Twisted Plot

CHAPTER 8

Paris was a dream Harmony never thought she’d live.

The golden lights of the city shimmered like brushstrokes on a canvas, and for the first time in her life, she felt seen not as someone chasing survival, but as someone becoming. Her art, once hidden in notebooks and late-night sessions, now hung on gallery walls. People paused, admired, bought.

Her days were full press interviews, exhibitions, late-night painting marathons. But her nights were lonelier than she admitted. She smiled for the world, but inside, a part of her still ached. For Ramiel. For closure. For the words never spoken.

Ramiel was in Paris on a business trip, negotiating a deal to expand his company’s reach into Europe. It was supposed to be a short visit, but the weight of recent heartbreak made him crave anonymity and art’s quiet refuge. Paris offered both.

Then came that night.

It was an exclusive rooftop gallery event, high above the Seine. Champagne flutes clinked, jazz played low, and the Parisian elite danced in laughter and silk.

Harmony stood by one of her pieces a soft, abstract swirl of deep blue and crimson. It was titled “If Only.”

“Beautiful,” a man’s voice said beside her. Deep. Gentle. Familiar?

She turned and there he was.

Ramiel.

In a black coat, scarf tucked neatly at his neck, eyes unreadable but warm. For a moment, Harmony forgot to breathe.

He didn’t recognize her. Not fully. Just as a face he’d seen once maybe twice. She, on the other hand, felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“Thank you,” she managed, her voice quiet.

“Are you the artist?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I bought a painting once,” he said thoughtfully. “A woman was staring at it the way you are now. I think... you reminded me of her.”

She smiled sadly. “Maybe she reminded you of something you lost.”

He laughed softly, watching her closely. “Maybe I never had it.”

They didn’t speak names. They just talked. For hours. About art, memory, heartbreak. The world shrank around them, and in that space, they were just two strangers caught in the warmth of an impossible moment.

One drink turned into two. The moon arched higher. And by the time they slipped out of the gallery and into the cool Parisian night, Harmony knew exactly what she was doing and why she wouldn’t stop it.

They spent the night in his suite overlooking the Eiffel Tower.

In the early hours, she traced the scar near his collarbone and whispered, “In another life, I would’ve told you everything.”

He was half-asleep. “In another life, I would’ve listened.”

Before sunrise, Harmony slipped out of bed. She left no note.

Just the memory of herself pressed into a single, fleeting moment.

And a heartbeat growing quietly within her.

*****
****
***
**
*
Alright finally I've managed to craft it. I've been debating on the outline of this story but I guess I will follow my intuition and just go with the flow I hope you are enjoying the story. Cheers 😃 😊