The next morning, the villa was cloaked in a subdued quiet, the kind that settles after a whirlwind has passed. The gentle sound of waves crashing against the cliffs echoed softly in the distance, mingling with the murmur of the crew packing up. The campaign was officially complete, and Vivien knew she should have felt accomplished. Relief should have swept over her, knowing they had pulled off one of the most ambitious shoots of her career.
But instead, she felt hollow.
She stood on the terrace, her gaze fixed on the sparkling Aegean Sea stretching endlessly before her. The sky was a perfect gradient of blues, its beauty almost mocking. The morning breeze carried the scent of salt, wildflowers, and faint traces of citrus from the villa's lush gardens, but none of it reached her. The world around her seemed picturesque, serene, yet her thoughts churned like a storm.
Behind her, the villa buzzed with activity—crew members hauling suitcases, shouting last-minute instructions, and preparing for their own departures. Vivien barely registered the noise, her focus instead on the weight in her chest. Her fingers curled tightly around her coffee mug, the ceramic warming her hands, offering the only tangible comfort she had at that moment.
She had spent the entire night tossing and turning, replaying every word, every glance, and every confrontation with Ren in her mind. She knew this was her last day in Santorini, her final hours sharing the same space as him. And yet, instead of the closure she craved, all she had was a storm of unresolved feelings—anger, disappointment, and something else she didn't want to name.
She took a slow sip of coffee, her gaze unwavering on the horizon. The sea sparkled under the morning sun, its surface calm and steady, the opposite of the chaos within her. She told herself that leaving Santorini would be a fresh start, a chance to refocus on her career and push aside the distractions that Ren Ashford had become.
But the truth was harder to ignore: Ren had found a way into her life, her heart, and her thoughts in a way no one else had. And now, with the end of their partnership so close, she wasn't sure if she felt relief… or regret.
The thought made her chest tighten, and she exhaled slowly, willing herself to push it away. This wasn't the time for reflection, she told herself. It was time to move on. But the hollow ache in her chest refused to be silenced, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise.
---
Vivien told herself she was ready to leave all of this behind. The campaign had been a success—despite the leaked video, despite Vanessa's meddling, despite… everything. The internet was already buzzing about the final edits LuxLife had teased, labeling it the "campaign of the year." Industry insiders were calling it a masterclass in authenticity and luxury branding, with fan accounts dissecting every detail and praising the chemistry between her and Ren.
But the accolades felt hollow. Success had come at a price, and the weight of it pressed heavily on her. She couldn't shake the bitterness of how it had all unfolded. Vanessa's betrayal had cut deeper than she wanted to admit, not because she cared about Vanessa's opinion, but because it had unearthed a vulnerability Vivien hadn't realized she'd been hiding. And then there were the cracks in her trust with Ren—cracks that, no matter how much she tried to deny it, stung more than any professional setback.
Her disappointment wasn't just with them; it was with herself. She had let the chaos, the emotions, the uncertainty of it all affect her too deeply. She prided herself on being composed, unshakable, but somewhere along the way, she had let herself soften. Let herself hope.
But not anymore.
She straightened her shoulders, her grip on the coffee mug tightening as though anchoring herself. "I just need to focus on moving forward," she murmured, her voice steady and quiet, carried away by the breeze.
Vivien forced her gaze to the horizon, refusing to let her thoughts wander. The Aegean Sea stretched out endlessly, calm and vast, a reminder of the world beyond Santorini. A world she was ready to return to—a world where she could rebuild the parts of herself she felt she had lost here.
Still, despite her resolve, her eyes betrayed her. They drifted toward the villa's entrance, where she knew Ren was likely packing his own things. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he was thinking, if he was struggling as much as she was.
She hated the part of her that wanted him to come out, to say something that would fix what had been broken. But she shoved that thought aside. This wasn't a storybook ending, and Ren Ashford wasn't her knight in shining armor.
Vivien turned back to the view, lifting her chin. She didn't need closure, she told herself. She didn't need apologies or explanations or one last attempt to untangle the mess they had created. What she needed was to leave Santorini behind—all of it. The heartbreak, the betrayal, the whirlwind of emotions she'd fought to control.
Tomorrow, she would be back in LA. Back to the life she had built with her own hands, free from the distractions that had derailed her here.
And she would be stronger for it.
---
Inside the villa, Ren sat on the edge of his bed, his suitcase half-packed beside him. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. The tension between him and Vivien had been suffocating, and he couldn't leave Santorini without at least trying to set things right.
Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through their shared campaign photos—images that looked so perfect, so effortless. Yet behind every shot was a tangled mess of emotions he hadn't anticipated.
With a determined breath, he stood, leaving his room and heading toward the terrace.
He found Vivien exactly where he expected her—standing by the railing, her coffee mug cradled in her hands. The morning sunlight caught in her hair, making her look ethereal, almost untouchable.
"Vivien," he said softly, stepping closer.
She didn't turn immediately, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "What is it, Ren?"
He hesitated, his hands in his pockets. "I just… I don't want to leave things like this."
Vivien let out a humorless laugh, finally turning to face him. "How else would we leave things, Ren? Everything about this campaign has been one disaster after another. Maybe it's better if we just go back to our separate lives."
Her words hit harder than Ren expected, but he didn't back down. "I don't believe that," he said firmly. "And I don't think you do either."
She shook her head, her grip tightening on her mug. "You don't get it. That video, Vanessa—it's not just about them. It's about trust, Ren. And right now, I don't know if I can trust you."
Ren stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "Vivien, I can't change what Vanessa did, but I need you to know I would never hurt you like that. Everything between us—every laugh, every moment—it was real. At least for me."
Her breath caught, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the sincerity in his eyes. But the wounds were still too fresh, the doubts too loud.
"I need time," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ren nodded slowly, stepping back. "Take all the time you need," he said, his tone steady despite the ache in his chest. "But just… don't shut me out completely."
---
Hours later, as their cars arrived to take them to the airport, the villa was a flurry of last-minute goodbyes and final checks. The crew bustled about, their chatter filling the air as they loaded equipment and luggage into waiting vehicles. Vivien stood by the villa's entrance, her suitcase neatly placed beside her, her hands folded tightly in front of her. The golden light of the late afternoon cast long shadows across the tiled path, painting the moment with an air of finality.
Ren was a few feet away, leaning casually against a pillar as he spoke with Kira. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze betrayed him. It flickered toward Vivien every few seconds, as though he couldn't resist checking to see if she was still there.
Vivien noticed, of course. She always noticed when it came to him. But she kept her expression carefully neutral, unwilling to give away the storm of emotions swirling beneath her composed exterior.
When the time finally came to leave, Ren crossed the space between them. He paused a step away, his usual confidence tempered by something softer, something almost hesitant. "Goodbye, Vivien," he said softly. His voice carried none of his usual bravado, and the smirk that so often graced his lips was replaced by a faint, bittersweet smile.
Vivien lifted her gaze to meet his. For a moment, neither of them moved, the space between them heavy with unspoken words. Her expression remained guarded, but there was no malice in her eyes, only a quiet understanding. "Goodbye, Ren," she replied, her voice steady.
There was so much more she could have said. So many questions she could have asked. But she didn't. Instead, she let the silence speak for her, the weight of their shared experiences hanging between them as they turned away.
Neither said more as they parted ways, the distance between them growing with every step.
As her car pulled away, Vivien stared out the window, watching the villa fade into the distance. The white walls, the sprawling terrace, the glimmering infinity pool—it all disappeared into the landscape as the road twisted and turned. She told herself it was for the best, that this chapter was closed, and it was time to move forward.
But deep down, a quiet voice lingered, whispering what she didn't want to admit. It wasn't over. Not yet. Something about Ren, about the way he had looked at her in that final moment, told her this wasn't the end of their story.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. For now, she would leave it all behind. But the feeling, the connection—whatever it was—remained, a thread she couldn't quite sever, no matter how hard she tried.