CRIMSON WEAVE

Azalea's office, perched atop Scarlet Vogue's Paris headquarters, offered an unparalleled view of the Eiffel Tower. The sun was setting, casting the city in hues of gold and amber. Inside, Azalea sat behind her sleek glass desk, reviewing sketches for an upcoming collection. Her focus was sharp, but her mind wandered occasionally to the events of the fashion show.

Ambrose Levi had been impossible to ignore. His charm, sharp wit, and piercing green eyes had left an impression she couldn't shake.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Without looking up, she called out, "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Lily, her assistant, holding a bouquet of crimson roses.

"Delivery for you," Lily said, setting the arrangement on the desk.

Azalea arched an eyebrow. "From?"

Lily smirked. "Who else? Ambrose Levi. There's a card."

Azalea reached for the card and read it aloud.

"To the brilliant Azalea Laurent: For the woman who makes even roses jealous of her elegance. Let's discuss more than just fabrics over dinner tonight. —Ambrose."

Azalea's lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "Persistent, isn't he?"

Lily leaned against the desk. "Persistent, rich, and very easy on the eyes. What's the harm in dinner?"

Azalea sighed. "Dinner with him always feels like walking a tightrope. He's too... perceptive."

"And you like it," Lily teased. "Say yes, Azalea. You deserve a little fun."

After a moment's hesitation, Azalea picked up her phone and sent a single-word reply: "Fine."

The Dinner Invitation

Later that evening, Azalea stepped into the private dining room of Le Bijou, an exclusive restaurant known for its intimate ambiance and Michelin-starred cuisine. She wore a sleek black dress, her hair styled into loose waves that framed her face.

Ambrose was already there, standing near the window with a glass of wine in hand. He turned as she entered, his expression lighting up.

"You came," he said, his voice warm.

"Curiosity got the better of me," she replied smoothly, taking the seat he pulled out for her.

As they settled in, the waiter appeared with a bottle of red wine. Ambrose gestured for it to be poured.

"You didn't strike me as the type to send flowers," Azalea remarked, swirling her glass.

Ambrose chuckled. "You'd be surprised. I can be quite traditional when the occasion calls for it."

"And what's the occasion?"

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. "Getting to know the enigma that is Azalea Laurent."

Azalea's lips curved into a teasing smile. "I'm not much of an enigma. I design clothes, I run a company, and I occasionally tolerate dinner invitations."

"And yet," Ambrose countered, "there's something about you that makes me think there's far more beneath the surface."

As the meal progressed, their conversation flowed effortlessly.

"So," Ambrose said, cutting into his filet mignon, "how does someone as brilliant as you stay so grounded?"

"Grounded?" Azalea raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm grounded?"

He grinned. "Don't tell me you're not."

"I'm focused," she corrected. "There's a difference."

"And what keeps you so focused?" he asked, his tone curious.

Azalea hesitated, her mind briefly flickering to the secrets she kept hidden. "Goals. Ambition. The usual."

Ambrose leaned back, studying her. "You're a fascinating woman, Azalea."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Ambrose."

"Who says I'm trying to get anywhere?" he retorted. "Maybe I just enjoy your company."

As the waiter cleared their plates and brought dessert—an artful arrangement of chocolate and berries—Ambrose took the opportunity to steer the conversation to more personal matters.

"Tell me," he said, his voice softer, "what does Azalea Laurent do when she's not conquering the fashion world?"

Azalea smirked. "You assume I have free time."

"I assume you make time for what matters," he replied, his eyes locking with hers.

For a moment, the playful banter gave way to something deeper. Azalea felt a flicker of vulnerability, quickly masked by her usual poise.

"I travel," she said finally. "And I read. Nothing extraordinary."

"Everything about you is extraordinary," Ambrose said, his tone sincere.

Azalea felt her defenses waver slightly under his gaze. She quickly redirected the conversation. "And what about you, Ambrose? What keeps the great textile mogul entertained?"

He chuckled. "Business, mostly. But I find time for the finer things in life. Like this dinner, for example."

As the evening wound down, Ambrose surprised Azalea by standing and extending his hand.

"Dance with me," he said.

Azalea blinked. "Here? Now?"

"Why not?" he replied, his grin mischievous.

She hesitated but ultimately placed her hand in his. He led her to a small open space near the window, where soft music played faintly in the background.

Their movements were slow and unhurried, the city lights providing a romantic backdrop.

"You're full of surprises, Ambrose," Azalea murmured.

"And you're full of walls," he countered gently.

She looked up at him, her expression guarded. "Some walls are necessary."

"Maybe," he said, his voice low. "But not all of them."

As they left the restaurant, Ambrose walked her to her car.

"Thank you for tonight," Azalea said. "It was... unexpected."

"Unexpected can be good," Ambrose replied, his tone warm.

He hesitated, then leaned in, his lips brushing her cheek in a gesture that was both bold and respectful.

Azalea's breath caught, but she quickly composed herself. "Goodnight, Ambrose."

"Goodnight, Azalea," he said, his gaze lingering as she stepped into the car.

As the vehicle pulled away, Azalea couldn't help but replay the evening in her mind. Ambrose Levi was dangerous—not because of his wealth or charm, but because he had a way of making her feel seen in a way few ever had.

For the first time in a long time, Azalea wondered if letting someone in might not be the weakness she had always believed it to be. But in her world, trust was a luxury she couldn't afford—and one she wasn't sure she was ready to risk.