All for Her

The Puppeteer's Strings​

Yvonne smiled coolly and slipped her phone back into her knit bag.

To her, whatever she had with Alistair was just a game—a mutual arrangement to satisfy certain… unconventional tastes. She never expected to run into him here, let alone have him openly acknowledge his “Puppy” identity in front of her.

Their interactions had always been limited. In their circle, Yvonne was strict about boundaries. What happened at the club stayed there. Their biweekly messages were solely about scenes and equipment—nothing more.

She shook her head, feeling suddenly lightheaded under the bright gallery lights.

She had no interest in watching Aaron and Ezra bicker and postur like peacocks. Truth be told, the invitation in Ezra’s hand waslegit—the brand that provided it was on the approved “white list” she’d reviewed.

She’d given it to him precisely to see how both men would react.

Now, it all just seemed… childish.

Rubbing her tired eyes, Yvonne pulled out her phone and fired off a quick text to Aaron, claiming sudden illness, and made her exit.

As she left, she glanced back toward the entrance—thankfully, both Aaron and Ezra were gone.

Not long after her message went through, Aaron called.

“Are you alright, Yvonne?”

“Just tired from the exhibit,” she replied smoothly, hailing a cab. “I’ll be fine after some rest.”

“Good…” His voice softened with relief before he ventured cautiously, “What did you think of the exhibition?”

“It was stunning. So very you, Aaron…” She slid into the cab and switched her phone to her other hand. “I could never reach that level of artistry. And that one piece—I stared at it for ages.”

...

Empty words, all of it. Yet on the other end of the line, Aaron fell silent. All his prepared speeches evaporated the moment he heard her voice.

He sighed, watching from a distance as Yvonne’s cab merged into the flow of traffic.

The evening wind lifted her hair—just like that summer night years ago when they’d watched fireflies together in silence.

So close, yet worlds apart.

Yvonne had no intention of going home.

Instead, she had the cab drop her off in the city center, near her best friend Bianca’s apartment.

Back at the gallery, Aaron remained standing at the entrance until the cool air cleared his head. When he returned inside, he found Ezra still there, defiance burning in his eyes.

Most guests had left, and his team was busy breaking down the exhibit. With Yvonne gone, Aaron saw no reason to hide his disdain.

He crossed his arms, glaring at Ezra. “Did you really think I’d publicly shame you over an invitation?”

But Ezra had already shifted back into his brash, unbothered persona. He leaned against a pillar, not even bothering to look at Aaron.

“So you’re the famous childhood friend I’ve heard about.”

Ezra’s voice was just loud enough to carry. “Hey—just so you know, she’s had me. What have youever had?”

Aaron’s lips pressed into a thin line. He forced himself to stay still, though his voice trembled. “I have history. I’ve known her since we were children.”

“Childhood friend?” Ezra laughed mockingly. “That’s your claim? How pathetic.”

“And what are you, exactly?”

A deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the tension. Sebastian Stone stood there, his tailored coat still draped over his shoulders. He’d clearly come straight from a meeting.

His first words were, “Where is Yvonne?”

When his scan of the room yielded no sign of her, his expression darkened. He adjusted his coat and eyed both men with open contempt.

“I said—where is she?”

The tension was palpable, but Aaron felt even less warmth toward Sebastian than toward Ezra. “Since when do you care?”

“She’s not home,” Sebastian replied irritably. He’d rushed through his meeting just to see her—only to find the villa empty and silent. The loneliness had gnawed at him until he couldn’t stand it.

Aaron raised a brow. “How touching. The husband finally remembers he has a wife.”

He emphasized husbandpointedly. During his time abroad, Aaron had heard the rumors about Sebastian. And Yvonne herself had often called her marriage “a cage of polite boredom.”

Ezra joined in, smirking. “So you’re the ‘husband’? Yvonne told me your conversations are drier than unbuttered toast. No wonder she’s bored.”

Sebastian took a step back, studying Ezra with cold intensity. “At your age, I had more class than to speak so recklessly.”

“Maybe. But I’ve tasted her. Have you? Or do you just admire her from across your cold, empty house?”

“Enough!” Aaron snapped, rubbing his temples. “Did either of you know her as a child? Did you ever see her cry over a scraped knee or laugh until she couldn’t breathe?”

Sebastian’s frustration mounted.

No Yvonne. A high-stakes meeting just ended. The lingering scent of his calming car diffuser now made him nauseous. Or maybe it was just the sight of these two men.

He couldn’t remember leaving the gallery. His mind felt detached, his steps unsteady. The world seemed too loud, too sharp.

He leaned against the cool metal of his car, trying to steady himself.

He called Yvonne. Again. No answer—just the impersonal tone of her voicemail.

He tried once more, his grip tightening on the phone.

The evening air had turned chilly; streetlights flickered on one by one.

This time, she picked up.

“What is it?”

“Where are you?” The words came out harsher than he intended. He caught himself and softened his tone. “I mean—you weren’t home. I was concerned.”

Yvonne paused. In all their years together, she’d never heard him sound like this. She could almost picture his expression—tense, uneasy.

“I’m with a friend.”

“You’re not coming home?”

She was baffled. They’d agreed to live separate lives. His sudden concern felt misplaced. “Since when do I report to you, Sebastian? We had an agreement.”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” His voice was firm, almost desperate. “Yvonne, please—don’t make me worry like this.”

“I can’t lose you again.”

His voice broke. Through the car window, he caught his own reflection—well-dressed, successful, but with red-rimmed eyes and unmistakable vulnerability.

He looked away, ashamed. He’d never lost control like this.

Long silence stretched between them. Just as he thought she might hang up, she spoke softly:

“Are you okay, Sebastian?”

The digital noise faded; she’d clearly moved somewhere quieter. “Are you still there?”

“I’m—I’m fine. Sorry, I had some wine at the event tonight. I didn’t mean to… burden you with this.”

He never drank. Never smoked. But it was easier to lie than to admit how much he needed her.

He knew she hated weakness.

Sebastian didn’t remember driving home.

Yvonne’s voice still echoed in his mind. He braced himself against the bathroom sink, staring at his reflection.

“You should drink less.”

She’d said it with something almost like care.

He turned on the tap, letting cold water run over his hands. It grounded him—cleared the chaos in his head.

He’d always told himself not to care, not to get involved. But he couldn’t help it. He’d always worried about her.

He studied his face in the mirror. The fatigue was undeniable. He traced the fine lines at the corners of his eyes—crow's feet that deepened when he smiled.

But would she look at him one day and see only his age? His distance?

The thought terrified him.

After ending the call, Yvonne noticed a notification from Alistair.

He’d replied: As you wish.

Simple. Unadorned. His profile picture was a blank white square—pristine, like him.

She typed back, leaning against the wall: I’d prefer if you added me on your main.

When they’d first connected offline, he’d used a secondary account. Its sparse posts and generic background made it clear it wasn’t his primary profile.

The community had rules, but Yvonne had always made her own.

Her phone vibrated. I keep my private and professional lives separate.

Predictable. Still, he obediently sent his main contact—a professional shot of him in a white tuxedo at a piano.

She didn’t respond immediately.

Aren’t you going to add me?he wrote.

Why would I?

To ease your doubts.

You think that’s what I’m worried about?

I don’t understand…

He seemed genuinely confused. Yvonne massaged her stiff shoulders and slid her phone back into her bag without replying.

Alistair would have to wait. Her interest in him had its limits.