The morning light spilled into Ren's loft, casting long shadows across the polished concrete floors. He sat at his kitchen island, a half-empty cup of coffee growing cold beside him. His laptop was open, the cursor blinking on a blank email draft addressed to Vivien.
For hours, he had been trying to find the right words, but nothing felt like enough. He'd replayed their last moments together, her guarded goodbye at the studio, her walls firmly in place. He hated that she didn't trust him, hated even more that he'd given her reasons to doubt him.
But he wasn't ready to let her go.
Ren closed the laptop with a frustrated sigh and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Words weren't enough—he needed to show her that he was serious, that this wasn't just about the campaign or the media frenzy.
It was about her.
---
The Plan
Later that day, Ren paced his loft, his phone pressed to his ear.
"Kira, I need your help," he said, his tone uncharacteristically urgent.
Kira, ever the pragmatist, let out a long sigh on the other end of the line. "Ren, if this is about Vivien—"
"It is," he interrupted, his voice firm. "And I'm not messing around this time. I need to do something big, something she'll believe. No cameras, no media. Just us."
There was a pause before Kira responded. "Alright. What's the plan?"
Ren exhaled, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's still forming, but I need you to keep her schedule clear for one night. Can you do that?"
Kira hesitated, but she knew better than to argue when Ren had that determined edge in his voice. "Fine. But you owe me for this."
"Deal," Ren said, hanging up.
He grabbed his notebook, flipping to a blank page as he started sketching out the details. If he was going to win Vivien back, he needed to remind her of who they were—what they could be—when the world wasn't watching.
---
The Invitation
The next day, Vivien sat at her desk, the soft hum of her laptop and the distant sound of LA traffic filling the air. She was reviewing a new campaign proposal, meticulously going over every detail, when a sharp knock at her door broke her concentration. She frowned, glancing at the clock. It was early afternoon, and she wasn't expecting anyone.
Reluctantly, she pushed her chair back and made her way to the door. Standing in the hallway was a courier, dressed neatly in a dark uniform, holding a small, elegant envelope.
"Ms. Hart?" he asked, his voice polite but neutral.
"Yes," she replied, a hint of caution in her tone as she accepted the envelope.
The courier gave a quick nod, turned, and walked away without another word, leaving Vivien alone with the mysterious delivery.
She closed the door and turned the envelope over in her hands. It was thick, high-quality paper, embossed with her name in elegant calligraphy. The weight of it felt significant, almost deliberate. Curiosity gnawed at her as she slid a finger under the seal, carefully opening it.
Inside was a handwritten note, the ink smooth and slightly smudged at the edges, as though written in a hurry but with care.
Vivien,
I know I've made mistakes, and I know I've hurt you. But I also know that what we had—what we still have—is worth fighting for.
Give me one evening to prove it. No cameras, no crew. Just us.
If you're willing, meet me at the rooftop of The Luxe at 8 PM.
– Ren
Her heart skipped a beat as she read the words, her eyes lingering on the signature. Ren's handwriting was surprisingly neat, almost too perfect, and she could practically hear his voice in the lines.
Vivien's fingers tightened around the paper as emotions clashed within her. Anger, frustration, curiosity, and something softer—something she wasn't ready to name—swirled together, leaving her unsettled. Part of her wanted to crumple the note and toss it in the trash, to push away the vulnerability he'd dared to express.
But another part—the one she'd been trying to suppress ever since they returned from Santorini—wanted to believe him.
She set the note down on her desk and paced the room, her thoughts racing. What could he possibly say or do that would make up for everything? And yet, there was a pull she couldn't ignore, a quiet voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a mistake.
Her eyes flicked to the clock. It was 4 PM. Plenty of time to decide.
Plenty of time to convince herself not to go—or to gather the courage to find out what Ren had to say.
---
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and cast the city in hues of gold and amber, Vivien found herself stepping out of the elevator onto the rooftop of The Luxe. The space had been transformed. The usual bustling bar and crowded tables were gone, replaced by an intimate, almost magical setup.
A small round table stood at the center, draped in crisp white linen and adorned with a simple yet elegant arrangement of roses and eucalyptus. String lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a warm, ambient glow, while candles flickered gently in the soft breeze. The faint hum of the city below blended with the soothing notes of a violinist tucked discreetly into the corner. The setting was flawless—romantic but understated, just enough to feel personal.
Vivien paused at the edge of the rooftop, her gaze sweeping over the scene. Her heart twisted, a mix of skepticism and the tiniest flicker of hope she didn't want to admit.
Near the edge of the rooftop, Ren stood with his back to her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his charcoal suit. The skyline stretched before him, a glittering expanse of lights that mirrored the stars beginning to appear overhead. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, his expression shifting to one of relief mixed with nervous anticipation.
"You came," he said softly, his voice carrying over the quiet.
Vivien crossed her arms, her posture guarded. "You left me little choice."
Ren's lips curved into a faint, almost self-conscious smile as he stepped closer. "I wasn't sure if you would."
Vivien raised an eyebrow, her tone steady but edged with curiosity. "Well, I'm here. So, what's this all about?"
Ren gestured toward the table, his movements measured, as though trying not to spook her. "Dinner first. Then we talk. No pressure."
Her hesitation was brief, but she eventually nodded and walked toward the table. As she sat, she noticed the attention to detail—the perfectly folded napkins, the elegant silverware, even the faint scent of lavender from the nearby planters. It was almost enough to make her forget the emotional weight of the evening. Almost.
Ren took his seat across from her, his usual playful demeanor subdued. He poured her a glass of wine, his hands steady despite the vulnerability in his gaze.
"To second chances," he said, raising his glass slightly, his voice sincere.
Vivien studied him for a moment before lifting her own glass. "To figuring out what this even is."
Their glasses clinked, the sound crisp and delicate in the quiet night air. As they sipped their wine, the tension between them shifted—not gone, but softer, tempered by the unspoken understanding that this night held something fragile and important.
---
As they ate, the conversation remained stiff and formal at first, with Vivien answering Ren's attempts at small talk with short, measured replies. But Ren, true to form, wasn't one to back down. He started telling stories—ridiculous tales from his early influencer days, moments of embarrassing mishaps that made him seem less perfect and more human.
Despite herself, Vivien found the corners of her mouth twitching. She fought the urge to laugh, but by the time he recounted the time he accidentally endorsed a competitor's brand in a live stream, she couldn't hold back the soft chuckle that escaped her lips.
"You're impossible," she said, shaking her head.
"True," Ren replied with a grin. "But you've stuck with me this long, so what does that say about you?"
The tension between them began to ease, each story chipping away at the walls Vivien had carefully built. When the plates were cleared, Ren leaned forward, his playful demeanor fading as his tone grew serious.
"Vivien, I know I've screwed up," he began, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. "I know I've given you reasons not to trust me. But I need you to know that none of this—none of us—has ever been fake for me."
Vivien looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Ren—"
"Let me finish," he interrupted gently, his gaze locking onto hers. "I've spent my whole life coasting, charming people without letting them get too close. It was easy, safe. But you… you don't let me get away with that. You make me want to be better, to be real. And that scares the hell out of me, but it also makes me realize how much I don't want to lose you."
Vivien's chest tightened as his words sank in, each one tugging at the parts of her heart she'd tried to guard. She wanted to believe him—wanted to trust that his intentions were as genuine as they seemed—but the doubts she'd harbored for so long still lingered.
"You say that now," she said quietly, her voice steady but soft. "But what happens when the next campaign comes along? The next big moment? What happens when it's easier to go back to who you were?"
Ren leaned forward, his hand hovering near hers but not quite touching. "Then I'll prove it to you, every single day, that this is real. That you matter to me more than anything else."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, the distant hum of the city below filling the air. The soft glow of the candles reflected in Ren's eyes, their light flickering but steady, much like the sincerity in his expression.
Vivien felt the walls she had built so carefully begin to crack, the weight of his words pressing against them. But she wasn't ready to let them fall completely—not yet.
"I don't know if I can do this again," she said honestly, her voice trembling slightly with the vulnerability of the admission.
Ren's gaze didn't waver. "Then let me earn it. One step at a time. No shortcuts, no quick fixes. Just… time."
Vivien exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as if grounding herself. Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, cautious but genuine. "We'll see."
It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no, either. And as the night stretched on and the city lights twinkled like a sea of stars around them, Ren allowed himself to feel a glimmer of hope.
For now, that was enough.