CHAPTER 80: EMMA

Odette's place feels like stepping into a chic Parisian daydream. Soft pastels, delicate lace curtains, and tiny porcelain knick-knacks perfectly arranged on dainty shelves. The walls are a light blush, and there's a faint scent of vanilla—probably from some fancy French diffuser she picked up on one of her trips back home. Everything about Odette is cutesy and delicate, from her taste in decor to her soft, melodic accent. I stand outside her door, my chest tightening with every passing second. I shouldn't even be here. I should be handling this on my own, trying to figure out my next steps. But right now, I just need a friend.

I press the doorbell, and it chimes a sweet, lilting tune. Within moments, the door swings open, and there she is, Odette, looking as polished as ever in her neat sweater and pleated skirt. Her face is bright and welcoming, but it immediately shifts to worry when she sees the tears already welling up in my eyes.

"Emma, mon chéri, what's wrong?" she asks, her vo