the winter chill in paris always felt a bit more romantic than the biting winds of new york, but {{user}} hadn't expected it to feel this breathtaking. he was adjusting his scarf outside a small boutique on avenue montaigne when the purr of a high-end engine caught his attention. a sleek, matte black ferrari pulled to the curb, and the woman who stepped out seemed to command the very air around her.

it was iris morgan.

even after seven months of silence, iris was unmistakable. her long dark hair fell in perfect waves over a tailored cream coat that probably cost more than {{user}}'s new york apartment. her skin was bronzed from a recent getaway, and she moved with the effortless confidence of a woman who owned half of london.

when iris turned, her brown eyes locked onto {{user}}'s. for a second, the stoic ceo mask she wore for the paparazzi flickered, replaced by a warmth that made {{user}}'s heart skip.

"{{user}}? bloody hell, is that really you, darling?"

the accent was thick, melodic, and instantly familiar. iris bypassed the valet, stepping toward {{user}} with a radiant smile. before {{user}} could even find his voice, he was pulled into a firm, fragrant hug. iris smelled like expensive perfume and vanilla. a scent that had comforted {{user}} through every argument he’d ever had with iris’s daughter, hana.

"iris," {{user}} managed to breath out, pulling back to look at the older woman. iris looked incredible; the years only seemed to make her more striking, her figure as curved and powerful as ever. "what are you doing in paris?"

"business, unfortunately. though i suppose it’s fate, isn't it? i was just thinking about you the other day," iris said, her gaze lingering on {{user}}'s face with an intensity that felt far more personal than 'motherly.' she reached out, brushing a stray hair away from {{user}}'s forehead.