Ayra's POV
The sound of car tires crunching over the gravel outside Selene and Antonio's mansion was the first cue. I straightened up on the couch, pushing the throw blanket aside, grinning.
"They're here!" I called out.
Mira and Amara bounced in from the kitchen, arms full of coffee mugs and croissants we'd baked just for the return. Eliot walked over with a stretch and a smile, running a hand through his hair, still sleepy from our early morning prep.
The door opened—and there they were. Selene stepped in first, her hair loose, her skin glowing even without makeup. She looked every bit the Parisian goddess, still effortlessly stunning in a simple white coat over a soft mauve dress. Antonio walked behind her, his arm casually slung over the luggage, but his eyes only on her.
Mira gasped dramatically. "Someone's glowing like she just returned from her honeymoon!"
Antonio snorted. "It wasn't a honeymoon. It was business."
"But she's glowing," Amara chimed in, wagging her brows at Selene, who laughed as she hugged each of us.
"Fine," Selene said, dropping her bag. "Maybe a little business... and a little romance."
"Little?" Eliot smirked.
We all sat down in the living room, mugs passed around, the smell of fresh coffee filling the air. I couldn't stop glancing at Selene. There was something lighter about her. Like she'd left behind a version of herself in Lille and came back with something fuller—happier.
"So, spill," I said, poking her with my elbow. "What happened there?"
Antonio raised a brow. "You sure you want the romantic details, Ayra?"
I groaned, "No thanks. I want the drama, the meetings, the fashion."
Selene smiled at me, taking a slow sip. "It was everything. The meetings went great, the hotel was gorgeous, and Antonio let me design his suits."
"She was the real show," Antonio said, looking at her with such open pride it made my stomach flutter. "Even one of the designers offered to collaborate with her on luxury interiors."
"Selene!" Mira gasped, "You didn't tell us that!"
"She's being modest," Antonio continued. "And someone even recognized her from the Vogue runway. They called her the Muse in Midnight Silk."
"Oh my god," I nearly dropped my mug. "You're basically iconic."
Amara leaned in, grinning, "So are we getting matching Vogue robes now or?"
We all laughed, but something in Selene's gaze softened. She looked around at us and said quietly, "I missed this. I missed you all."
"You should," Eliot said dryly. "We've been very busy planning your welcome-back snacks."
Antonio leaned over toward her. "This place didn't feel quite the same without you."
Selene's face bloomed in soft pink. "You're such a sap."
"I call it honesty," he smirked. "My wife's a celebrity. I'm just catching up."
"Fiancée," I corrected with a grin.
Antonio raised his hands in mock surrender. "Yet."
We all burst out laughing again. It was these moments—the ones filled with teasing, shared glances, and layered memories—that made me feel like home wasn't just a place.
It was us.
Later that evening, we planned a dinner together—Selene cooking her creamy garlic chicken, Eliot setting the table, and Mira and Amara making cocktails with way too much syrup. The warmth of home, paired with the promise of what was ahead—Selene and Antonio's upcoming engagement, Eliot and I finalizing details for our own house, Mira and Amara glowing from their new creative opportunities—it all felt like life was falling into place.
And maybe, just maybe, it was finally our time to rise.