Étoile

Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Offer

The news broke before breakfast.

Stella was brushing her hair when her phone lit up with a message from Camille: "Congrats, Queen! You deserve it 🌟" followed by a screenshot of the university's fellowship announcement.

Her name was listed first. Bold. Unmissable. Stella Baeumont– Recipient of the International Legal Fellowship.

She froze, brush halfway through a tangle. Her heart surged, but not with the triumph she had imagined. It was pride, yes—years of work, sacrifice, and solitude culminating in this moment. But threaded through it was something heavier. More uncertain.

Julien.

She scrolled further.

Honourable Mention: Julien Astor.

She sat down.

Not ten seconds later, her phone buzzed again.

Julien: Congrats, Baeumont. You earned it.

Three words. No emoji. No bitterness. But no warmth either.

Stella stared at the screen, rereading the message until the text blurred. She typed a reply. Deleted it. Typed again.

Can we talk?

She didn’t send it.

Julien read the message he’d sent from the campus gym, towel over his shoulder, hands aching from gripping too hard. He’d forced himself through an hour of weights, music blasting, trying to drown out the loop in his head: She deserves it. She deserves it. She deserves it.

And she did. God, she did.

But still.

He'd wanted to see her name beside his. Just once. To prove he was more than the guy who coasted, more than the rival who pushed her buttons. More than her past.

But maybe that was the problem. Stella had always been reaching forward. Julien was still learning how.

He tossed his phone into his bag and left without showering.

That night, Stella found herself outside Résidence Diderot with a white envelope in hand and knots in her stomach. Her fingers clenched the sides, as though the paper could ground her. It held the official acceptance letter, untouched since she'd printed it.

She had to talk to him.

She knocked.

The door opened slowly. Julien stood there in a plain black T-shirt and sweatpants, hair still damp from a late shower. He blinked.

"Hey."

"Hi." She held up the envelope. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside.

His room was quiet. The bed unmade, a stack of legal briefs by the desk. She spotted the inter-university plaque from nationals propped against the wall, dust gathering in the corners. Her heart twisted.

"You got it," he said softly, nodding to the envelope.

"I haven’t signed it yet."

Julien's brow furrowed. "Why not?"

Stella stepped forward. "Because I don’t want this to be the end of us. Because I’m tired of pretending like ambition and love can't exist in the same sentence. Because I was ready to leave before I ever asked if you wanted to come with me."

He said nothing. Just looked at her, eyes unreadable.

"Say something," she whispered.

He crossed the room slowly, stopping in front of her. "I didn’t want to hold you back. I never wanted to be the reason you said no to anything."

"Then be the reason I say yes."

Julien exhaled, voice low. "What if I mess this up? What if I can't keep up with you?"

She smiled, a little sad, a little in love. "Then we fall together. And we get back up together. But I’m not doing this without you. Not anymore."

She offered him the envelope. He looked down at it, then back at her.

"You really want me there?"

"I want us there. Whatever that looks like."

His smile was slow, unsure at first. But it grew.

"Then I’m in."

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Then he kissed her. No hesitation. No apology. Just all the things they'd never said, finally spilling out through touch.

When they broke apart, Julien leaned his forehead against hers. "Let’s go change the world, Baeumont."

"One clause at a time."

Later that night, they lay side by side on Julien’s bed, the letter signed and sealed on the desk across the room.

He brushed her knuckles with his thumb. "Do you ever think about how we started?"

Stella smirked. "You mean the public academic duels, the passive-aggressive footnotes, or the time I nearly broke your nose with a casebook?"

He laughed. "All of it. We were a disaster."

"We were a beginning."

"Think we’ll survive London?"

She turned to face him. "With you? Probably. With me? Definitely."

He grinned. "God help that city."

"God help you if you don’t make coffee in the morning."

"Noted."

They fell asleep tangled in each other, the quiet hum of Paris fading into the night behind the glass windows. For the first time in weeks, Stella slept without dreams.

Tomorrow, there would be train tickets to book, housing to sort, new schedules to adjust. But tonight, there was this:

A future where love wasn’t a detour from greatness, but a part of it.

And it all began with an offer neither of them wanted to refuse.