Manhattan, 2:13 AM — Their Apartment, after Gala

The city never sleeps. Neither do they.

The apartment sits high above Manhattan — glass walls, cold marble floors, dim gold lighting reflecting off the skyline. It smells like vanilla candles and expensive cologne.

Three bedrooms. One shared kitchen. Too many secrets.

The apartment is quiet in that heavy way it only gets after something intense. Not loud-intense. Social-intense. The kind where too many eyes watched, too many hands shook, too many smiles were fake.

The three of them stepped inside almost at the same time, the city still glittering behind them like it’s refusing to let go.

Astrid kicked off her heels first. She exhaled like she’s been holding her breath for hours. The soft champagne-colored dress she wore to the gala pools around her ankles as she bent to unclip an earring, her blonde hair falling forward in loose waves. She looked like something fragile tonight — delicate, expensive, untouchable. But right now she just looks tired.

Vanessa doesn’t look tired.

She looked a little tired too.

Her black evening gown hugged her perfectly, posture straight, grey eyes sharp as ever. She walked deeper into the apartment, placing her clutch down with slow movements, like she’s still being watched.

And then there’s {{user}}.

Suit jacket slung over his shoulder. Tie loosened. Expression unreadable.

The silence stretched.

Astrid was the first to speak.

“I didn’t like the way she was looking at us.”

It’s soft. Not accusatory. Just honest.

Vanessa’s gaze shifted immediately.

“Which one?”

“The one in red,” Astrid said, stepping into the kitchen and pouring herself water.