Chapter 15
884 Words
Chapter 15: Echoes Between
After the party, nothing felt the same.
The design studio of Maison Sauveur was alive with motion—heels clicking, fabrics rustling, tape measures snapping back into place. But in Feliz’s world, everything was muted. Washed in grey. Off-beat. Like someone had dialed the volume down on her senses and cranked up the pressure on her chest.
She sat at her drafting table, surrounded by mood boards, half-done sketches, and pinned fabric swatches. But her pencil hadn’t moved in ten minutes.
Her fingers were tense. Her eyes flicked toward the studio entrance.
No sign of him.
She didn’t know if that made it better or worse.
The memory of last night clung to her like static—his voice, low and calm, “Because I want you. And I can’t have you on your terms.”
The look in his eyes when he said it—like he had already made peace with letting go—kept replaying.
And now?
Now he was keeping his distance. Masterfully.
Not cold. Not cruel.
Just… absent.
Sly wasn’t skipping work. No. He was still in the atelier, still doing fittings, still consulting with senior designers and juniors alike. But somehow, every path they used to cross now veered away. Every brush of contact, every small interaction they once had—it was gone.
He was dodging her presence like it was poison.
Across the room, Feliz spotted Lia draping fabric over a mannequin, laughing with Aaron as they debated texture weights. Clarisse passed by with two assistants, holding up a structured bustier.
Sly emerged from the storage room, arms full of muslin rolls, hair damp from the rain. He handed one roll to a junior intern without missing a beat in conversation.
He didn’t glance in Feliz’s direction.
Her heart sank.
Her throat tightened.
She looked back at her blank sketchpad. Lines swirled in her head but refused to land.
Lucas walked over and quietly placed a cup of matcha on her desk. Her usual.
Lucas [casual]
“You looked like you needed fuel.”
Feliz blinked, then gave a small nod.
Feliz [soft]
“Thanks.”
He didn’t hover. He just walked back to his station.
Aaron called out across the table.
Aaron [teasing]
“Careful, Feliz. You’re starting to look like one of those tortured artist types.”
Lia [grinning]
“Dark circles, staring into space, the whole vibe.”
Feliz snapped her pencil in half without meaning to.
Feliz [sharp]
“Can you both shut it?”
The studio went a little still.
Aaron raised his brows and stepped back.
Aaron [murmured]
“Noted.”
Even Lia frowned, sensing the weight behind her tone.
But Sly?
He didn’t even flinch.
He was reviewing fabric samples with the new textile scout, voice low, focused. Like she didn’t exist five feet away.
By the time the lunch bell rang, the whole floor shifted. Designers spilled into the café lounge. Samples were pushed aside for sandwiches and spilled tea about Clarisse’s afterparty.
Feliz sat on one end, alone with her thoughts.
Sly sat at the other, deep in talk with Art Director René about the upcoming Paris preview.
He laughed at something René said.
A real, full laugh.
Feliz couldn’t take it anymore.
She stood.
Walked.
And stopped right in front of him.
Feliz [under her breath, tight]
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Sly looked up.
No smile.
No surprise.
Sly [quiet, composed]
“Because I want you.”
Her breath hitched.
Sly [softer]
“And I can’t want you the way you want to be wanted. When it’s safe. When no one’s looking. When it’s convenient.”
His tone wasn’t bitter.
It was honest.
Too honest.
Feliz [barely audible]
“Then what do you want?”
He leaned back.
Eyes steady.
Sly [firm]
“I want something real. And you’re still pretending this is just heat. That you can shut it off. But I can’t do halfway anymore.”
She swallowed.
Her feet wanted to move. Her heart refused.
Feliz [whispering]
“I’m not pretending.”
Sly [level]
“Aren’t you?”
She looked away first.
He didn’t say another word.
He just turned back to René and continued their talk like her presence didn’t leave a burn mark.
---
The rest of the afternoon blurred. Feliz stitched a sample bodice, ripped it apart, then abandoned it. She made coffee and didn’t drink it. By the time the atelier began to empty out and the storm outside intensified, she was still at her table, alone.
Raindrops tapped the tall windows.
Outside, the world blurred in a veil of silver.
Inside, Feliz stared at her sketchpad again.
A new design had begun to take shape—fluid lines, softer edges. It wasn’t like her usual work. It was raw, emotional.
She didn’t even realize she was drawing him.
The way his coat hung on his shoulders. The curve of his jaw. The fire in his eyes.
She stopped.
Tore the page out.
Crushed it.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
A message.
From Sly.
> “I'm still at the atelier. Come up to the rooftop.”
She stared at it, frozen.
Then slowly stood.
Not knowing if she was walking into a storm...
...or about to be struck by lightning.
- Writer
