(Joseph POV)
I wasn't supposed to be in Montmartre.
That's what I told myself.
There were reports to review. Calls to return. A dozen legitimate reasons to remain at the hotel suite and let the city exist without me in it.
And yet here I was.
The excuse had been simple: clear my head. Walk. Think.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
I wanted to be close to her.
Not in a possessive way. Not even in a hopeful way.
Just… near.
Paris at dusk had a way of softening everything. The sky blushed faintly as lights flickered on across the hill. Couples laughed. Street musicians played low melodies that drifted between stone walls.
And then I saw her.
Yvette stood near the overlook, the city stretched behind her like a jeweled backdrop. Her hair moved gently in the evening breeze, her posture relaxed in a way I hadn't seen during our years under the same roof.
She was smiling.
Not politely.
Not carefully.
Genuinely.
And she wasn't alone.
Brent stood beside her.
