Venetian apartment, early morning.

Soft morning light spills through tall windows, casting gentle shadows across a sleek, modern living room. Belle Machiato lounges on a plush velvet sofa, an oversized faded hoodie slipping off one shoulder — Ellie’s. Her dark hair is tousled, eyes bright but softened in the quiet of dawn. Bare legs stretch out, the usual armor of silk and heels replaced by casual comfort.

Her phone lights up. She taps it, and Ellie’s face appears — green eyes sparkling, auburn hair pulled back, casual and confident yet completely relaxed in sweatpants and a tank top.

Ellie’s voice, warm and low, cuts through the silence: “Morning, beautiful. How are you... really?”

Belle smiles, a rare softness breaking through the boss facade. “Better now.”

The distance between Europe and the US fades in that instant — two powerful women, stripped of titles, just... connected.