Disappointment was all I felt.

I had poured my heart into the project. If I was eliminated because of my lack of ability, I would be willing to accept it. I never expected the reason for my failure to be such a ridiculous one.

Even after leaving the city, Maurice carried on as if nothing had changed, oblivious to his faults.

Perhaps he knew it would upset me but simply didn't care.

I remembered the last time I celebrated his birthday. After a month of preparation, I designed a beautiful dress and invited friends to his party.

Everyone showed up except the guest of honor.

As I exchanged awkward glances with his friends, one handed me their phone, showing a photo of Maurice and Cara together, candles lit between them with the caption: [Of course, birthdays are meant to be celebrated with the most important people.]

I couldn't hold back my tears, consumed by that phrase: the most important person.

If Cara was the most important person to him, then what did I mean to him?

Friends discreetly left, and I waited until the early hours of the morning for Maurice to finally arrive.

He glanced around at the decorations, looking uncomfortable. "You're wasting your time on all this."

That night, we argued fiercely, and he repeated the same excuses.

"Cara is just my neighbor's sister. We've known each other for years. And if there were anything between us, we would have been together long ago."

I was tired of his poor excuse.

Seeing my distress, Lawrence, who had been quiet, grabbed the phone from me.

"Mr. Christy, no one believes your words. I've liked Stella since we were kids.

"If she hadn't been led astray back then, you wouldn't even have a chance."

This sudden confession of love left me dazed. For a moment, everything around me faded away, leaving just the warmth of Lawrence's presence, like a refreshing breeze on a summer day.

Maurice shouted something on the other end, but I barely heard. All I could think about was Lawrence's admission.

"I've liked Stella since we were kids."

Noticing my gaze, Lawrence showed a rare blush.

He ended the call and turned to me, his eyes shining like stars.

"Stella, I..."

My heart raced like a seed sprouting after years.

"You don't need to feel burdened. You don't have to respond to me."

Seeing my silence, Lawrence looked worried, a hint of panic in his expression.

"I thought I wasn't good enough for you, and it hurt to see you with someone else. If you are happy, I would be happy for you. But Maurice is a bastard!

"The scene I dreamt of—he casually threw it away for another woman.

"When I thought of you being hurt, I flew back from abroad. If I were the one marrying you, I would wake up smiling every day."

He tried to release my burden, but the way he fumbled, helpless and uncertain, spoke more deeply than any words ever could.

"You fool..."

I choked back tears, feeling a wave of unexpected comfort.

I was organizing the rejected sketches when Lawrence occasionally complimented me and shared some important news.

He had known since childhood that I loved fashion design, so he studied in Paris and made a name for himself there.

Now, as the head of the domestic branch, he was preparing to host a fashion week and could nominate one contestant.

"Stella, I can only put you forward for the competition. To maintain its credibility, the rest is up to you."

My studio had gained some recognition in Arico, leaving a mark on many even after relocating.

That evening, I chose to stay at the studio. Lawrence hesitated for a moment, then looked at me with hopeful eyes.

"Stella, my apartment isn't ready yet, and my parents' house feels far. Could you let me stay here, just this once?"

His voice trailed off to a whisper.

I couldn't help but smile; Lawrence, who had always wanted to shield me, looked adorably vulnerable.

"Alright, you can stay," I replied.

Joy lit up his eyes, filled with deep affection, wrapping around me like warm water.

As I lay on the studio bed, I gazed out at the bright moon hanging quietly in the sky. The moon was watching me, yet it never disturbed my life.

That calming tranquility made me glance at the silhouette on the couch.

When I remembered that the sheets were chosen by Lawrence, it ignited a warmth within me.

I drifted into a sweet dream. The next morning, I woke to the sound of the doorbell.

Looking around, I realized Lawrence was gone. Assuming he had forgotten his keys during his morning jog, I rubbed my tangled hair and opened the door.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my wrist, pushing me into the living room and pinning me against the couch where Lawrence had slept.

I snapped to attention, shocked to see Maurice standing there.

"Maurice, have you lost your mind? Let me go!"

My protests fell on deaf ears as he held me firmly, immobilizing me.

Maurice looked disheveled, with bloodshot eyes and a scruffy jaw, his suit wrinkled.

I had never seen him so unkempt, nor with such frenzied determination.

"Stella, I haven't lost my mind. Come back home with me."