heard the click of the lock, and the door creaked open.She stood there, pale and clammy, her eyeliner smudged at the corners. I’d seen her drunk, seen her mid-breakup sobbing over a pint of mint chocolate chip, seen her dancing barefoot on marble floors at parties—but this?This was different.“Are you…” I rose to my feet slowly, “okay?”She nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s been happening a lot lately.”“What!?” My voice rose despite myself. “And you haven’t been to a
FLORENCE’S POVOn the night of my husband’s birthday, I placed the cake I’d spent five hours making on the dining table, feeling a flicker of hope. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe he’d walk in, see the effort I’d put in, and smile—really smile—like he used to. Maybe, just for one night, we could be something close to happy.The front door beeped. My heart skipped, anticipation bubbling in my chest. I turned, ready to greet him.Just as Mason spotted the cake, his face turned sour. “Didn’t I tell you not to do this?” he sighed, “I have a jet waiting to take me to Chicago right now.” Even tired from his long day, he looked handsome in his tailor-made designer suit, like the wealthy, powerful CEO he was. I took the cake plate in my hands and went up to him, a big smile on my face. But he didn’t look as happy to see me. “Just take one bite of the cake,” I begged. “It’s your favorite, and I made it myself!” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Florence, I only
FLORENCE’S POVIt took Annalise ten full minutes to come out of the bathroom.I didn’t say anything. I didn’t knock. I didn’t push.I just sat on the floor with my back against the door, knees pulled to my chest, eyes flicking toward the clock every few seconds, trying not to let panic cloud my voice when I spoke.“I’m right here, Anna,” I said softly. “Take your time.”The only response I got for a while was the low hiss of the tap and the occasional rustle of movement.My stomach twisted.Finally, I heard the click of the lock, and the door creaked open.She stood there, pale and clammy, her eyeliner smudged at the corners. I’d seen her drunk, seen her mid-breakup sobbing over a pint of mint chocolate chip, seen her dancing barefoot on marble floors at parties—but this?This was different.“Are you…” I rose to my feet slowly, “okay?”She nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s been happening a lot lately.”“What!?” My voice rose despite myself. “And you haven’t been to a
FLORENCE’S POVThe Blackwood private jet was exactly what you’d expect from Raiden: understated elegance, all clean white leather seats and warm wooden trim. No obnoxious gold, no velvet—just quiet charm and impeccable taste. Even the glassware looked like it had been chosen by someone who appreciated minimalism over flash.Rosa was already curled up in one of the corner seats with her legs tucked under her, champagne in one hand and a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries on her lap. She looked like she belonged there—like her life had always included private jets and French confections at 40,000 feet.Raiden was fast asleep, head tilted against the plush headrest, hair falling slightly into his face. His tie was loosened, his shoes were off, and his arms were crossed like he was guarding a secret. I couldn’t help but smile.I took the seat across from Rosa and buckled in.“So,” I started, propping my chin on my palm. “How is it that you’re flying back with us? Tired of having your
MASON’S POVThe jet ride home was quiet.Too quiet, considering the war I knew I was flying into.The luxury didn’t register. I didn’t taste the wine, didn’t hear the engines. I sat there staring out the window, watching clouds smear against the sky like brushstrokes on glass.I’d agreed to move back into my parents’ estate—not because I wanted to, but because returning to the mansion I once shared with Florence felt like walking back into a coffin. At least at the estate, there were people to blame. Walls I hadn’t painted. Silence I hadn’t created.Control was easier to tolerate than grief.A black car pulled up to the jet before it even fully powered down. No welcome committee. Just a driver and two security guys.Subtle. Functional. Meant to say: You’re back. You’re needed. Don’t ask questions.I didn’t.***The estate looked exactly the same. That was the worst part.Immaculate hedges, polished floors, servants who still wouldn’t meet your eye.As soon as I stepped out of the car,
MASON’S POVMy heart tore in two as I walked away from Florence at Fashion Week.Telling her I respected her new relationship… that I wanted to be friends…It felt like I floated up out of my body and watched someone else speak those words with a calm I didn’t feel. Someone more collected, more mature, more self-sacrificing.That wasn’t me.And yet… it was the only version of me I wanted to be around her right now.Because what was the alternative? Beg? Cling? Remind her of a love she had spent so long trying to recover from?I couldn’t be that selfish anymore.Still, as I turned the corner away from the crowd, my legs took me to the one place that felt familiar.Chris’s hotel room.***“And… you’re okay with being friends?” Chris asked as he popped open another bottle of beer like it was just water. The room around him was a disaster. Clothes half-folded in piles on the chair. Camera equipment scattered like he’d been mid-shoot and never stopped. Plates from room service littered
FLORENCE’S POVOur last few days in Paris went surprisingly smoothly.It was as if all the drama had cracked open the sky, and now the sun could finally shine through. We stopped walking on eggshells, stopped checking over our shoulders. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.And with that breathing space came something quieter. Sweeter.Raiden and I stopped working, or thinking, or strategizing. We just… existed together.One morning, he took me to a flower market tucked into a sleepy corner of Rue Cler, where stalls overflowed with peonies and sunflowers and wild sprigs of lavender bundled in newspaper. We walked slowly, fingers brushing but never fully entwining, like we were suspended in the space between a first kiss and forever.Another day, he surprised me with a day trip outside the city. Just two hours from Paris was this sleepy, golden-drenched village called Vézelay, where the streets were cobbled and wine was poured like water. We had lunch at a tiny c
FLORENCE’S POVThree hours and what felt like a million photos later, the shoot finally wrapped.Everyone was sun-drunk and emotionally winded, hovering somewhere between exhilaration and exhaustion. The air smelled of lavender and camera flash, and the vineyard around us glowed golden in the soft, late-afternoon light.But the results?They were extraordinary.Emily stood barefoot in the grass, wrapped in a loose linen robe the color of pearl, sipping chilled lemonade from a glass that looked almost too elegant for this world. Her braid had loosened over the shoot, strands falling gently around her face, giving her a soft, earthy glow.She didn’t look like someone recovering from a scandal.She looked like someone who had just stepped into her power.Rosa and I walked over slowly, like approaching a moment we didn’t want to break.“Hey,” I said gently. “How are you holding up?”Emily turned to us and smiled. Not forced, not shaky. A real one. “Honestly? I’m good.”“Really?” Rosa aske
FLORENCE’S POVRaiden didn’t say a word as he led me away from the group, down a gravel path that wound through the vineyard toward a quieter patch of garden closer to the house. It was all rose bushes and old stone walls and creeping vines, and for a brief moment, I felt like we’d stumbled into someone’s private love story.The air here was still, sacred almost, as if even the bees buzzing near the blossoms knew to keep it down.“Raiden?” I asked gently. “What’s going on?”He stopped walking but didn’t turn around just yet. I watched his shoulders rise, then fall with a long exhale.“I don’t like the way Chris was flirting with you,” he said finally, his voice low and calm. “He’s got that whole harmless charm thing going, but I see through it. And I didn’t love watching you laugh at his jokes.”My brows lifted slightly. “You dragged me into a secret garden because you were jealous?”“Not just jealous,” he said, finally turning to face me. His eyes searched mine with quiet intensity.
FLORENCE’S POVOnce Emily confirmed she was okay with doing the nude shoot—completely on her terms, no pressure—we got to work.It wasn’t even sunrise yet when I sent the first text, barely able to feel my fingers after such an emotionally wrecking night. But there was no time to sleep. We had a window—small and delicate—and I was determined to help her step through it.I remembered an art director I’d met at Fashion Week just a few days ago. French, sharp, and wildly creative, she’d shown me a campaign she did for a sustainable lingerie brand that felt more like a gallery exhibit than an ad. I’d tucked her number into my phone, not thinking I’d need it anytime soon.Now I was dialing with barely a second thought.Her response came in instantly.Florence? Mon dieu, I would die to work with you.I didn’t even need to explain much—just that it would be raw, elegant, empowering, and fast. That was enough. She was in.I’d never done anything this last-minute in my life.Usually, shoots to
FLORENCE’S POVEmily stared at the wine glass in her hand like she couldn’t remember how it got there.The room had quieted now. We’d coaxed her into eating something—a small plate of pasta and a few forkfuls of salad—and poured her half a glass of red. She hadn’t said much. She wasn’t crying anymore, but the silence around her wasn’t peace. It was a void.We sat around the little dining table in her suite, lit only by the dim overhead light and the soft glow from the city outside the windows. Rosa sat beside Emily, one protective hand resting lightly on her forearm. Rosa hadn’t even met Emily before this night, but had practically adopted her by that point. I was on her other side. Across from us, Raiden had flipped open his tablet and was already in fix-it mode.“I suggest we start with the basics,” Raiden said calmly, tapping through his notes. “Natalie, you’ll need to call the police. File a formal report. The earlier we do it, the better. Even if it doesn’t lead to anything imme