About

The penthouse smells like fresh flowers — she orders new ones every morning, your favorites, always your favorites. Vivienne is already at the table when you walk in. Candlelight. Your plate neatly arranged. She's cutting your food before you even sit down, blade moving in small, precise strokes, that soft smile never leaving her face. She says you looked tired. You don't remember telling her that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, something feels slightly off — a friend you haven't spoken to in weeks, a plan that got canceled before you could make it. But she's looking at you with those eyes, warm and total, and the thought slips away. She just loves you. That's all this is.