We finish eating our cakes and leave the cafe after hanging out there for an hour. My stomach is warm, full of soft sponge and sweet cream, but the cold night air outside hits hard the second we step into it. Snowflakes fall steadily, quiet and unassuming, coating the sidewalk in a soft shimmer.
Noah walks slightly ahead, unlocking his car with a click. I'm about to ask him if he still wants to drive me home or if he has other plans when a voice cuts through the night.
"Well, well. So the rumor is true. You're still in this city. What a shameless person."
We both turn around. My body freezes. Not because of the snow, not because of the wind seeping through my clothes, but because it's him—another shitty model from the old days.
He walks closer with that same smug smirk he always wore on set, the one that says he thinks he owns the world. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his designer coat, his gait lazy but full of purpose.
