The chateau site buzzed with loud sounds of hammers and shouts, but Kent's mind wandered far from the work.
His eyes stayed glued to the papers on his table, though his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
It was late afternoon, the sun low and golden, when Claire arrived.
Her high heels clicked sharp and fast on the stone path, each step echoing like a drum.
She wore a tight red dress that clung to her body like a second skin, her blonde hair smooth and perfect, and a sly smile curled on her lips.
"Kent," she said, her voice light as she stopped by his table, littered with blueprints and pencil marks. "You busy?"
"Yeah," Kent replied, his voice short. He didn't lift his eyes from the papers. "What do you want, Claire?"
"There's a gala tonight," Claire said, her words smooth like honey. "A big, fancy party. Art people, rich people. You should come with me."
"Nope," Kent said, his tone flat, still staring at his work. "I don't do parties."
"You used to," Claire said, stepping closer, her shadow falling over his papers. "With me, remember? It's at the Ritz. Black tie. You'd look so good there, Kent."
"I'm working," Kent said, his voice harder now. "Go away, Claire."
"Don't be boring," Claire said, crossing her arms, her red nails tapping her elbow. "It's a big deal. I'm invited, and I want you there with me."
"Why?" Kent asked, finally looking up. His eyes met hers, sharp and searching.
"Because we're good together," Claire said, her smile growing wider, like she knew a secret. "You know it's true. Just one night, Kent. For old times' sake."
"No way," Kent said, shaking his head firmly. "I'm with Gaesha now."
Claire's laugh cut through the air, sharp and cold, like ice cracking.
"That baker girl?" she said, one eyebrow lifting high. "Bring her then. Let her see what she's missing."
Kent's jaw tightened, his frown deep. "Gaesha's fine," he said, his voice low. "Better than you, Claire."
"Sure," Claire said, rolling her eyes, her smile mocking. "Seven o'clock, Kent. Don't be late."
She turned, her heels clicking louder as she walked away, leaving Kent alone with his papers, his mood sour and his thoughts tangled.
That evening, Gaesha stood in her small apartment, her heart racing. She stared at her closet, her hands shaky.
Kent had called her just an hour ago, his voice soft and quiet over the phone.
"Claire invited me to a gala," he'd said, sounding unsure. "I want you to come with me, Gaesha."
"Me?" Gaesha had replied, her stomach twisting tight. "A fancy party? I don't know, Kent. That's not my thing at all."
"Please," he'd said, his voice warm, like he really meant it. "I need you there with me."
So now she stood here, nervous, pulling out her only nice dress—a simple green one that stopped at her knees, with a little belt around the waist.
It wasn't flashy like Claire's red gown, but it was hers, and she loved it. She slipped it on carefully, her fingers fumbling with the zipper.
Then she tied her favorite blue scarf around her neck, the soft fabric calming her a little. She stepped to the mirror, her reflection staring back.
"Not bad," she said, forcing a small smile. "You can do this, Gaesha. It's just one night. You'll be fine."
She met Kent outside the Ritz at seven sharp. He stood tall in a black suit, his hair combed neat, his face serious as always.
When he saw her, his eyes softened, like a weight lifted off him. "You look nice," he said, his voice gentle.
"Thanks," Gaesha said, twirling a little to show off her dress, the green fabric catching the streetlight. "You too. Really handsome, Kent."
"It's just a suit," Kent said, shrugging, his cheeks pink. "You ready for this?"
"No," Gaesha said, her voice trembling. "I'm scared. This isn't my world, Kent. I don't belong here."
"It's not mine either," Kent said, his tone firm but kind. "We'll leave early, okay? I promise."
"Okay," Gaesha said, her heart easing a bit. She took his arm, her fingers gripping tight. "Let's go."
Inside, the gala sparkled like a fairy tale. Chandeliers hung high, their crystals throwing tiny rainbows across the room.
People in shiny dresses and crisp tuxedos sipped wine from thin glasses, their laughter loud and bright.
Music played, soft and fancy, floating through the air like a breeze. Gaesha's eyes widened, her breath catching.
"Whoa," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "This is… so big. So grand."
"Yeah," Kent said, glancing around, his face uneasy. "Too big, if you ask me."
Claire spotted them from across the room and glided over, her red dress glowing under the lights, turning every head.
"Kent," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "You came."
"You asked," Kent said, stepping back fast, his shoulder stiff.
Claire's eyes slid to Gaesha, looking her up and down, her smile thin and sharp like a blade.
"Hi," she said. "Nice… dress."
"Thanks," Gaesha said, her voice small, her fingers brushing her skirt. "Yours is pretty."
"It's couture," Claire said, tossing her hair, her tone smug. "Not from a thrift shop."
Gaesha touched her dress, her cheeks burning. "Mine's not thrift," she said, her voice shaky but firm. "It's mine. I picked it out myself."
"Sure," Claire said, her eyes glinting, her smile cold. "Come meet people, Kent. Important ones. Big names."
"No," Kent said, staying close to Gaesha, his arm brushing hers. "I'm with her."
"Bring her," Claire said, waving a hand like it didn't matter. "If she can keep up."
Gaesha swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I can," she said, trying to sound strong. "I'm fine."
They followed Claire into the crowd, Gaesha's hand tight on Kent's arm, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.
People stared—tall women with sparkling diamonds, men in shiny shoes that clicked on the floor.
Gaesha felt plain, her green dress dull against their glitter and shine. Her scarf felt heavy around her neck, like it didn't belong.
"Who's this?" a man asked Claire, nodding at Kent, his glass of wine tilting.
"Kent Sivan," Claire said, her smile wide and proud. "Architect. Brilliant. And his… friend."
"Gaesha," Gaesha said, forcing a smile, her voice wobbly. "Hi."
The man smiled back, polite but quick, his eyes sliding away.
"Charming," he said, then turned, like she was already gone from his mind.
Gaesha leaned closer to Kent, her voice a whisper. "They don't like me," she said, her stomach sinking low. "I can tell."
"They don't know you," Kent said, his voice steady, his eyes on her. "You're fine, Gaesha."
"I don't fit," Gaesha said, looking down at her dress, her fingers twisting the fabric. "Look at me. I'm all wrong here."
"You're perfect," Kent said, his voice soft but sure. "To me, you're perfect."
She smiled, but it felt weak, like it might break. "Thanks," she said, her voice barely there. "But I feel dumb. Really dumb."
"You're not," Kent said, squeezing her hand gently. "They are. Trust me."
Claire led them to a group by the bar, her smile sharp like a cat's.
"This is Kent," she said, her voice loud. "My old flame. And his little baker."
"Hi," Gaesha said, waving awkwardly, her cheeks hot. "I make cakes."
"How sweet," a woman said, her voice sugary but fake, her lips curled. "A hobby?"
"No," Gaesha said, standing taller, her chin up. "My job. My bakery. I own it."
"Adorable," the woman said, sipping her wine, her eyes already drifting away, like Gaesha was nothing.
Gaesha shrank inside, feeling smaller than ever. "I'm not adorable," she muttered under her breath. "I'm good at what I do. I work hard."
"You are," Kent said, his voice firm, his hand warm on hers. "Ignore them, Gaesha."
Claire smirked, like she saw it all and loved it.
"Kent's slumming it," she said to the group, her voice carrying. "Paris changes people, doesn't it?"
"Stop," Kent said, his tone hard, his eyes flashing. "She's not less than anyone."
"Relax," Claire said, laughing lightly, like it was all a game. "It's just a joke, Kent."
"Not funny," Kent said, his jaw tight, his voice like steel. "Leave her alone."
Gaesha stared at her shoes, her fingers twisting her scarf so hard it hurt.
"I'm okay," she said, her voice so soft it barely came out. "Really, I'm fine."
"No," Kent said, looking at her closely, his eyes worried. "You're upset. I can see it in your face."
"A little," Gaesha admitted, biting her lip, her eyes stinging. "They're all so… fancy. So perfect."
"So what?" Kent said, his voice strong. "You're better than them. You're real."
Claire laughed again, louder, her voice slicing through.
"Better?" she said, looking Gaesha up and down. "Kent, she's a child in that dress."
"Stop," Kent said, his voice sharp, cutting like a knife. "Enough, Claire."
Gaesha pulled her scarf tighter, her throat so tight she could barely breathe.
"I'll get air," she said, her voice wobbling, her eyes burning. "I'll be right back."
"Stay," Kent said, reaching for her, his hand warm. "We'll go together, Gaesha."
"No," Gaesha said, shaking her head, her hair brushing her cheeks. "I need a minute. Just one minute alone."
She slipped away, weaving through the crowd, her eyes stinging with tears she didn't want to fall.
Outside, the night was cool and quiet, the air soft against her hot cheeks. She sat on a bench, hugging herself tight, her green dress creased.
"I don't belong," she said to herself, her voice breaking, her heart heavy. "Claire's right. I'm small. I'm nothing here. Just a baker in a plain dress."
Inside, Kent glared at Claire, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white.
"Why?" he asked, his voice low and angry. "Why hurt her like that? What's wrong with you?"
"She's weak," Claire said, shrugging, her red dress shimmering under the lights. "Not my fault she can't handle it."
"She's not weak," Kent said, stepping closer, his voice fierce. "You're cruel, Claire."
"Truth hurts," Claire said, sipping her wine, her eyes cold. "She's not us, Kent. She'll never be."
"Good," Kent said, his voice icy. "I don't want us. I don't want you."
He left her standing there, her smile fading, and pushed through the crowd, his heart racing.
He found Gaesha on the bench outside, her eyes wet with tears, her scarf twisted in her hands.
"Hey," he said, sitting beside her, his voice soft. "You okay?"
"No," Gaesha said, her voice trembling, her shoulders hunched. "I feel stupid, Kent. So stupid."
"You're not," Kent said, his tone gentle, his hand resting near hers. "She is. Claire's the stupid one."
"I don't fit," Gaesha said, looking at her dress again, her fingers smoothing the fabric. "My dress, my scarf, my everything—it's all wrong."
"I like your dress," Kent said, touching her hand lightly, his fingers warm. "It's you. It's real. It's beautiful."
"Thanks," Gaesha said, her voice small, her eyes still shiny. "But they don't think so. They look at me like I'm nothing."
"Who cares?" Kent said, his eyes steady, locking on hers. "I care about you. That's what matters, Gaesha."
She leaned on him, her head resting on his shoulder, her scarf brushing his suit.
"You're nice," she said, her voice cracking, her heart still sore. "I just… feel bad. Really bad right now."
"Don't," Kent said, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close.