Chapter 17
Rosalyn’s POV
I woke up to the soft clatter of dishes coming from the living room. The first rays of dawn were filtering through the curtains. Turning over, I squinted at the clock: 6:00 a.m. I sighed, knowing exactly who was up and about. My mother, no doubt, was already setting up the dining table for our last
breakfast together before my flight to Paris at 9:00. The thought filled me with a bittersweet feeling as I dragged myself out of bed.
After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I let the cold spray of the shower wake me up fully. Once dressed, I did a final check
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of my luggage, making sure everything was in
order. Satisfied, I rolled my suitcase to the door, pausing for a moment to take in the room I’d spent so much of my life in. With a final glance, I stepped out into the living
room.
I stopped abruptly. My eyes landed on the back of someone standing near the dining table, wearing an apron and carefully arranging plates. For a moment, I froze in confusion. That wasn’t my mother.
“Hello. Who are you?” I asked, my voice
sharp.
The figure turned, and my heart dropped. “Good morning, Rose,” Niklaus said with a disarming smile.
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My parents, sitting on the couch, turned to me as well. My mother chuckled lightly. “What do you mean, ‘Who are you?? It’s Niklaus.”
“I know who he is,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes at him. “What I’m asking now is why he’s here. How he’s here.”
My father leaned back in his chair, speaking calmly. “He showed up at our doorstep at 2 a.m., Rose. You were asleep.”
“And he didn’t even sleep after he went to check up on you,” my mother added, looking far too pleased. “He’s been up all night preparing breakfast for us.”
I turned to Niklaus, glaring. “You came to my room?” I mouthed silently.
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He caught on quickly, shaking his head. “No. 1 only glanced in from the doorway,” he whispered back, his hands raised in mock surrender.
I wanted to yell at him, but with my parents watching, I clenched my fists. “You‘ re unbelievable,” I hissed under my breath.
“Since he made all this effort, why not let him join us for breakfast?” my mother suggested, beaming.
“Mom-“I started, but her stern look shut me up. She was determined to have Niklaus stay. Begrudgingly, I sat at the table while Niklaus joined us.
The meal was quiet, aside from my parents enthusiastically praising the food. “This is
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delicious, Niklaus,” my father said. “You‘ ve really outdone yourself.”
“Thank you, sir,” Niklaus replied, his gaze drifting to me every few seconds. I kept my eyes firmly on my plate, refusing to acknowledge him. My appetite had vanished, replaced by a mixture of irritation and disbelief. I couldn’t believe he was here, acting like nothing had ever happened between us.
When breakfast ended, I moved to the door to grab my luggage. Before I could protest, Niklaus picked it up and carried it outside. “You don’t have to-” I started, but my mother interrupted.
“Let him help, Rosalyn. It’s the least he can
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do after such a lovely breakfast.”
Grinding my teeth, I nodded stiffly. As we reached the taxi, Niklaus opened the door for me, flashing a small smile. I wasn’t in the
mood for his theatrics.
“Enough of this now, Niklaus. What do you want?” I demanded, keeping my voice low so my parents wouldn’t hear.
“Nothing,” he said casually. “Just came to see you. I heard you were leaving for Paris today.”
“Yes, and seeing you was not on my list of things to do,” I retorted.
His expression faltered. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye, then. Don’t you dare follow me,” I
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snapped, grabbing, my bag, and sliding into the cab. I forced a smile at my parents,
waving one last time as the car pulled away. As we drove off, I glanced at Niklaus in the side mirror. He stood there, watching, his hands in his pockets.
The flight was smooth, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe. High above the clouds, I tried to focus on the new chapter ahead of me. Paris held promise, excitement, and a fresh start. The thought of Niklaus intruding on that was absurd.
When the plane landed, I gathered my belongings and headed toward the designated cab stand, Just as I was about to step into a taxi, something made me pause. A strange feeding, crept over me, and I spun around. My
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eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on someone standing a few feet away, hooded and frozen in place.
My heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be.
I walked toward the figure, pulling the hood back. “You,” I whispered. “Niklaus.”
He gave me an awkward smile. “Hey, Rose.”
“What’s wrong with you, Niklaus?” I snapped. “I told you not to follow me!”
“I didn’t follow you,” he started, but my
raised voice cut him off.
“You‘ re lying!” I yelled, ignoring the stares from passersby.
His shoulders slumped. “Okay, fine,” he admitted. “Yes, I followed you. I couldn’t let
you come to Paris alone.”
“I’m not a child,” I shot back. “I don‘ t need a babysitter, and the last person I want around me is you.”
“Do you really hate me that much?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching mine. “I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’m trying to fix them. I gave up everything for you, Rosalyn.”
“I don‘ t care, Niklaus!” My voice cracked. “It’s over. It’s been over for a long time. Do me a favor and just… leave me alone.”
His face fell, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. Instead, he nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want,” he said. His voice was steady, but the pain in his eyes was
unmistakable. “Fine. You‘ ll never see me
again.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. I watched as he turned and
walked away, disappearing into the crowd. My chest tightened, but I forced myself to look away, ignoring the ache that threatened to pull me under. Without another glance, I climbed into the taxi and gave the driver my
address.
The next three weeks passed in a whirlwind of preparation for Verona Vogue Fashion Week. My days were filled with fittings, meetings, and endless rehearsals. I threw myself into the work, determined to focus on the future. There was no room in my life for distractions, especially not from the likes of
Niklaus.
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When the first day of Fashion Week finally arrived, the energy was electric. The streets buzzed with photographers, designers, and models, all rushing to make the event a success. I was on my feet from dawn till dusk, overseeing every detail. But as the evening approached, I found myself stepping outside for a moment of air.
An uneasy feeling had been following me for weeks. It clung to me like a shadow I couldn’t shake off, the kind of discomfort that crept into my thoughts and refused to let go. Even now, as I stood on the busy Parisian street, the vibrant hum of people around me wasn’t enough to drown it out. My eyes scanned the crowd, half–expecting to find a familiar face lurking in the distance.
I shivered involuntarily when a hand touched
my shoulder.
“Rosalyn, are you okay?” Mrs. Maya, my supervisor, asked, her tone laced with
concern.
I nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yes, ma‘ am. Just needed a breather. But… I don’t know… I felt like-”
“Rosalyn!
