VELVET CHAINS REVIVE

The day of the show arrived.

The venue was an abandoned cathedral in the heart of Paris, transformed into a runway drenched in stained glass reflections and moody spotlights. The models moved like gothic angels, the air thick with anticipation and perfume. Cameras flashed. Editors whispered. Celebrities lined the velvet benches.

But behind the heavy curtains, chaos reigned.

Ayden stood at the edge of the backstage area, checking and re-checking the sequence of outfits. His hands trembled slightly, betraying the nerves he refused to admit.

Luca found him staring at a rack of coats.

"You okay?" he asked.

Ayden nodded, but didn't speak. He was dressed in black again, his signature shade, but tonight there was a softness in his silhouette — a silk scarf, a looser drape to his tailored coat. Luca recognized it instantly: Ayden was protecting his heart.

"You've done all you can," Luca said gently.

Ayden turned to face him. "If this flops—"

"It won't."

"You don't know that."

"I know you," Luca said firmly. "And this... this show is more than fashion. It's survival. It's voice. It's rebellion."

Ayden's eyes flickered, wet with unspoken feeling.

Then a stage manager poked his head in. "Opening in five."

They exchanged a look.

Luca stepped closer, pressing his lips against Ayden's temple. "Whatever happens out there... I've already won."

Ayden blinked at him. "What?"

"Because I got you."

He didn't wait for a reply — he turned and walked toward the sound booth, leaving Ayden stunned.

The lights dimmed. A hush fell over the audience.

Then — music.

Dark, haunting, modern. A heartbeat layered over strings. One by one, the models emerged, each design unfolding like a secret on skin. Velvet sleeves, leather corsets, silk accents that whispered of pain and beauty. Luca had handled the flow. Ayden had poured in the soul.

The audience leaned forward.

Halfway through the show, Ayden emerged from the shadows, adjusting a model's lapel mid-walk. It wasn't planned — but it felt right. Raw. Real.

The cameras caught it. The crowd murmured. Something shifted in the air.

By the final walk, when all models took the stage in formation, Luca walked out beside Ayden, fingers brushing his as the lights faded. Not holding. Just enough to make it known — they were partners.

The applause was thunderous.

But Ayden didn't hear it. Not clearly. All he could focus on was Luca, eyes glassy, smiling at him like he'd never seen anyone more alive.

Ren leaned against a stone column outside the venue, eyes scanning the crowd.

He hated fashion shows.

He'd only come for Eden. But Eden, as usual, was nowhere to be seen — a ghost in black, slipping between shadows like a myth.

Ren lit a cigarette, half-expecting Eden to scold him for it.

Instead, Eden appeared beside him, silent.

"You clean up well," Ren said, trying to act casual. Eden wore a simple charcoal suit, nothing flashy, but it hugged his lean frame like a second skin.

"You came," Eden said, voice quiet.

"Of course I did."

"I thought you hated this world."

"I do," Ren said, flicking ash. "But I don't hate you."

Eden's gaze dropped. "I've done things, Ren. Been someone I'm not proud of."

"We all have."

"No. You don't understand." Eden's voice cracked slightly. "There are parts of me still chained to the past."

Ren turned to him, serious now. "Then let me help break them."

A long silence.

Then Eden did something unexpected — he reached out, took the cigarette from Ren's fingers, and stubbed it out on the wall.

"No more hiding behind smoke," he whispered.

Ren smirked. "Bossy."

"Only when I care."

They stood close now, shoulders brushing.

Eden hesitated — then leaned in. This kiss wasn't explosive. It wasn't cinematic. It was slow, grounding. The kind of kiss that pulled you out of your own head. That reminded you: I'm still here. I still want to be seen.

When they pulled away, Ren smiled softly. "That a yes to dinner?"

Eden nodded, breathless. "Just... not anywhere public."

Ren laughed. "Private, quiet, and far away. I've got just the place."

Back Inside

The after-party glittered. Ayden stood by the champagne bar, shell-shocked.

A Vogue editor had asked for an exclusive. A Japanese buyer was circling Luca. Someone from Milan had already requested a private collection viewing.

But all Ayden could think was: It's over. We did it.

Luca appeared, holding two glasses.

"To survival," he said.

Ayden clinked his glass. "To rebellion."

They drank.

Luca looked at him, serious now. "You said if this show was a success... you'd let yourself rest."

"I did."

"So?"

Ayden glanced around. "I think I'm ready to stop running."

Luca smiled, slow and real. "Good. Because I'm ready to stop chasing."

And in the middle of all the noise, all the praise, all the flashing cameras — they kissed.

Not for the press.

Not for the brand.

For them.