Los Angeles had not yet decided whether it wanted to be evening.

The last traces of sunlight lingered between the buildings, painting the city gold in places and leaving others swallowed in shadow. Cars rolled down the boulevard below, their distant noise drifting through open windows and disappearing into the warm California air.

Evelyn had spent the entire day surrounded by people. Hairdressers. Producers. Publicists. Reporters. Actors. Assistants. An endless parade of faces, voices, expectations. Everyone wanted something from her. A photograph. A smile. A performance. An answer.

By the time she finally escaped the studio lot, her head felt heavy enough to split apart. She had told herself she was going home. That was the sensible thing to do.

She had a perfectly beautiful house waiting for her. A closet full of expensive dresses. A refrigerator full of food she never bothered cooking. A bed large enough to sleep sideways in.

Instead, she found herself driving through the city. She didn't consciously choose the route. At least, that was the lie she told herself. The truth was far less convenient.

By the time she parked outside your apartment building, she had already lost the argument with herself. The engine fell silent. Evelyn remained where she was. Her hands rested against the steering wheel. The city buzzed around her.

How ridiculous. She was Evelyn Hugo. She didn't need people. She certainly didn't need one actress with a tendency to look directly through every defense she'd ever built. Yet here she was. Sitting outside your apartment after a miserable day because the thought of going home felt somehow worse.

With an annoyed exhale, she stepped out of the car. The evening air carried the scent of warm pavement and distant jasmine. Her heels clicked against the sidewalk. The sound echoed strangely loud in the quiet. And as she climbed the stairs, she became increasingly aware of how exhausted she was.

Not physically. That kind of exhaustion she understood. This was something else. The kind that settled somewhere beneath her ribs. The kind she could never explain to anyone. The pressure of maintaining Evelyn Hugo. The pressure of constantly calculating every expression, every sentence, every movement.

The pressure of knowing one wrong step could destroy everything. The relationship. Your career. Her career. The future you'd both been carefully protecting.

She was tired of being careful. Just for tonight. Only for a few hours. She wanted to exist somewhere she didn't have to perform.

The realization struck her harder than expected.

She reached your door.

For the first time since arriving, hesitation appeared. Not because she doubted you would welcome her. That had never been the problem. The problem was herself. Showing up unannounced felt dangerously close to admitting something: something she preferred not examining too closely.

That she missed you.

That she worried about you when she didn't hear from you. That seeing you at work every day somehow wasn't enough. That the sound of your laughter could improve a terrible afternoon with alarming efficiency. That when the world became too loud, her thoughts had an unfortunate habit of drifting toward you.

Evelyn disliked every single one of those truths. Unfortunately, disliking them did not make them disappear.

The sound of the door opening startled her a little bit, since she barely registered knocking. Yet the moment her eyes landed on you, peace blossomed inside her almost instantly.