✨Chapter one: In Between✨

In the world I lived in, you were either rich or poor. Powerful or invisible. There were no in-betweens. No soft edges—just the sharp cut of privilege against the backdrop of struggle. The upper-class held the city in a gilded grip, their wealth woven into every street and every law. 

It was a world built on legacy, on duty, on curated perfection.

And I was a product of it.

Loyal. Honest. Duty-driven.

Everything my parents had raised me to be.

The world ran on money and only those that possess it could live freely.

The scent of Ava’s perfume clung to the air—jasmine and spice underneath. It had settled into the very fabric of her home, in the velvet cushions and the silk throw draped over the back of the couch, in the air I breathed. A reminder that I was finally back.

An empty bottle of Château Margaux rested at our feet; the glasses long forgotten on the glass table. The city lights spilled in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting soft reflections on the marble floors. The world outside was silver and distant, but here—here, in this space that belonged to her—was warmth.

Ava shifted, effortlessly guiding me so I fit against her, my back against her chest, my legs draped over hers. It should have felt indulgent, inappropriate even, but it didn’t. Ava never asked permission to be close, and I never told her not to be.

Her fingers trailed in slow, lazy circles against my wrist. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. I never considered myself sentimental, but right now, I could feel every second of the two weeks I had been gone pressing into the space between us.

“Seventy-two hours.” Ava’s voice was a murmur against my shoulder, low, edged with petulant.

“What?” I tilted my head, my hair brushing against her cheek.

“That’s how long I lasted before I started missing you.”

I exhaled with half amusement, of course she counted.

“Two weeks, Celeste,” she continued, her fingers tightening briefly around mine. “Do you know how long that is in Ava Monroe time? It’s obscene.”

“It’s standard business,” I countered, but even to my own ears, my voice lacked conviction.

“Business,” Ava scoffed, shifting her grip so that her arms wrapped fully around my waist. “Tell me, did it keep you warm at night?”

I swallowed. She wasn’t playing fair. But Ava never did when it came to me.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Babe, I was abandoned. Like some forgotten little socialite in a penthouse with too many parties to attend and no one to keep me entertained. It was tragic.”

“You had company,” I pointed out.

“They weren’t you.”

I stilled.

Ava wasn’t subtle. She never was. She meant what she said, and she wanted me to hear it. But she said things like this all the time, weaving golden-threaded words into the space between us, and I had learned to treat them as just that—Ava being Ava.

I should have ignored it. Laughed it off. Shifted the conversation.

Instead, I turned, shifting just enough so I could look at her properly.

And God, the way she looked at me.

Like I had pulled the stars from the sky and placed them in her hands. Like she was scared to blink in case I disappeared.

My chest tightened.

“I missed you too,” I admitted, soft, but honest.

Ava’s lips parted slightly, and for once, she didn’t have a quip ready.

That was the thing about Ava—she could have anyone. Anyone. She was luxury and allure wrapped in silk, kissed by old money and draped in exclusivity. But she called me her best friend. She let me see her unguarded. She filled the spaces in my life not with obligation, but choice.

“Of course you did,” she teased, voice dipping to that honey-warm register, but her fingers curled against my thigh. Holding on.

And just like that, the moment passed. The air lightened.

“Tell me about your trip,” she said, nudging her nose against my jaw in silent demand. “No business talk, though. I want the Celeste version.”

I smiled, shaking my head, because of course she’d say that.

“Fine,” I murmured, settling against her again. “But only if you keep doing that thing with your hands. It’s distracting.”

Ava grinned, pressing her palm flat against my waist. “Oh, Celeste, you know I love a challenge.”

And just like that, the night stretched on, with Ava moving round the open kitchen like she belonged there, barefoot and dressed in silk, hair falling in effortless waves down her back.

The marble countertops gleamed under the warm light, a striking contrast to the frost-kissed porcelain of her skin. She was as much a part of this space as the curated art on the walls, as the perfectly aged wine in her cellar.

I sat on the counter, watching her slice through the fresh vegetables with precision, the soft chopping sound filled the quiet space between us. The scent of garlic and rosemary thickened in the air, blending with the faint notes of jasmine that clung to her.

“You’re spoiling me,” I murmured, resting my chin on my palm.

“Oh, please.” Ava smirked, flicking her gaze toward me. “You don’t even eat properly when I’m not around. Consider this an act of public service.”

“I eat just fine.”

“Celeste, baby,” she drawled, abandoning her cutting board to step between my legs, her hands warm against my waist. “A protein bar and espresso don’t count as dinner. It’s offensive, really.”

I huffed a laugh, but the words melted when she absentmindedly brushed a strand of my brown waves behind my ear, fingers lingering just a little too long. I don’t think she even realize she was doing it.

Her hands drifted down, trailing the curve of my hips before she turned back to the stove.

Unfair.

Ava could shift between teasing and tenderness so effortlessly that I never knew which one left me breathless.

I pushed off the counter and stole a bite of the sautéed mushrooms cooling on a separate plate.

“Hey!” Ava swatted at my wrist. “Thief!”

“I’m quality control.” I licked my lips, smirking. “And I approve.”

Ava started to roll her eyes but then—she paused.

Her gaze flickered down, following the slow drag of my tongue across my lower lip.

It was subtle.

But I saw it—the way her breathing slowed, how her fingers tensed slightly against the counter.

Then, as quickly as it came, she was moving again, shaking her head with a smirk. “Unbelievable.”

The heat from the stove flushed her cheeks, golden against her pale skin, and for a second, I just looked at her. The way the delicate muscles in her arms flexed when she stirred, the natural curve of her spine, the absurd elegance in something as simple as plating food.

This wasn’t new.

This was us.

By the time we sat down, the city had quieted into a lull outside. The penthouse wrapped us in its luxury—soft lighting, candle glow bouncing off glass, wine-filled glasses we both knew we wouldn’t finish.

“To my triumphant return,” I said, lifting my glass.

“To keeping you from starving,” Ava corrected, clinking hers against mine.

After dinner, we curled back onto her oversized couch, the remnants of wine swirling lazily in our glasses. The glow of the TV flickering against the walls. The city stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I barely paid attention. Not when Ava was curled into me, her fingers tracing shapes against my bare knee, her cheek pressed against my shoulder.

“You’re so comfortable,” she murmured, voice softer now, almost slurred with warmth.

“You’re clingy.”

“You love it.”

I hummed, running my fingers through the silk of her blonde hair. Ava only ever rested like this with me. In every other space, she was sharp edges and effortless charm. But here—like this—she let herself fold into the warmth.

Her fingers never stayed still, roaming the curve of my hip, the inside of my wrist, the bare skin of my thigh where my dress had ridden up. It was nothing and it was everything.

Ava shifted, her weight pressing me deeper into the couch. Her nose brushed the crook of my neck, her breath warm. I felt her lips ghost over my skin.

I swallowed.

She didn’t move away. Her fingers dipped beneath the hem of my dress, just barely, tracing circles against my knee, inching higher that I had to remind myself it was just Ava, always touching.

“Missed me that much?” I teased, my voice quieter than I intended.

Ava didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she shifted again, pressing closer, her fingers sliding up my arm, her palm resting over my heart.

“I don’t like when you’re not here.” She whispered.

And for the first time, I realized—she meant it.

The moment shattered when my phone buzzed against the coffee table.

I sighed, glancing at the screen.

Mother.

The message was short. Meet me at Le Jardin. Half an hour.

“Who is it?” Ava mused, watching me read the text.

“My mom, she wants me at Le Jardin in half an hour.”

I glanced at her, still curled against me.

“I should go.” I announced, when I wanted nothing more than to remain in her arms.

Ava stretched with a dramatic sigh, limbs long and lazy. “I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Ava.” I levelled her with a look, but her green eyes held steady, challenging even.

She hated when I refused her offers. But this? This was just dinner with my mother, and I didn’t need Ava wrapped up in whatever it was she has planed for tonight.

With one smooth shift Ava was suddenly beneath me, her back pressing into the couch, and my body caging hers in.

Her breath hitched.

“I’ll take my car,” I murmured, fingers drifting down the column of her throat, skimming her collarbone.

Ava’s hands came up to my waist, gripping instinctively, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push me off or pull me closer.

“Celeste—”

I leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her jaw, then lower, just beneath her ear. She exhaled sharply, nails digging into my hips.

I smirked against her skin before pulling back.

“I’ll see you later.”

For a second, she looked like she might argue. Then, instead of pressing, she simply slid off the couch, holding out a hand to pull me up.

I took it. I always took it.

She walked me to the elevator, a quiet tension in the air. At the doors, she smoothed my dress with casual, intimate ease, fingers ghosting against my sides.

“You’ll text me when you’re done?”

“Of course.”

She tilted her head, scrutinizing me, then smiled, slow and knowing. “Be good.”

“Always.”

She leaned in, pressing a kiss to my cheek. Soft and lingering.

“Bye.”

I stepped into the elevator, watching as the doors slid shut, stealing her away from view.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt the cold settle in my chest again.