Christina’s POV
"See you." I waved goodbye to Étienne as he climbed into his car with the rest of his delegation, maintaining my professional smile until they disappeared down the drive.
The second the cars vanished, my team erupted into wild cheers.
Peter Carl wrapped in a bone-crushing hug. Louis-François nearly face-planted rushing inside to grab the champagne he’d been saving for this mont.
"We did it!" Cléntine squealed, throwing her arms around us, her voice cracking with emotion. "Christina, we freaking did it!"
I wiggled free, grinning until my face hurt. "Yeah. We actually pulled it off."
After two brutal months of non-stop work, our autumn/winter jewelry collection had officially launched. Today’s eting sealed the deal with Cartier’s Paris distribution arm. Soon our designs would grace runway models and fill the pages of Vogue, Elle, and Harper’s Bazaar.
Valmont & Cie was still bleeding from the financial crater Fabrizio left behind, but this was a start. A damn good one.
The team corralled into the conference room where champagne corks popped and glasses clinked amid laughter and happy tears. The celebration stretched from afternoon into dusk, but I bailed when they suggested moving to Le Procope and then hitting a bar.
"You have to co!" Peter Carl pleaded. "You’re literally the reason we’re still in business."
"Not happening." I pointed at the dark circles under my eyes. "I’ve looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon for weeks. Ti to rember what a bed feels like."
After arranging to put the team’s dinner on the company tab, I sent them off, still riding their champagne high.
I slid into my rented Peugeot 208 and drove back to my flat on Rue de Rivoli. I’d moved out of Hudson’s Paris apartnt the day after we broke up.
Two months of silence followed.
I’d buried myself in work and, when that failed, in wine—just enough to knock out before mories could surface. "Get a grip," I whispered each night, reaching for a warmth that wasn’t there anymore.
It took a week to stop making coffee for two.
For sixty days straight, I’d arrived before the cleaning staff and left after everyone else. I would’ve slept at the office if Peter Carl hadn’t threatened to report for creating fire hazards.
Now, with the launch complete, I had no excuses left. Just an empty apartnt and a sad microwave dinner for one.
I called Priya halfway through my pathetic al.
"Sales dipped slightly this month," she reported.
"Expected." Christina Joie bore my design signature, and with gone, it was inevitable.
"The new manufacturer is amazing though. Faster turnaround, better rates. I’m thinking about shifting all production there instead of splitting orders."
"Do it," I said, half-listening as she talked about casting techniques and tal finishes.
My focus kept slipping. I’d been avoiding phone calls with Priya, preferring emails. Priya ant Highrise City. Highrise City ant Hudson.
And Hudson ant pain.
As if reading my thoughts, Priya cleared her throat. "The Crescent pack is still a ss after Franklin’s death."
I tensed. My father’s funeral had been small, quiet. I’d flown in, attended the service, and left imdiately after.
"I know," I mumbled.
"If not for the Sabreridge pack’s protection, they might have fallen apart completely," she continued carefully.
My heart squeezed. "Hudson’s still helping them?"
"Yes. So say he’s doing it to honor his father-in-law, but..."
Forr father-in-law, I wanted to correct her, but couldn’t get the words out.
I hadn’t dared ask Hudson why he was still handling my pack’s affairs after our split.
I could only assu it was guilt—guilt because he’d indirectly caused my father’s death.
If I entertained the thought that he still cared for ... well, that would be pathetically self-centered. Though we were second chance mates, he hadn’t rejected , and I hadn’t rejected him.
Akira whimpered inside . "I miss Hudson. The bond hurts."
"Shut up," I whispered, covering the phone.
"What?" Priya asked.
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just talking to myself."
I’d spent the past two months obsessively replaying that last night. Wondering if there was still hope because we hadn’t formally rejected each other. We still had the mate bond connecting us.
But every ti I thought about it, my chest felt like it was being crushed. Akira would howl in misery, the pain even worse than when Niall had rejected .
"Christina, are you there?" Priya’s voice pulled back.
"Yeah, sorry."
"I’m worried about you."
"I’m fine." The standard lie. "Just tired from the launch."
Priya sighed. "When are you coming ho?"
Ho. Was Highrise City still ho?
"I don’t know," I admitted. "I have etings next week with potential investors. Maybe after that."
"You can’t keep running."
"I’m not running. I’m working."
"Sa difference. You’re hiding in spreadsheets and sketches."
I couldn’t argue with that. Work was my armor against mories of Hudson—his touch, his scent, his eyes... If I stopped moving for even a mont, those mories would drown .
"I need to go," I said abruptly. "Early eting tomorrow."
"It’s Saturday tomorrow."
"Fashion doesn’t take weekends off." I forced cheerfulness into my voice. "Love you."
I hung up before she could protest.
The silence in my apartnt pressed in around . I poured another glass of wine and walked to the window.
Paris glittered below, romantic and indifferent to my pain.
Akira whined again. "Call him. Please."
"He doesn’t want to hear from ."
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