The soft hum of the air conditioner filled my office as I packed my things. My fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the tablet where I’d been sketching earlier, and a sigh escaped my lips. It had been such a long, exhausting day — too much happening in one breath. From that awkward encounter in the cafeteria to Vincent’s sudden return and… that embarrassing moment in his office.

I shook my head, trying to chase away the memory. My reflection on the computer screen showed flushed cheeks and a tired face, strands of my hair falling messily from the clip.

“Perfect,” I muttered dryly, shoving my pen into the drawer. “Exactly what I need right now… to look like someone who just lost her mind.”

I slipped my files into the bag, arranging them neatly. All I wanted was to get home, take a warm bath, and forget today ever happened.

The office door creaked open slightly.

“Ms. Alice?”

I turned and saw Noah, standing just by the doorway, head bowed slightly, holding a brown folder against his chest. He looked nervous, like he was trying to gauge my mood before speaking.

“What is it, Noah?” I asked, zipping up my bag.

He hesitated, clearing his throat softly. “Ma, the CEO wants to see you in his office.”

I froze mid-motion. My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.

I turned to face him fully, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not coming,” I said quickly. “Tell him to send me the location of the meeting instead. I’ll arrive on time.”

Noah’s gaze dropped to the floor, still respectful. “It’s not about the meeting, ma. It’s… about the client you met this afternoon.”

My heart skipped a beat. “The client?” I asked, my voice slightly unsteady. “What about him? Was he not satisfied?”

Noah shook his head. “I don’t know, ma. That’s why the CEO asked to see you personally.”

A deep breath escaped me. I rubbed my temple gently. What could it be this time? Had the client changed his mind? Was there something wrong with my designs?

I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked past Noah, stopping briefly beside him. “And Noah,” I said, glancing at him from the corner of my eye, “I’ve told you before—don’t call me ma. I’m not that old. Just continue with Ms. Alice,?”

He looked up and gave a small smile. “Yes, Ma.”

Great, “ I muttered.

I made my way down the hallway, heels tapping softly against the tiled floor. Most of the staff were still busy with end-of-day tasks, pretending not to stare as I walked past. The air was filled with that faint blend of paper, coffee, and mild perfume that always lingered in the design department.

When I reached Vincent’s office I paused at the door. For a moment, I considered turning back. But curiosity — and maybe a bit of anxiety — won the battle.

I knocked lightly.

No response.

“Typical,” I whispered under my breath. I turned the knob gently and peeked inside.

The room was dimly lit, sunlight from the wide windows spilling across the polished desk. And there he was — Vincent — sitting lazily in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, revealing the veins along his forearms.

My gaze lingered longer than it should have. I quickly looked away, biting the inside of my cheek. Why was I acting like a teenage girl who just saw her crush for the first time?

He was on the phone, speaking fluent French — smooth, rich, and effortless. His voice was calm but firm, the kind that commanded attention even through a screen.

I caught fragments of the conversation: design, presentation, invitation, competition.

He ended the call with a low chuckle before finally noticing me.

“Oh. You’re here,” he said, his lips curving into that half-smile that always irritated me.

I stepped in, folding my arms. “Noah said you wanted to see me about the client. Is there a problem?”

Vincent leaned back in his chair, studying me for a moment. Then, without warning, he stood and walked around the desk until he was right in front of me.

His scent hit me first — clean, expensive, a faint trace of cigarette.

“No problem,” he said quietly. “But something came up.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning slightly.

He handed me a printed document. I scanned the words quickly, my eyes widening with each line I read.

“You’re joking,” I breathed.

Vincent’s lips twitched. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

I looked back at the paper. The client — the same one from this afternoon — had personally requested me to participate in a design competition in Paris. Paris.

For a few seconds, I couldn’t find my voice.

“The client said your sketches stood out,” Vincent continued. “He was impressed by your creativity, the balance of simplicity and class. He believes you could represent the company for the competition.”

I slowly lowered the paper, staring at him. “Paris… competition…” My voice was barely above a whisper. Then it hit me fully, and I gasped, unable to contain my excitement. “Are you serious?!”

Vincent nodded. “You’ll be leaving next week if you accept.”

Without even realizing it, I closed the space between us and threw my arms around him.

“Oh my God! Vincent, thank you!”

It took a few seconds before I realized what I’d just done. His arms were stiff at first — then relaxed, resting lightly at my waist. I froze, feeling the warmth of his breath against my hair.

I immediately stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off my dress. “I mean… thank you, sir.”

His smirk returned. “Right. *Sir.*”

“Don’t start,” I warned, glaring lightly.

He chuckled, then turned to pick up another file. “You’re welcome. Now, you have a few preparations to make. We’re meeting some sponsors tonight. You’ll need to look presentable.”

“Tonight?” I blinked. “You mean as in… today tonight?”

“Yes, Alice. I wasn’t aware there’s another kind of tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. “I should’ve known.”

---

A few hours later, I was at one of the city’s most luxurious salons, surrounded by stylists bustling around like bees. The scent of hairspray filled the air as one of them ran her fingers through my hair, humming softly.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror — barely recognizing the woman staring back. My hair cascaded down in soft curls, my skin glowing under the soft light. The long green gown they’d chosen clung gently to my body, the back cut low enough to reveal a smooth line of skin, elegant but modest.

A stylist fastened a silver clasp near my shoulder and stepped back, admiring the result.

“Perfect,” she said, beaming. “You look like a goddess, ma’am.”

I smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

Another stylist turned to Vincent, who stood near the doorway, scrolling through his phone, still in his signature dark suit.

“CEO,” she said cheerfully, “your partner is so beautiful! We didn’t even apply much makeup — her skin did all the work!”

I cleared my throat immediately, cheeks burning. “Partner?”

Vincent lifted his gaze, that infuriatingly calm smile tugging at his lips. “Well, they’re not wrong.”

“Don’t start,” I muttered under my breath, earning quiet giggles from the stylists.

When I finally stood up, Vincent’s eyes followed me, his gaze lingering longer than I wanted to notice.

He didn’t say anything, but I caught the flicker of admiration — and something else — in his eyes.

The salon light reflected off his cufflinks as he reached out a hand. “Shall we?”

I hesitated for a moment before slipping my hand into his. The warmth of his palm was steady, grounding, yet sent an uninvited flutter through me.

We walked out together, the evening air cool against my skin. The city lights glimmered like a thousand stars scattered below the horizon. Vincent’s car — sleek and black — waited by the curb.

The driver opened the door, and Vincent guided me in first. As I settled into the seat, I glanced sideways, catching his reflection in the window. His jawline was sharp, his expression unreadable, his tie slightly loosened.

He looked effortlessly perfect.

I exhaled softly, shaking my head. “What a day,” I whispered to myself.

Vincent glanced at me, his voice calm but teasing. “Nervous?”

“Not at all,” I lied.

He smirked. “Good. Because tonight’s only the beginning.”

I turned to look at him, brow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only smiled, eyes back on the road ahead.

I leaned back against the seat, letting out a small sigh as the car sped through the city lights — toward whatever awaited next.

And though I tried to deny it, deep down… I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement.

For the first time in a long while, I felt alive.

---