Selene's POV
Day One – A Muse in Satin
Lille greeted us with spring warmth and an elegant haze of old-world charm. Antonio stepped out in his custom black suit, sharp as ambition itself, every step he took echoing confidence. Beside him, I wore a long, satin-black gown—my own design, stitched by Ayra's magic hands. A subtle slit, low back, and understated grace. I had worn hundreds of outfits before—but this was the first that felt like me.
A few heads turned as we entered the hotel lobby and then the banquet hall for A.S Enterprises' exclusive corporate dinner. There were murmurs I'd grown used to hearing—"Is that the same Selene from the Vogue runway?" "She looks even more stunning in person…"
Yes, I once walked for Vogue—just once, but it left a lasting impression. People remembered the way I carried myself, not just the outfit. What they didn't know was the strength behind that stride came from surviving heartbreak, rebuilding my life, and standing taller beside the man I now loved.
As I stood at Antonio's side during formal introductions, one of the foreign investors leaned over and said with a sly smile, "I suppose you're more than just the CEO's date?"
I smiled, politely, "Yes. I'm the woman he's building a life with."
Antonio chuckled later at the memory. "They thought I brought a celebrity to impress them."
"Did you?" I teased.
"I didn't need to," he whispered in my ear. "You impress everyone just by being you."
Day Two – Beneath the Weight of Dreams
The second day was packed—strategy meetings, team luncheons, and a private showcase of their upcoming electric concept line. I wore an emerald green midi-dress with gold detailing—fitted, clean, and sleek. Another co-creation with Ayra.
While Antonio dominated the room with his presence, I lingered near the side, sketchbook in hand. When the lead interior designer of a global brand spotted my open book, he flipped through it with genuine surprise.
"You're Selene, right? From the Vogue March issue—the eveningwear line?"
I blinked, "Yes, that was a few months ago."
"You were mesmerizing. But your sketchwork—this is bold, architectural, almost futuristic. Would you ever consider collaborating on car interior aesthetics? We're looking for feminine-forward design."
Before I could answer, Antonio approached and slipped a hand around my waist. "She's brilliant, isn't she? She could reinvent luxury if she chooses."
It left me wondering that night, staring out the window of our suite, where I truly wanted to take my art. Not just dresses. Not just modeling. Maybe something larger.
Antonio joined me on the balcony, wrapping a soft scarf—one he picked up from a street artist—around my shoulders. "They saw what I've known all along," he said. "Your creativity doesn't fit a single canvas."
"And you…" I turned to him, brushing his hair back, "You always say the right thing."
"Because you're always the right person."
We kissed, slowly, the moonlight casting soft shadows across his cheekbones and the silk folds of my dress.
Day Three – The Shape of Home
Our last day began with cappuccinos and croissants on a sunlit café patio. I wore a dusty rose jumpsuit—another custom from Ayra and me, tailored perfectly to the curves I used to doubt, and now adored.
While Antonio had a final meet-and-greet with potential European distributors, I strolled through the artisan lanes, buying little trinkets for Ayra, Mira, and Amara. A matching charm bracelet for each of us.
Later, Antonio found me at a flower stall and handed me a folded sketch.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, recognizing the lines of a dream home we once doodled together on a rainy night.
"I found it the night before we left. I brought it because…" He looked at me with those warm brown eyes. "Because I want it to be real. Someday soon."
I smiled, folding the sketch carefully. "Someday, yes. With Alex and Sasha playing in the garden, right?"
He grinned. "Exactly."
That night we packed in quiet intimacy, each item folded like a memory. He tucked the sketchbook beside his tie and whispered, "I want every journey with you to feel like this—unfolding, unexpected, and unforgettable."
And in that hotel room, under linen sheets and flickering bedside light, we didn't just sleep—we dreamed aloud.