Until my Last Breath

71

Monaco

The music thumps low from hidden speakers, the city lights flickering in rhythm like stars keeping beat with a pulse only we can feel. Arthur's birthday rooftop party is warm with laughter, champagne flutes clinking, and shadows of friends dancing beneath fairy lights strung between steel beams and sky. It's small, cozy, intimate. A rare pocket of peace in the storm we live inside.

I breathe it in as I lean against the railing for a moment-just watching. Everyone seems relaxed. No cameras. No press. Just people. I should be relaxed too. But there's a knot somewhere between my ribs that won't loosen.

I take a slow sip from my drink and let my eyes wander-and that's when I spot them.

Pierre, grinning ear to ear in some ridiculous floral shirt, one hand dancing animatedly in the air as he tells a story. And next to him-Charles.

He's sitting low in a lounge chair, legs crossed, a beer resting lazily between his fingers. His jaw is tight, hair pushed back like always, expression unreadable as he half-listens to Pierre. I freeze mid-step, glass pausing at my lips.

My stomach turns. Not in the way it used to-where seeing him felt like comfort, like familiarity, like home-but in the way a door creaks just before it slams shut.

It's been building for weeks. Ever since I first noticed the distance. The shift. The eyes that once softened every time they looked at me-hardening. And I still don't know why. He hasn't told me. He hasn't said anything. Just silence and sidelong glances.

I know Charles. I know his moods. I know when he's pretending nothing's wrong because it's easier than facing what is. And normally, I'd give him space. But this? This has cut too deep. Jules is gone. And he's all I have left of that part of my life.

So I straighten up. Take a breath. And walk toward them. My boots thud softly against the concrete roof with each step, and for a second, I feel like that little girl again-the one who followed Charles everywhere with wide eyes and a heart too big for her chest.

Pierre sees me first. He perks up, flashing that signature grin. "Oh bonjour rookie."

I smile faintly. "Hey, Pierre."

But Charles doesn't move. Doesn't even look at me. Just stares straight ahead, lips pressed into that stubborn, unreadable line. My heart sinks a little. I step closer anyway.

"Hi," I offer, softly, just for him. "I-uh-I didn't think you'd be here so early."

He blinks once, then-without a word-sets his beer down, stands, and walks away.

My chest tightens.

Pierre glances between us, awkward now. "He's... been quiet all night."

But I'm already moving.

I don't care who sees. I don't care what it looks like. I weave through the crowd, eyes locked on Charles's back as he disappears around the side of the rooftop. The music muffles as I push through a side corridor lined with potted plants and hanging lights, until I finally find him alone-on the far end of the big balcony that overlooks the city.

He's standing at the edge, both hands gripping the railing, head bowed like the weight of something unspeakable has pressed into his shoulders. The wind tousles his curls gently, and I almost pause. Almost give him time to breathe.

But then I remember the look in his eyes when he left the garage after my race. The way he glanced at my suit like it meant something ugly. The way he walked away from me tonight like I was a stranger.

I've had enough.

I step onto the balcony, closing the distance with careful, measured steps. My heels tap softly against the tile, but he doesn't turn.