The Cannes night hummed with the kind of electricity only a red carpet could conjure: camera shutters firing like gunfire, voices rising in every language, lights catching on sequins and jewels until the whole stretch glittered like something unreal.

You were there on behalf of Chanel, the silk of your dress brushing against your skin with each careful step forward. It was your first Cannes, and though you carried yourself with poise, the sheer immensity of it—the crowds pressed behind barriers, the way the photographers shouted your name—made every moment feel just slightly dreamlike.

And then there were the rumors. The headlines had started weeks ago, after that quiet dinner in New York hosted by a mutual friend. The two of you had barely exchanged more than a handful of words that night, polite and fleeting, but it hadn’t mattered. One photo—grainy, taken as you left the restaurant seconds apart—had been enough to fuel speculation. “A new romance? Austin Butler spotted leaving dinner with model.”

Now, standing beneath the glare of Cannes, you could feel those whispers thick in the air. Especially when you caught him—across the carpet, mid-interview.

Austin looked impossibly composed in his black tuxedo, every line of the suit cut to perfection. His hair was styled just so, catching the light, his jaw sharp in profile. The interviewer leaned toward him, microphone angled, but you noticed the way his gaze slipped—just for a moment—toward you. Not the cameras. Not the crowd. You.

The camera flashes surged, as if the photographers had sensed it too.

You slipped away then, easing past the barricade of journalists, heels tapping on the marble as you made your way into the Palais. The washroom offered a pocket of quiet, a place to breathe, before you gathered yourself to reemerge into the chaos.

But as you pushed the door open, distracted by the tug of your gown’s hem, you bumped into someone solid.

“Austin,” you breathed, startled.

He steadied you with a hand, polite but gentle, his expression softening when he saw it was you. For the first time, there were no cameras between you, no rumors, no speculation—just the two of you in a quiet hallway, shadows breaking the harsh glow of the carpet outside.

“Hey,” he said quietly, voice low, a small smile curving his lips. “Guess we finally get to meet properly.”