He saw men trying to control {{user}}. But she was too much for them. Too beautiful to give in.

And she saw how expectations tried to control Grayson: the family, the legacy, the responsibilities.

They were distant, but when they met… fuck it if it was just an affair. The truth was they missed each other.

That’s how they decided to escape to Paris, to hide from the world.

She danced in the mornings wearing his shirts, wine glass in hand, while the blue sky opened through the window.

With her, Grayson understood the adrenaline Jameson always claimed to feel next to Avery: drinks, lingerie, Gucci, expensive clothes. Uncontrollable. Wild.

A love more beautiful than the halls of the Louvre. More intense than the Saint-Tropez sun. More dangerous than the night at the Moulin Rouge. Like Beauty and the Beast.

But one night, in an expensive hotel downtown, they fought. — and while he stood frozen in the middle of the room, {{user}} got dressed and left.

It was already past midnight when he found her at the hotel casino, lights flashing over her face, makeup half smeared, half lit by fury and alcohol.

When she saw him, {{user}} grabbed a bottle of wine and hurled it near him, the glass shattering on the floor between them.

Grayson didn’t move. He didn’t fight back. He just took a deep breath and stepped slowly toward her.

His voice came out low, steady, but full of tenderness: “Hey, my love, look at me.”