Who Are You Again?

Chapter 8

The week passed in a blur of long hours, sharp critiques, and the relentless pulse of high fashion at its finest. Jae had expected the work at Devereaux Haute Couture to be difficult, but nothing could have prepared her for the cutthroat reality of the industry.

Every mistake was magnified. Every task was a test.

And at the center of it all stood Claudette.

Claudette was a senior intern who had been working at Devereaux for over a year, and she made it her mission to remind Jae that she was just a nobody in the company.

“Did you forget to steam the collection pieces before the model fitting?” Claudette’s voice dripped with faux concern, her red lips curling into a smirk.

Jae kept her expression neutral. Don’t react. Don’t let her win.

“Oh, you’re so right, Claudette,” Jae said sweetly, not missing a beat. “I’ll do better next time. Thanks for looking out for me.”

The older intern’s smirk faltered just a bit.

Jae turned on her heel before Claudette could come up with another thinly veiled insult. She had no time for petty games—not when there was so much at stake.

Despite Claudette’s passive-aggressive attempts to undermine her, Jae was learning fast. She stayed late, took notes on every critique, and absorbed every ounce of wisdom from the designers she worked under.

By the end of the week, she had earned the approval of at least one senior designer.

“Not bad, intern,” Laurent, one of Devereaux’s creative leads, muttered as he passed by. “You might survive after all.”

It wasn’t high praise—but in this world, it was as good as gold.

The nights were an entirely different kind of whirlwind.

Kellin was her constant companion, always there at the end of the day, waiting to whisk her away from the stress of the atelier. They spent their evenings exploring Paris—hidden cafés, moonlit riverbanks, and quiet corners of the city where no one knew their names.

It was safe. It was real.

And it was dangerous in a way Jae couldn’t explain.

Because every time Kellin looked at her, his gaze a little softer, his hand lingering a little longer, she felt herself slipping.

One evening, as they sat across from each other in a small bistro, Jae found herself staring at him a little too long.

“You keep looking at me like that, little bird, and I might start thinking you like me.”

She rolled her eyes, but her heart pounded just a little faster. The name Jonah used to call her didn't churn her stomach when Kellin used it.

Lucas sat across the street from Devereaux Haute Couture, a silent sentinel watching from the shadows.

His job had been simple—observe, protect, intervene only if necessary.

But now?

Now, things had changed.

His phone buzzed. A message from Vivienne.

Jonah knows she’s in Paris.

Lucas let out a slow breath, his grip tightening around his coffee cup.

Of course, that bastard would find out eventually.

Another message.

Handle it.

Lucas stood, dropping a few crisp bills on the table before slipping into the crowd.

Jonah had no place in this city.

And Lucas would make sure he never got close enough to touch her again.

Paris was a city of light, love, and whispered secrets. But tonight, beneath the golden glow of the Eiffel Tower, something darker lurked in the streets.

Jonah was here.

And he wouldn’t leave without her.

The wheels of Jonah’s private jet screeched against the tarmac, a sound swallowed by the whirling gusts of wind. He adjusted the cuff of his suit, his movements slow, deliberate. Paris stretched before him—glittering, breathtaking, unaware of the storm that had just landed.

Jae had slipped through his grasp once.

It would be the last time.

Behind him, Anessa trailed, her designer heels clicking in impatient protest. "I still don’t get why I had to come," she huffed, tossing her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder.

Jonah smirked but didn’t glance at her. "You're here for leverage."

Anessa narrowed her eyes. "Against her?" She let out a sharp laugh. "Please. She’s nothing compared to me."

Jonah said nothing. But the tightening of his jaw was all the answer Anessa needed.

The airport was crowded, filled with people rushing to their next destinations—except one woman who seemed to be waiting.

She moved like a predator. Sharp suit. Razor-sharp smirk.

"Anessa, is it?"

Anessa blinked at the woman blocking her path. "Who’s asking?"

"Astrid Laurent," she said smoothly, handing over a business card. "L’Opulence Fashion House. We’ve been watching your career. I think you’d be a perfect fit."

Anessa froze. L’Opulence? The powerhouse brand? The direct competitor to Devereaux Haute Couture?

She swallowed, excitement flashing in her eyes.

Jonah’s hand clamped around her wrist like a vice.

"She’s not interested," he said flatly.

Anessa yanked free, her lips curling. "Excuse me? Since when do you make decisions for me?"

Astrid merely arched a brow. "I’ll let you think about it," she murmured, slipping the card into Anessa’s hand before disappearing into the crowd.

Anessa stood there, gripping the card.

For the first time in a long time, she had a choice that wasn’t controlled by Jonah.

And she wasn’t sure she was willing to let it slip away.

Meanwhile, Lucas had been expecting him.

He stood in the shadows near Devereaux Haute Couture, watching the streets. Jonah was predictable—he’d try to stage a ‘coincidental’ run-in, catching Jae off guard. Manipulating her.

But not tonight.

Not on his watch.

Jonah stepped onto the street, his gaze scanning, searching—until Lucas moved directly into his path.

Jonah’s smirk faded. His spine straightened.

“Going somewhere?” Lucas’ voice was casual, but there was steel beneath it.

Jonah’s lips curved back into a slow smile. "I don’t believe we’ve met."

Lucas tilted his head. "I know exactly who you are."

Jonah’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. “Then you should know this isn’t your concern.”

Lucas took a step closer, his stance deceptively relaxed. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Jonah’s fingers curled into fists, but Lucas didn’t even blink.

Paris hummed around them—oblivious.

Jonah exhaled sharply, a forced chuckle escaping him. "You think you can keep me from her forever?"

Lucas' smile was slow. Dangerous. Final.

“I don’t think. I know.”

Jonah’s smirk wavered—just for a second.

Lucas leaned in. “Walk away while you still can.”

Jonah held his ground for one tense moment before exhaling through his nose.

Then he turned and vanished into the Parisian night.

Lucas didn’t relax.

The game had only just begun.