One Night in Valeria - Chapter 60: Chapter 60
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The envelope was thinner than she expected.
No gold embossing. No dramatic weight.
Just a white card sealed with a single red wax stamp and an address in Paris.
Jessica slit it open, sitting at the corner of the studio’s long table. The air smelled of cedarwood and warm fabric. Liam was in the back, adjusting one of the newer mannequin displays.
Her fingers hesitated as she pulled out the invitation.
> “La Galerie Révélée invites you to headline its winter exhibit: Daughters of Silence.
A solo curation.
A story only you can tell.”**
It felt unreal.
A Hale headlining La Galerie Révélée—Paris’ most exclusive modern couture house was the kind of poetic justice Klara would’ve savored. Except this time, it wasn’t Klara’s name. It was Jessica’s.
She swallowed hard.
Then heard the footsteps behind her.
Liam.
She turned slowly, invitation still in hand.
“They want me,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Paris. Winter showcase. Solo.”
He didn’t say anything at first.
Then: “That’s… huge.”
She searched his face.
Pride, yes. But something more.
Something unsure.
“You don’t look excited.”
“I am,” he said quickly. “It’s just… Paris is months away. You’d be gone for the whole season.”
She nodded slowly. “I know.”
“And I can’t leave the studio right now,” he added, softer. “The team. The commissions. The Hale Archive restoration…”
“So we’ll be apart for a while,” she said.
But the room was already colder.
The days blurred after that.
Fittings. Planning. Design drafts for the exhibit.
Jessica buried herself in work the way she used to hide from grief layer by layer, sketch by sketch. And yet… something about Liam’s distance started to bleed into her lines. Her pieces turned sharper. Harsher.
One night, as she rearranged fabric samples on the couch, Liam dropped a folder on the table beside her.
“From Alyra,” he said.
Jessica looked up too quickly. “You’re still talking to her?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “She sent over a business proposal for a gallery-collab with Hale Archive. She claims it could help fund future designers.”
She stared at the folder like it was a weapon.
“Why didn’t you just ignore her?”
“Because she didn’t go through me—she filed it officially. And… I thought it might help your launch in Paris too.”
Jessica stood, voice clipped. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Use me as an excuse to keep her close.”
Liam’s mouth tensed. “You think that’s what this is?”
“I don’t know what this is anymore!” she snapped. “Because every time I turn around, you’re quieter. More distant. Like you’re already preparing for me to leave.”
He stepped toward her.
“I’m not afraid of you leaving,” he said. “I’m afraid that by the time you come back, there’ll be nothing of us left.”
The silence hit like broken glass.
She could feel her heart fighting her pride.
“Then say what you need to say,” she whispered.
He looked at her eyes fierce, voice low.
“I love you. But I won’t compete with your past. Or your ghosts. Or Alyra’s perfect timing. I stood with you through every fire, Jessica. Don’t shut me out now.”
She blinked fast, the tears rising unexpectedly.
“I’m not shutting you out,” she said.
“I know,” he replied. “But I can feel the door starting to close.”
That night, they didn’t sleep in the same bed.
He curled up on the studio couch.
She lay in their apartment above, wrapped in sheets that smelled like lavender and memory.
Her phone buzzed once at 3:07 a.m.
A message from Alyra.
“If she’s going to Paris, you’ll need someone local to handle the storm. Just saying.”
Jessica stared at it.
Didn’t reply.
But her grip on the phone tightened.
The next morning, she found Liam in the studio, already dressed, coffee in hand. No smile.
She stepped into his space slowly.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she said.
“You won’t,” he said, voice even. “But we need to figure out how to survive this together.”
She nodded.
Then reached out.
Took his hand.
“We make the rules,” she said softly. “No one else. Not Klara. Not Alyra. Not Paris.”
He finally looked at her again.
And nodded.
“One rule, then,” he said, fingers threading through hers.
“Promise me,” he whispered, “when you leave make sure you’re coming back.”
She pulled him into a kiss.
Not rushed. Not desperate.
But a quiet anchor.
“I will,” she said. “But I want you to come with me. For the opening. Just one night.”
He hesitated.
Then smiled.
"Deal."
No gold embossing. No dramatic weight.
Just a white card sealed with a single red wax stamp and an address in Paris.
Jessica slit it open, sitting at the corner of the studio’s long table. The air smelled of cedarwood and warm fabric. Liam was in the back, adjusting one of the newer mannequin displays.
Her fingers hesitated as she pulled out the invitation.
> “La Galerie Révélée invites you to headline its winter exhibit: Daughters of Silence.
A solo curation.
A story only you can tell.”**
It felt unreal.
A Hale headlining La Galerie Révélée—Paris’ most exclusive modern couture house was the kind of poetic justice Klara would’ve savored. Except this time, it wasn’t Klara’s name. It was Jessica’s.
She swallowed hard.
Then heard the footsteps behind her.
Liam.
She turned slowly, invitation still in hand.
“They want me,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Paris. Winter showcase. Solo.”
He didn’t say anything at first.
Then: “That’s… huge.”
She searched his face.
Pride, yes. But something more.
Something unsure.
“You don’t look excited.”
“I am,” he said quickly. “It’s just… Paris is months away. You’d be gone for the whole season.”
She nodded slowly. “I know.”
“And I can’t leave the studio right now,” he added, softer. “The team. The commissions. The Hale Archive restoration…”
“So we’ll be apart for a while,” she said.
But the room was already colder.
The days blurred after that.
Fittings. Planning. Design drafts for the exhibit.
Jessica buried herself in work the way she used to hide from grief layer by layer, sketch by sketch. And yet… something about Liam’s distance started to bleed into her lines. Her pieces turned sharper. Harsher.
One night, as she rearranged fabric samples on the couch, Liam dropped a folder on the table beside her.
“From Alyra,” he said.
Jessica looked up too quickly. “You’re still talking to her?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “She sent over a business proposal for a gallery-collab with Hale Archive. She claims it could help fund future designers.”
She stared at the folder like it was a weapon.
“Why didn’t you just ignore her?”
“Because she didn’t go through me—she filed it officially. And… I thought it might help your launch in Paris too.”
Jessica stood, voice clipped. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Use me as an excuse to keep her close.”
Liam’s mouth tensed. “You think that’s what this is?”
“I don’t know what this is anymore!” she snapped. “Because every time I turn around, you’re quieter. More distant. Like you’re already preparing for me to leave.”
He stepped toward her.
“I’m not afraid of you leaving,” he said. “I’m afraid that by the time you come back, there’ll be nothing of us left.”
The silence hit like broken glass.
She could feel her heart fighting her pride.
“Then say what you need to say,” she whispered.
He looked at her eyes fierce, voice low.
“I love you. But I won’t compete with your past. Or your ghosts. Or Alyra’s perfect timing. I stood with you through every fire, Jessica. Don’t shut me out now.”
She blinked fast, the tears rising unexpectedly.
“I’m not shutting you out,” she said.
“I know,” he replied. “But I can feel the door starting to close.”
That night, they didn’t sleep in the same bed.
He curled up on the studio couch.
She lay in their apartment above, wrapped in sheets that smelled like lavender and memory.
Her phone buzzed once at 3:07 a.m.
A message from Alyra.
“If she’s going to Paris, you’ll need someone local to handle the storm. Just saying.”
Jessica stared at it.
Didn’t reply.
But her grip on the phone tightened.
The next morning, she found Liam in the studio, already dressed, coffee in hand. No smile.
She stepped into his space slowly.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she said.
“You won’t,” he said, voice even. “But we need to figure out how to survive this together.”
She nodded.
Then reached out.
Took his hand.
“We make the rules,” she said softly. “No one else. Not Klara. Not Alyra. Not Paris.”
He finally looked at her again.
And nodded.
“One rule, then,” he said, fingers threading through hers.
“Promise me,” he whispered, “when you leave make sure you’re coming back.”
She pulled him into a kiss.
Not rushed. Not desperate.
But a quiet anchor.
“I will,” she said. “But I want you to come with me. For the opening. Just one night.”
He hesitated.
Then smiled.
"Deal."
End of One Night in Valeria Chapter 60. Continue reading Chapter 61 or return to One Night in Valeria book page.