Chapter 5
895 Words
Chapter 5: The Jealousy
Maison Sauveur Department– 9:14 AM
Feliz adjusted her glasses and tried to refocus on the digital mood board glowing on her screen. The upcoming pre-fall campaign deadline was creeping closer, and her assigned styling layouts weren’t final yet. But instead of fabrics and silhouettes, all she could see was his face — and hear his voice.
"You breathe differently when I’m close, Flores."
She gritted her teeth. Damn Sly and his loaded teasing.
No kiss had happened. No physical line had been crossed. But what he said yesterday — and the way he said it — played in her head like a hypnotic loop.
Across the room in the open-concept bullpen of Maison Sauveur’s Creative Department, Sly lounged like a damn model himself, arms crossed, still in his oversized hoodie and perfectly distressed jeans, watching everyone work. Watching her.
He didn’t need to be loud to be noticed.
Meanwhile, Aaron had taken over half of Lia’s workspace again — as usual. Laying on her desk like a cat, he scrolled through his tablet while whispering cheeky comments to her. The two were reviewing Lookbook drafts for one of the emerging designers.
Aaron
“Babe, why does this model look like she’s dying inside?”
Lia
“Because she’s wearing five layers of sad beige and we told the intern no more sad beige.”
Aaron
“She looks like a haunted macaroon.”
Lia giggled, nearly snorting.
Feliz allowed herself a brief smirk before returning to her own task — pairing key pieces for the pre-fall capsule shoot next week. Layering, color-blocking, and texture balance.
Then, as if summoned, a quiet presence approached.
Lucas.
He slid a warm cup of matcha on her desk — not the office-brewed one, but the artisanal blend from the corner café she loved.
Lucas [softly]
“Saw your mug was empty.”
She blinked, surprised. Again.
He always noticed.
Whether it was printing her prototype sketches when the copier jammed, carrying fabric swatches to her desk, or refilling her pens before she asked — he moved like background music. Present, steady, comforting.
She gave him a small nod. “Thanks, Lucas.”
Across the room, Sly watched — a flicker of something passing over his eyes. He leaned back on the edge of the display table, his fingers gripping the wood a little tighter than usual. His smirk had flattened.
The tension was broken by James, the Creative Director, striding in with a click of boots and rolled-up jacket sleeves.
James
“Alright, lovers and lurkers. Campaign prep team split-up!”
Everyone turned to listen.
James [gesturing]
“Aaron and Lia — you're on Concept Visuals for Elisse’s sub-brand shoot. Client wants punchy, Gen-Z aesthetic. Go break something.”
Lia
“Finally.”
Aaron
“Gag me with neons, let’s go.”
James
“Sly, Feliz — you're handling wardrobe curation and model fittings for the La Rentrée capsule. Start pulling combinations. Cast goes in for trials tomorrow.”
Feliz almost choked on her matcha.
She looked up. Sly was already grinning. And of course, already watching her.
Sly
“Lucky me.”
She stood quickly, grabbing her tablet, making a beeline toward the styling racks at the far end of the room without waiting for him. She needed space — and oxygen.
The clothing samples for La Rentrée were suspended on rolling racks — cool-toned, layered outerwear, metallic knits, ruched skirts, clean cuts with unexpected textures.
Feliz ran her hand through the pieces with mechanical precision, trying to focus.
Then came him. Of course.
He stood too close.
Sly [softly]
“You always run away when I talk like that?”
She didn’t answer. Kept flipping hangers. But he leaned closer, voice lowering.
Sly
“Or are you still thinking about what I said?”
Feliz
“You said too much.”
Sly
“I said just enough.”
She turned then, eyes flashing.
Feliz
“Don’t you have a jacket to steam or something?”
He smirked, infuriatingly calm.
Sly
“Only if you’re wearing it.”
She rolled her eyes and walked away, grabbing a clipboard to mark which looks needed alteration. But her hands — traitorous hands — were slightly shaking.
As she noted model sizes beside the lineup, the fitting door opened.
Lucas stepped in, carrying a garment bag carefully over his shoulder.
Lucas
“Feliz, here’s the final coat from production. Hand-stitched seams. They prioritized your pick.”
Their eyes met again, and he smiled — genuine, almost shy. Sly, now across the room, saw everything.
Feliz took the coat gently. “You didn’t have to bring this yourself.”
Lucas
“I wanted to.”
Sly’s jaw ticked, just slightly. He crossed his arms again, eyes unreadable.
---
That Afternoon
While Feliz double-checked accessories for the shoot, her phone buzzed with a message.
> Sly: You’ve got fans, Flores.
She ignored it.
Another ping.
> Sly: Or maybe just one. Super dedicated. Maybe he’ll kiss you next.
She stared at the message, heat rising up her neck — not from Lucas, but from the way Sly twisted everything. Like he was brushing it off. Like he wasn’t bothered.
But she’d seen his eyes earlier.
He was.
Across the room, Sly met her gaze again — unreadable.
Daring.
But this time… maybe not as sure of himself.
- Writer
