By the time evening settled over Paris, the city had taken on a different kind of beauty.
The golden warmth of the afternoon had faded into something softer, deeper—streetlights flickering on one by one, casting a quiet glow along the sidewalks as the sky melted into shades of navy and silver. It felt calmer somehow, like the city had exhaled after a long day.
Inside the suite, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeve of my dress for what felt like the third time.
It wasn't that anything was wrong with it.
I just… couldn't stop fidgeting.
"Are you ready?"
Harley's voice came from behind me.
I met his reflection in the mirror. He stood near the door, already dressed, his jacket fitted perfectly, his posture composed like always. He looked the same as he always did—put together, effortless.
Untouched by everything that had been building between us.
"Almost," I said, smoothing out the fabric one last time before turning toward him. "Is this okay?"
His gaze flickered over me, brief but steady.
"You look fine."
Fine.
I nodded, ignoring the small drop in my chest. "Okay."
He reached for the door, holding it open for me without another word.
And just like that, we left.
The theater was grand in a way that made everything else feel smaller.
Soft golden lighting reflected off polished floors, velvet seats stretching in rows toward the stage, the quiet murmur of conversations filling the space as people settled in. There was something timeless about it—like stepping into a world that didn't belong to the present.
We took our seats side by side.
Close enough that our shoulders almost brushed.
But not quite.
I folded my hands in my lap, glancing around for a moment before the lights dimmed and the room fell into a hush.
The play began.
At first, I tried to focus on the stage—the actors, the dialogue, the way their voices carried through the theater with practiced ease. It was beautifully done, every line deliberate, every movement precise.
But my attention kept drifting.
To him.
I glanced sideways.
Harley's gaze was fixed on the stage, his expression calm, unreadable. He didn't shift. Didn't react. Didn't even seem aware of anything else around him.
Like he had placed all his attention exactly where it needed to be.
And nowhere else.
I looked back at the stage, trying to concentrate.
A scene unfolded—two characters standing too close, their voices soft but heavy with something unspoken. The kind of moment that felt like it was balancing on the edge of something more.
My chest tightened slightly.
Without thinking, I glanced at Harley again.
He didn't look at me.
Didn't move.
Didn't react.
And for some reason… that bothered me more than it should have.
I looked away quickly, my fingers curling slightly against my palm.
It's just a play.
But the feeling didn't go away.
When the show ended, the room filled with applause.
People stood, voices rising as they gathered their things, conversations already starting before the curtain had fully closed. I stayed seated for a moment, letting the sound wash over me before finally standing.
"That was really good," I said, glancing at Harley as we made our way out.
"It was," he replied.
I waited.
"That's it?" I asked, a small smile tugging at my lips. "No deep analysis? No opinion?"
He glanced at me briefly. "It was well done."
I let out a soft laugh, though it didn't feel as light as I wanted it to. "You're impossible."
He didn't argue.
Didn't even react.
And just like that, the moment slipped away again.
The after party was held at one of the nearby hotels—elegant, polished, and filled with people who looked like they belonged there.
Soft music played in the background, blending with the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. The lighting was dim, warm, casting everything in a golden haze that made it feel almost surreal.
Harley stepped in beside me, his presence steady, familiar.
But the distance between us hadn't changed.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asked.
I nodded. "Sure."
He returned a moment later with two glasses, handing one to me before taking a small sip of his own.
"Thanks," I said.
He nodded once.
I took a sip, letting the taste settle on my tongue as I glanced around the room. People were scattered in small groups, laughing, talking, moving through the space with an ease I didn't feel.
And then I noticed it.
The way people were looking at him.
More specifically—
The way women were looking at him.
It wasn't subtle. A glance here. A smile there. One of them even approached briefly, saying something I didn't catch before laughing softly at whatever he replied.
I watched the interaction from a few steps away, my grip tightening slightly around my glass before I even realized it.
Why does that bother me?
It shouldn't.
It never has before.
He said something else, short and polite, before the woman eventually walked away.
And then—
Without thinking—
I stepped closer.
"Having fun?" I asked, my tone light.
Harley glanced at me, his expression unchanged. "It's fine."
I tilted my head slightly. "She seemed interested."
He shrugged. "Maybe."
"That's all you have to say?" I asked.
"What do you want me to say?"
There it was again.
That same calm response.
I let out a small breath. "Nothing. Forget it."
I took another sip of my drink, but the taste didn't feel the same anymore.
We stood there for a while after that.
Close.
But not really.
I shifted slightly, closing the distance just enough that our arms brushed.
He didn't move.
Didn't pull away.
But he didn't react either.
And somehow…
That felt worse.
I turned toward him, my voice quieter this time. "Are you going to keep acting like this all night?"
He looked at me, his gaze steady.
"Like what?"
"Like nothing's wrong."
A pause.
Then—
"I told you. I'm fine."
I shook my head slightly. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what do you mean?"
I hesitated.
Because I didn't know how to explain it without saying too much.
"You're different," I said finally.
His expression didn't change.
"You said you couldn't," he replied calmly. "So I'm not pushing."
The words landed harder than I expected.
"I didn't mean for you to just—" I stopped myself, exhaling softly. "Forget it."
He didn't respond.
And that silence said more than anything else.
I looked down at my glass, my fingers tightening slightly around it.
This wasn't how it was supposed to feel.
Not here.
Not with him.
I let out a quiet breath, my gaze drifting back up to him.
"I don't like this," I admitted.
That made him look at me again.
Really look this time.
But it only lasted a second.
"I'm just respecting what you said," he replied.
And that was it.
No anger.
No frustration.
Just distance.
The room suddenly felt louder.
Too loud.
Too full.
And yet—
I had never felt more alone.
I looked away, my chest tightening in a way I couldn't quite explain.
Because for the first time—
I wasn't the one pulling away.
And I didn't know how to fix it.
We stayed at the party a little longer, but I stopped paying attention to anything around me.
Not the music.
Not the people.
Not even the city outside the windows.
All I could feel was the space between us.
Even when he stood right beside me.
And somehow…
That was worse than before.