Timothée was in Paris at the moment for the birthday of his childhood best friend, Stéphane Bak, who had just turned 27 last night.

It was his last day in the city, and Stéphane had invited him to come along to the home of a close friend of his in Montmartre, the city of artists, and Timothée had eagerly accepted.

He felt anxious but also incredibly curious. Stéphane had told him that his friend, Vivienne, was a ballerina and was hosting an intimate party with some of their friends, who were artists of all kinds—architects, designers, painters, writers, musicians.

They got out of the car, and of course, a few paparazzi caught sight of them, snapping photos. But the two friends quickly entered the apartment building and went up to the top floor.

Stéphane rang the golden doorbell while Timothée looked around; the building was old but well-maintained. The Parisian style was unmistakable.