Anna jabbed the doorbell again and again, shifting from foot to foot, her breath coming out in pale clouds. The chill in the air bit through her sweater, and she hugged it tightly around herself, teeth chattering.
"Vivian, please," she called out, her voice low but urgent. "I know you're in there. Just open the door."
Finally, she heard the faint click of the lock turning. The door creaked open, just a sliver at first.
"Come in," Vivian said flatly, stretching out a steaming mug toward her.
Anna stepped inside without hesitation, the warmth of the apartment wrapping around her like a blanket. She grabbed the cup with both hands, letting the heat sink into her fingers.
"Oh my God," she sighed, sipping gratefully. "You have no idea how much I needed this. This damn winter came early."
Vivian placed her own cup on the small coffee table and crossed her arms, her expression stormy.
They hadn't spoken since Vivian stormed out of Anna's place days ago. And Anna could feel that silence hanging in the air now, thick and awkward.
She took another sip of the coffee—hot, smooth, comforting—and set the mug down gently.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat, hesitating. "Viv, I'm sorry. Really. I never meant what I said. It just slipped out—I was frustrated and careless, and I regret it."
Vivian didn't respond immediately. She stared at Anna for a long moment, her frown slowly softening.
"You sure know how to push buttons," she muttered, then exhaled. "But... I forgive you."
Anna's face lit up with relief. "Thank you," she said, hands clasped like she was holding a prayer.
Vivian raised a hand to stop her. "On one condition."
Anna blinked. "Name it. Anything."
Vivian smirked as she flopped onto the couch. "You're coming with me to a sip-and-paint party."
Anna laughed. "That's it?"
Vivian nodded. "That's it."
"You know I'm not the social butterfly type. I'd rather be home with a book and hot cocoa. But... I'll go. For you."
Vivian grinned. "Then I officially forgive you."
Anna rushed over and wrapped her in a warm hug. "You're the best."
"I know," Vivian said with a chuckle, hugging her back. Their fights never lasted long—never could. They were bonded too deeply for grudges to stick.
"Give me five minutes," Vivian said, rising to her feet. "Let me change into something less casual."
Anna tilted her head. "But you already look great!"
Vivian was wearing a snug, sleeveless bodycon dress, her coat tossed over the side of the sofa. The heater kept the room toasty, so she hadn't bothered bundling up.
Vivian shot her a look. "Girl, Viv must never be caught unfresh."
With a playful toss of her hair, she disappeared into her closet.
A few minutes later, she re-emerged like she owned a runway—dressed in a cropped top under a nude fur jacket, a sleek mini skirt, and knee-high black boots.
Anna's jaw dropped. "Okay, someone's trying to set the city on fire tonight."
At Studio Éclat, the valet took their coats. Vivian led Anna through a gleaming marble foyer into a rooftop lounge that looked straight out of a dream. Soft music trickled through hidden speakers, and the scent of roses, vanilla, and top-shelf wine lingered in the air.
Anna's heels tapped across polished floors as they entered the main room—a sprawling glass-walled space bathed in golden light. Candlelight flickered. The skyline glittered through the tall windows. White orchids spilled from crystal vases lining the curved bar.
"Viv…" Anna whispered, eyes wide with awe. "You said sip-and-paint. This looks like the Met Gala."
Vivian laughed, handing her a chilled glass of rosé Champagne from a tray floating by. "I upgraded your evening. You're welcome."
Velvet-covered stools circled easels, each one set with a folded plum silk apron and a canvas already sketched with a woman's silhouette under a full moon—tonight's muse.
At the front, a tall man dressed head-to-toe in black, silver rings on every finger, stood before a master canvas.
"Welcome, queens," he purred into the mic. "Tonight, we don't paint pictures. We paint moods."
Laughter rippled through the room. People sipped, settled in, the mood effortlessly chic.
Anna took her seat, mesmerized by the room—the soft jazz, the shimmer of chandeliers, the hush of refined voices. A server arrived with a tray of appetizers: figs wrapped in prosciutto, bite-sized lobster rolls, edible flowers on crackers.
"Are we still on Earth?" she asked, half-joking.
Vivian clinked her glass against Anna's. "We're in the clouds, babe. Drink up."
Anna dipped her brush into rich palettes—rose gold, emerald green, midnight blue. Her strokes came slow at first, tentative. Then smoother. Freer. The wine helped. So did the soft background laughter and Vivian's occasional teasing.
"Thank you for bringing me," Anna said, glowing with happiness. "This place is magical."
"You needed it," Vivian replied, smiling. "Cheers, bestie."
They clinked again, both in a rare moment of pure peace.
Suddenly, raised voices broke the calm.
"You must be very stupid!" a woman shrieked near the back. Heads turned. A waitress stood frozen, her tray knocked askew, champagne splattered across the skirt of a furious woman in a blue designer dress.
Next to her stood a man in a crisp Armani white shirt and grey slacks. He gently touched her arm.
The room fell silent for a while.
"That's enough, darling. Don't make a scene."
The woman snatched her hand away. "Don't make a scene? Did you even see what she did?!"
Anna leaned forward, squinting. She couldn't see his face clearly, but the voice—it tugged at her memory.
"Calm down, Alicia," the man said, low but firm.
Anna's eyes widened as the light finally hit his face. It was him. Gerald. The same guy she'd mistaken for a taxi driver. The same guy from the gym. Again?
Why do I keep running into this man? she thought.
The waitress, looking devastated, bowed her head ,hands trembling "I'm sorry, ma'am. It was an accident."
"An accident?" Alicia snarled. "You're incompetent! I want this waitress fired!"
Gerald's patience cracked. He took Alicia by the arm and led her away, not harshly but with purpose. He knew her temper, and this scene was only going to escalate.
"Yikes," Vivian said under her breath. "That was a whole soap opera."
"Typical," Anna muttered. "A drama queen for a drama king."
Vivian turned to her. "Wait, you know them?"
"I know him," Anna replied, her voice tight.
Vivian arched an eyebrow. "That's Gerald Smith. How the hell do you know Gerald Smith?"
Anna rolled her eyes. "It's a long story. And I've got a feeling it's only getting longer."