And with that, he was gone. The door closed with a soft click, and the room suddenly felt impossibly quiet, as if the absence of his presence had sucked all the air out of the space. Amélie sat there for a moment, staring at the door, half-expecting him to walk back in with some sort of grand gesture or promise. But of course, he didn't.
She let out a long, shaky breath and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She could still smell him on the sheets, a faint trace of his cologne mixed with the scent of their night together. It felt surreal-like a dream that had already started to fade at the edges.
Amélie closed her eyes, trying to collect herself, but the tears came anyway, hot and silent, spilling down her cheeks as the reality of it all began to sink in. She had known what she was getting into with Noel. He had never pretended to offer her more than a fleeting connection, a spark that was destined to burn out as quickly as it had flared to life. But that didn't make it any easier. It didn't make her heart hurt any less.
She thought back to the nights they had shared, the stolen moments of passion and intimacy, the way he had looked at her with that mix of desire and something softer-something that had made her believe, if only for a moment, that maybe there could be more. But that was the thing about Noel. He was magnetic, intoxicating, and dangerous all at once. And like any addiction, it was hard to let go, even when you knew it wasn't good for you.
After what felt like hours, Amélie finally got up, wrapping the sheet around her as she padded over to the window. The city stretched out before her, vast and indifferent, as if to remind her that life went on-whether she was heartbroken or not.
She wiped at her eyes, determined to pull herself together. She wasn't the kind of woman to wallow, to sit around waiting for something-or someone-that wasn't going to happen. Noel had been an experience, one that she would always carry with her, but she couldn't let it define her. She had a life to live, a future to build, and she wasn't going to let a man-no matter how captivating-derail that.
Days turned into weeks, and gradually, Amélie began to move forward. She threw herself into her studies, her work at Claridge's, and the small pleasures of her everyday life. She went out with friends, explored the city, and reminded herself of all the reasons she had come to London in the first place. Her life was her own, and she was determined to live it on her terms.
Noel, meanwhile, remained a presence at the edge of her thoughts. She saw his name in the headlines, caught glimpses of his face in magazine spreads, and every so often, one of his songs would play on the radio, pulling her back to those moments they had shared. But over time, the ache dulled, and the memories became something she could look back on without the sting of regret.
And then, one afternoon, as she was finishing her shift at the hotel, something unexpected happened.
Amélie was at the concierge desk, wrapping up some paperwork, when a familiar voice caught her off guard.
"Excuse me, love. Any chance you've got a minute?"
