One Night in Valeria - Chapter 61: Chapter 61
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Paris greeted her in twilight.
The city shimmered in amber and gold, all soft music and sharpened edges. From the balcony of her temporary suite above Rue Saint-Dominique, Jessica could see the Eiffel Tower’s lights begin to sparkle in the distance. But the beauty didn’t settle her.
It only reminded her that the stakes were higher now.
Inside, sketches and fabric swatches lay sprawled across the bed like a battlefield. Celeste was already barking orders in French down the hall, coordinating the exhibit layout with the gallery's team.
Theo was expected the next morning with the final digital projections for the installation.
But Liam hadn’t arrived.
Not yet.
Jessica checked her phone again.
No messages.
Her chest tightened.
He’d said he’d come.
She stared out at the city, feeling smaller than she had in weeks.
The gallery was a cathedral of modern art white-washed walls, arched glass ceilings, the scent of stone and quiet power. The exhibit title Daughters of Silence hung above the entrance in bold crimson lettering.
Jessica stood alone in the center of the space that would soon be hers.
The installations were still skeletons dresses on suspended frames, lighting rigs untested. But she could already see it in her mind: the story unfolding from grief to voice, from shame to sovereignty.
A hand touched her arm.
She turned.
Alyra.
Poised. Polished. Dressed in ivory, as always.
“I didn’t expect you here,” Jessica said, guarded.
“Paris is my second home,” Alyra replied smoothly. “And the gallery is partially funded by the foundation I consult for.”
Jessica’s brows lifted.
There it was.
The real reason.
“You’re trying to stake claim on this.”
“I’m trying to support it,” Alyra corrected. “Which is more than I can say for Liam, who hasn’t even arrived.”
Jessica’s spine stiffened.
“You don’t get to bring him into this.”
Alyra smiled, sweet and sharp.
“I already did.”
That night, back in the suite, Jessica finally reached him.
Liam answered on the third ring, his voice hoarse.
“Jessica—”
“You said you’d be here.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “My flight got grounded. Storms in Velaria. I’ve been trying to book another”
“She’s here, Liam,” Jessica cut in. “Alyra. And she’s circling this exhibit like she owns it.”
Silence.
“She said you brought the proposal to her,” Jessica added, quieter. “That you thought she could help.”
“I did,” Liam admitted. “But before Paris. Before I realized how deep she was trying to dig.”
Her heart thudded.
“So she wasn’t lying.”
“No,” he said. “But I never gave her control. I never gave her this. I thought I was helping you, not handing her your spotlight.”
“You should’ve told me everything.”
“I was trying to protect us.”
“You don’t get to make that choice for me,” she whispered.
The next morning, the headlines dropped:
> Alyra Vance to Sponsor Daughters of Silence Showcase in Paris.
Jessica’s heart stopped.
Her name was listed under guest visionary.
Not creator.
Not artist.
Guest.
Her phone buzzed with press calls and congratulatory messages.
She didn’t answer any of them.
She called Liam.
No response.
For the first time since she’d stepped into the fire, Jessica felt the burn of betrayal not from strangers but from someone who once held her at her most vulnerable.
She stared at the gallery wall.
Klara’s final sketch was mounted there, set for the closing display. And beneath it, the words Jessica had engraved on a small placard.
> “They tried to silence her. So I sewed her voice into every seam.”
Now someone else wanted to stitch themselves into it.
No.
Not again.
That evening, she met with the gallery director.
“I want the sponsorship name removed,” she said plainly.
“But Miss Vance has already signed the secondary funding—”
“Then I’ll buy it back. Triple. Sell my own archive if I have to.”
The woman blinked. “Jessica, be reasonable”
“I am. For once, I am being completely, terrifyingly reasonable.”
She pulled out her own card.
“I decide who tells my mother’s story. I decide who touches my legacy.”
The woman nodded, stunned.
The room fell silent.
Until a voice spoke from behind her.
“I never should’ve let her near it.”
She turned.
Liam.
He looked exhausted, suitcase still in hand, rain on his coat.
“I didn’t know she’d twist it into this,” he said, voice raw.
“I needed you here,” Jessica said, eyes shining. “Not behind the curtain. Beside me.”
“I’m here now.”
A pause.
Then—“Do you still want me?”
Her voice broke.
“I always wanted you. I just need to know I can trust you, too.”
He stepped closer.
Held out his hand.
“Then let’s rewrite this. Together. No sponsors. No shadows.”
She stared at his hand.
Then took it.
Tightly.
The city shimmered in amber and gold, all soft music and sharpened edges. From the balcony of her temporary suite above Rue Saint-Dominique, Jessica could see the Eiffel Tower’s lights begin to sparkle in the distance. But the beauty didn’t settle her.
It only reminded her that the stakes were higher now.
Inside, sketches and fabric swatches lay sprawled across the bed like a battlefield. Celeste was already barking orders in French down the hall, coordinating the exhibit layout with the gallery's team.
Theo was expected the next morning with the final digital projections for the installation.
But Liam hadn’t arrived.
Not yet.
Jessica checked her phone again.
No messages.
Her chest tightened.
He’d said he’d come.
She stared out at the city, feeling smaller than she had in weeks.
The gallery was a cathedral of modern art white-washed walls, arched glass ceilings, the scent of stone and quiet power. The exhibit title Daughters of Silence hung above the entrance in bold crimson lettering.
Jessica stood alone in the center of the space that would soon be hers.
The installations were still skeletons dresses on suspended frames, lighting rigs untested. But she could already see it in her mind: the story unfolding from grief to voice, from shame to sovereignty.
A hand touched her arm.
She turned.
Alyra.
Poised. Polished. Dressed in ivory, as always.
“I didn’t expect you here,” Jessica said, guarded.
“Paris is my second home,” Alyra replied smoothly. “And the gallery is partially funded by the foundation I consult for.”
Jessica’s brows lifted.
There it was.
The real reason.
“You’re trying to stake claim on this.”
“I’m trying to support it,” Alyra corrected. “Which is more than I can say for Liam, who hasn’t even arrived.”
Jessica’s spine stiffened.
“You don’t get to bring him into this.”
Alyra smiled, sweet and sharp.
“I already did.”
That night, back in the suite, Jessica finally reached him.
Liam answered on the third ring, his voice hoarse.
“Jessica—”
“You said you’d be here.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “My flight got grounded. Storms in Velaria. I’ve been trying to book another”
“She’s here, Liam,” Jessica cut in. “Alyra. And she’s circling this exhibit like she owns it.”
Silence.
“She said you brought the proposal to her,” Jessica added, quieter. “That you thought she could help.”
“I did,” Liam admitted. “But before Paris. Before I realized how deep she was trying to dig.”
Her heart thudded.
“So she wasn’t lying.”
“No,” he said. “But I never gave her control. I never gave her this. I thought I was helping you, not handing her your spotlight.”
“You should’ve told me everything.”
“I was trying to protect us.”
“You don’t get to make that choice for me,” she whispered.
The next morning, the headlines dropped:
> Alyra Vance to Sponsor Daughters of Silence Showcase in Paris.
Jessica’s heart stopped.
Her name was listed under guest visionary.
Not creator.
Not artist.
Guest.
Her phone buzzed with press calls and congratulatory messages.
She didn’t answer any of them.
She called Liam.
No response.
For the first time since she’d stepped into the fire, Jessica felt the burn of betrayal not from strangers but from someone who once held her at her most vulnerable.
She stared at the gallery wall.
Klara’s final sketch was mounted there, set for the closing display. And beneath it, the words Jessica had engraved on a small placard.
> “They tried to silence her. So I sewed her voice into every seam.”
Now someone else wanted to stitch themselves into it.
No.
Not again.
That evening, she met with the gallery director.
“I want the sponsorship name removed,” she said plainly.
“But Miss Vance has already signed the secondary funding—”
“Then I’ll buy it back. Triple. Sell my own archive if I have to.”
The woman blinked. “Jessica, be reasonable”
“I am. For once, I am being completely, terrifyingly reasonable.”
She pulled out her own card.
“I decide who tells my mother’s story. I decide who touches my legacy.”
The woman nodded, stunned.
The room fell silent.
Until a voice spoke from behind her.
“I never should’ve let her near it.”
She turned.
Liam.
He looked exhausted, suitcase still in hand, rain on his coat.
“I didn’t know she’d twist it into this,” he said, voice raw.
“I needed you here,” Jessica said, eyes shining. “Not behind the curtain. Beside me.”
“I’m here now.”
A pause.
Then—“Do you still want me?”
Her voice broke.
“I always wanted you. I just need to know I can trust you, too.”
He stepped closer.
Held out his hand.
“Then let’s rewrite this. Together. No sponsors. No shadows.”
She stared at his hand.
Then took it.
Tightly.
End of One Night in Valeria Chapter 61. Continue reading Chapter 62 or return to One Night in Valeria book page.