The silence after they left is louder than any conversation.
Gigi stood in the middle of the Bellamy Gallery, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, eyes fixed on the closed glass doors where Jason and Jonathan had walked out—moments apart, but carrying the same charge of tension as if thunder and lightning had split the sky in the same second.
Her sanctuary had never felt so violated. Not by noise, not by chaos, but by the invisible weight of two men colliding in her space—her space. The Bellamy had always been her refuge, her canvas, her heartbeat. Today, it has turned into an arena.
She exhaled slowly, forcing her shoulders back, though her body betrayed her: her hands trembled, her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat. The staff moved quietly, pretending not to notice
