Chapter 56 Paris Fashion Week Part 1
"Will she listen to the regular flutter of her infant's heartbeat or the devastating silence that means everything has been lost?"
The doctor moves the wand slowly. Focusing.
Zephyra cannot breathe. Kairo's hand crushes hers.
Then, a valid, speedy. Rhythmic. Stunning.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
"There." The medical doctor points to the display. "Strong heartbeat. The infant is fine."
Zephyra sobs, relief flooding. Overwhelming.
Kairo drops his head to her shoulder. Shaking.
"Are you positive?" Zephyra manages through tears.
"Very certain." The doctor smiles. "The spotting was minor. Probably from pressure and overexertion."
She wipes the gel away.
"But you need bed relaxation." Her tone turns firm. "At least one week. No tour. No work. No stress."
“One week?" Zephyra's mind races. "But Fashion Week starts in 3 days. —"
"Bed relaxation," The doctor repeats. "or you risk critical complications."
Kairo nods at once. "She'll rest. I'll make sure of that."
Out of doors, Isabelle is waiting. Face tense.
"The baby?" She stands speedily.
"Fine." Kairo's voice breaks with relief. "Baby is perfectly ok."
Isabelle hugs them each. True emotion.
Then sensible issues surface. They're in Paris. Fashion Week is drawing near.
"You need rest," Isabelle says. "Come live at my house."
"We couldn't—" Zephyra starts.
"You may," Isabelle interrupts. "I've got visitor rooms, staff, and everything you need. It is decided."
Isabelle's house is lovely. Fashionable townhouse. Beautiful.
The visitor room is spacious. cozy, perfect for recovery.
Zephyra is compelled into stillness. Bedridden. Frustrated.
Fashion Week arrangements happen without her. From a distance.
Kairo handles business meetings alone. Video-calls her for decisions.
She watches from bed. Laptop propped on pillows. Feeling useless.
"I should be there." She tells Kairo time and again.
"You are precisely where you need to be," he counters. "Preserving our baby."
Days blur collectively. Relaxation. Sleep. worry.
Sara's debut series is in very last guidance. Without Zephyra's presence.
The guilt eats at her.
One night, Isabelle visits her room. Brings natural tea.
"How are you feeling?" She sits within the bedside chair.
"Stressed," Zephyra admits. "Useless."
"Ah." Isabelle sips her personal tea. "The formidable girl's curse."
She sets her cup down, considerate.
"Being an ambitious girl with a baby isn't always smooth." She says. "I've carried it out three times."
"How did you manage it?" Zephyra asks desperately.
"I learned to bend." Isabelle's voice is mild. "To accept assistance. To prioritize in another way."
Tears fill Zephyra's eyes. Hormones. Fear. Exhaustion.
"I'm scared of failing." She whispers. "At a business. At motherhood. At the whole lot."
Isabelle takes her hand.
"You won't," she says firmly. "Because you're not doing it alone."
She gestures around. "You've got Kairo. Me. Your team. People who agree with you."
"However, what if I cannot do both?" Zephyra's voice breaks.
"You may." Isabelle squeezes her hand. "It won't be perfect. However, you will find your way."
The phrases sink in. Comforting. Genuine.
"Thank you," Zephyra manages. "For everything."
"That is what buddies do." Isabelle smiles.
The week passes slowly.
But the baby remains healthy. Strong heartbeat at each look.
The medical doctor clears her for limited activity.
"You could attend Fashion Week commencing nighttime." She says. "But stay seated. No stress. Leave in case you sense tiredness."
Fashion Week Opening night. Sara's debut collection is on display.
Zephyra insists on attending. "I promised to assist her. I don't want to break that promise."
Kairo consents reluctantly. "But we go away the second you sense something wrong."
The venue is packed. Energy electric. Anticipation humming.
They come early. Front-row seats.
Sara is backstage. Excited. Geared up.
Zephyra texts her. "I'm here. So proud of you."
The reaction is instant. "Thanks.
The lights dim. Music begins. The display starts.
The first model emerges. Wearing Sara's layout.
It is stunning. Bold. Confident.
The target audience responds enthusiastically. Applause. Appreciation.
Piece after piece emerges.
Sara's expertise is undeniable. Her vision is clean.
Zephyra watches with pleasure and satisfaction.
This is why she built this program. For moments like this.
Then, all through a version change, movement catches her eye.
A man getting into the venue. Late. Uninvited.
He moves through the crowd. Assured. Predatory.
Zephyra's blood runs bloodless.
Marcus Lang.
Sara's abuser. The man she escaped.
He takes a seat. Several rows again. looking at the runway.
Looking at Sara's triumph with that familiar predatory smile.
Zephyra grabs Kairo's arm. "Look. back row. It's Marcus."
Kairo turns. His face darkens at once.
"What's he doing right here?" His voice is raspy.
"I don't know." Zephyra's heart pounds. "But Sara does not realize he's right here."
The show continues. Sara's collection is stunning the audience.
But Marcus sits watching. Smiling. Waiting.
Zephyra's telephone buzzes. It's a text from Sara backstage.
"How's it going?"
Zephyra's palms hover. Should she inform her? Warn her?
"It's beautiful," she types. "You are incredible ."
She cannot spoil this moment. Not now.
But Marcus is here. Uninvited. Threatening.
The very last piece walks. Sara's showstopper. Breathtaking.
The audience erupts in a standing ovation. Screaming approval.
Sara emerges for her bow. Radiant. Positive. Free.
She sees Zephyra. Waves. Beaming with pleasure.
Then her eyes scan the group. Landing on someone in the back.
Her smile freezes. Color drains from her face.
She sees Marcus.
Her moment of triumph shattered by his presence.
Zephyra stands. Instinct overriding caution.
However, Kairo pulls her back. "Wait. Let's think this through."
Marcus stands too. Starts moving toward the backstage place.
Security does not stop him. He looks legitimate.
"We have to do something," Zephyra says urgently.
"We can," Kairo is already texting security, "but cautiously."
The crowd disperses. People congratulating Sara. Media swarming.
Marcus moves through all of it. Getting closer.
Zephyra pushes through the crowd, reaching Sara first.
"I saw him," Sara whispers. Voice shaking. "He is here."
"I know. "Zephyra takes her fingers.
Marcus appears at the threshold of the crowd. Watching. Waiting.
His smile is bloodless. Calculating. Possessive.
Security arrives. Kairo directing them. However, Marcus hasn't carried out anything unlawful yet.
He is just standing there. Making his presence recognized.
Then he pulls out his telephone. Takes a photo of Sara.
Planned. Threatening. A message.
Sara sees it. starts shaking.
Zephyra steps between them. Blocking off his view.
"Leave." Now.
Marcus laughs. "This is a public occasion. I'm allowed to be here."
"You're harassing someone with a restraining order." Kairo seems beside Zephyra.
"Prove it." Marcus's smile widens. "I'm just enjoying Fashion Week."
He's taking another photograph. Deliberately provocative.
Security moves nearer. However, he hasn't violated anything yet.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening," Marcus says to Sara. Voice dripping with menace. "We'll speak soon."
He walks away. Casual. Untouchable.
Sara collapses against Zephyra, sobbing and
terrified.
"He located me," she whispers. "After everything. He found me."
Zephyra holds her, livid and protective.
Marcus disappeared into the crowd. However, his message is clear.
He is not done with Sara. Not even near.
And as Zephyra watches him vanish into the Paris nighttime whilst Sara trembles in her palms, one terrifying question pounds through her thoughts—if Marcus is bold enough to show up here publicly despite the restraining order, what will he do when no one's looking?