Riley stood in the studio’s after-hours hush, her fingers running along velvet ribbons, pulse fluttering with nerves and anger. Luca appeared at her side, his smile crooked and soft, holding out a mug of tea. “I figured you could use something unpoisoned tonight.” She took it, managing a half-smile, eyes darting to the closed office door—Vincent and Delaney had been arguing for nearly an hour. Luca nudged her lightly. “Don’t let them get to you. You’re the reason anyone’s even talking about this place.”

She let her shoulders drop, letting him in for just a moment. “I don’t know how much more I can take,” she whispered, her voice thinner than she meant.

Luca’s expression shifted. “You’re amazing, Riley. Not just as a designer.” His gaze flicked downward, then back up, emboldened by the hush and the ache in her eyes. “If you ever want to talk—or forget the world for a minute…” He set the mug down, his fingers brushing hers, the contact electric and uncertain.

She searched his face—warm, open, nothing like the sharp-edged men who ruled this place. For a breathless second, the air changed. Then, with the smallest nod, Riley let herself lean into his shoulder, closing her eyes, letting his arms circle her just tight enough to make her feel briefly safe.

A door slammed somewhere behind them; voices rose in the office. “Let’s go,” Luca murmured, steering her upstairs toward the deserted sample room, away from pressure and prying eyes. Under the dim light, adrenaline and fatigue blurred. A bottle of something half-empty materialized between them, sipped in conspiratorial silence.

Luca laughed too loudly at one of her bitter jokes. Riley giggled—nervous, raw. The quiet stretched, snapped, and before she knew it, his lips were on hers—hesitant, almost reverent, until she kissed back, needing distraction, needing anyone but Vincent. Luca’s hands slid into her hair, their mouths urgent, desperate, a tangle of want and sadness. But as the kiss grew, Riley’s mind flashed elsewhere: dark eyes, rough hands, the taste of guilt. She pulled back sharply, skin aflame, breath ragged. “I’m sorry. I can’t—”

Luca masked his hurt with a quick grin. “You don’t have to explain.” He tried to steady himself, but the pain surfaced anyway. She pressed a trembling kiss to his cheek, muttering, “You deserve better.”

Downstairs, Vincent prowled the studio like something caged. Delaney, phone glued to her ear, orchestrated a fresh disaster: another faux scandal, another interview leak, all designed to test Riley and Vincent’s “spark.” The game was spinning out of control, and Delaney looked almost pleased as she saw her ex spiraling for once.

Later, Riley found herself alone in the fabric closet, seeking a moment of quiet. She wasn’t alone for long: Vincent appeared, shadowed eyes brimming with need and regret. “You’re hiding too?” he breathed, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Her anger flared. “What do you want from me? I can’t keep pretending—none of this is real.”

He closed the distance, close enough for her to feel his heartbeat. “It feels pretty damn real now.” He tangled a hand in her hair, the other at her waist, pulling her flush to him. Their mouths collided—hungry, violent, all the pain and longing poured into that kiss.

She hated how much she wanted him. His fingers found their way beneath her dress, urgent, coaxing, as she pressed him back against the shelves, lace and silk tumbling around them. She bit his collarbone, half in punishment, half in need; he groaned, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. In the muffled dark, they undressed each other with frantic hands, their bodies meeting in a haze of frustration and mutual desperation.

He buried his face in her neck as she gasped, her hands digging into his shoulders. There was nothing gentle, not this time—each thrust a question, each touch edged with doubt and desire. She bit back his name, cursing herself even as she clung to him, both of them losing themselves in the dark.

Afterward, they barely looked at each other, shame and pleasure tangled between them. He brushed a thumb over her cheek, eyes searching. “Don’t disappear,” he whispered.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “You make it impossible.”

Outside, the whirr of Delaney’s phone was punctuated by camera flashes. She’d leaked a tabloid photo—a shot of Riley and Vincent leaving an afterparty, arms entwined. The story’s headline screamed: IS IT REAL? LECLAIR’S LOVERS EXPOSED!

Riley stepped into the hallway, pulse pounding, as her phone exploded with notifications. The world was watching, waiting—for the truth, for the unraveling.

To be continued...