Chapter 21
Jake’s pupils contracted sharply.
“No! I…”
“Jake,” she interrupted him, speaking each word clearly and distinctly. “Your current situation is what you deserve, what you had coming.”
She shook off his hand and walked away into the snowstorm without looking back.
Jake stood motionless, snow covering his shoulders.
He suddenly remembered many years ago, that little girl who stood at the alley entrance, red–eyed,
waiting for him to turn around.
The snow fell harder.
Avery walked quickly through the accumulating snow, tiny ice crystals clinging to her eyelashes.
She heard footsteps behind her. Jake was still following her.
Just as she was about to turn and rebuke him, a tall figure appeared from the street corner, his black coat creating a sharp silhouette against the wind.
It was Alex.
He carried a black umbrella, his gaze softening when it touched Avery’s reddened nose, but freezing instantly when he spotted the figure following closely behind.
‘Avery.”
He quickly approached, tilting the umbrella to shield her from the wind and snow.
His eyes swept over her fingers, already white from the cold, and without hesitation, he took the designs from her arms. “Why didn’t you wear gloves?”
Avery couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Her tense body relaxed, and she moved a few steps closer to him. “I forgot.”
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Jake stopped a few meters away.
The gazes of the two men collided in the air like drawn swords.
“And who might this be?”
Alex’s tone was calm, but he pulled Avery half a step behind him.
“No one important,” Avery said, adjusting her scarf, her voice muffled by the wool but clear enough for everyone present to hear.
Jake’s jaw tightened.
“Mr. Landau,” Alex suddenly spoke, his voice ice–cold. “London’s safety isn’t the best. I’d advise against following women at night to avoid misunderstandings.”
Snowflakes landed lightly on Jake’s shoulders, yet they seemed to weigh thousands of pounds,
pressing him down so he couldn’t lift his head.
He stared at Alex’s hand on Avery’s back. “…We’ve known each other for eight years.”
“And?”
Alex chuckled, his fingertips caressing the edge of the design he had just taken from Avery, a hint of
mockery in his tone.
“So knowing someone for eight years gives you the right to harass them on the street?”
Avery suddenly looked up.
Under the streetlight, Alex’s profile was as sharp and perfect as his architectural models.
She had never seen him like this before. His usually smiling eyes were now cold as polar ice, even
his voice had become hard and frigid.
Jake stepped forward, the snow crunching beneath his feet. “This is between her and me.”
“Not anymore.”
Alex moved in sync with his opponent, shielding Avery completely. The black umbrella drew a clear boundary in the snow. “If you take one more step closer, I’ll have the police invite you for coffee at
the station.”
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He paused: “I hear you just lost Landau Group? Then I imagine you wouldn’t want to invite more legal troubles.”
Those words stabbed into Jake’s heart like a knife.
He looked at Avery, but saw her gently tugging at Alex’s sleeve. “Let’s go, it’s so cold.”
Alex immediately turned around. The wind and snow carried his final warning to Jake’s ears: “Don’t let me see you approach her again.”
Their figures gradually disappeared into the snow curtain.
Jake stood motionless, watching Avery’s hair brush against Alex’s shoulder, watching the girl who once smiled only for him now looking up at someone else, saying, “Tilt the umbrella more toward
your side.”
Snow slipped into his collar, taking away the last bit of warmth from his heart.
Later, no one in the city ever saw Jake again.
Some said he went to South America; others claimed he died on a snowy night.
Meanwhile, Avery’s “Broken Wings” collection appeared at Paris Fashion Week at the end of the year, making her the most acclaimed designer of the season.
During the curtain call, Alex knelt on one knee backstage and placed a butterfly diamond ring on her
finger.
She had finally emerged from her cocoon, flying toward her own sky.
And some people were destined to be nothing more than a snowstorm in her life.
At a private art exhibition gala in Paris, Avery stood on the terrace, the stars spread above her head, the butterfly tattoo behind her ear catching the light.
Five years had passed.
Her personal brand had traveled from London to the world, each season’s runway show like an elaborate farewell ceremony.
Bidding goodbye to the self that once humbled herself for love, farewell to those years of being let down.
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Footsteps approached from behind as Alex walked over, draping a coat over her shoulders.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his fingers lightly brushing the butterfly behind her ear.
Avery shook her head, the corners of her lips curving upward. “Just feeling… how strange destiny is.”
If she hadn’t chosen to go to London that year, if she had gone to another country, another city instead. If she hadn’t met Alex, she might have remained forever trapped in the memory of that rainy night, trapped in the image of Jake choosing Hannah.
Alex didn’t question her reflection, just gently took her hand. “Time for the curtain call.”
At the end of the runway, Avery stood alone, her white dress flowing like butterfly wings.
The audience erupted in thunderous applause, camera flashes twinkling like stars.
She looked up at the night sky as cameras zoomed in on the butterfly behind her ear–a tattoo covering a scar, the mark of her rebirth.
She had finally flown through that storm.
In the deep autumn of Paris, fallen leaves carpeted the small paths of Montmartre.
Avery stood before the floor–to–ceiling window of her studio, her fingertips lightly brushing the butterfly tattoo behind her ear.
Sunlight streamed through the glass, refracting through her diamond wedding ring to cast tiny specks of light that danced like stardust on her sketches.
“Ms. Williams, this is… a delayed letter Mr. Landau sent before his death. It just arrived today.”
It had been a long time since anyone had mentioned that name in front of her.
She silently took the envelope and walked alone to the balcony.
Inside was a stack of photographs.
Her at eighteen, secretly watching him from the sidelines of the basketball court;
Her at twenty, staying up late knitting him a scarf, her fingers red from needle pricks;
On her twenty–second birthday, standing at the club entrance in a white dress, her eyes full of
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expectation…
The last one showed her from behind during her curtain call at London Fashion Week.
On the back of the photo was a single line:
[If I could start over, I would love you first.]
Avery looked at the photos quietly, then suddenly smiled.
Too late.
She folded the letter into a paper airplane and tossed it out the window.
“What are you looking at?”
Warmth enveloped her from behind as Alex rested his chin on the top of her head.
In his hand were blueprints just delivered from Switzerland, the model of a butterfly observatory ranslucent in the sunlight.
Just thinking about tomorrow’s award ceremony.”
She turned around, the tattoo behind her ear brushing against the corner of his lips. “Should I nention the inspiration behind ‘Broken Wings‘ in my acceptance speech?”
Alex smiled, kissing the diamond ring on her finger. “Of course you can. Talk about how you ransformed scars into wings.”
Suddenly, cheers erupted from the plaza below.
They looked out the window to see children running into the newly completed butterfly museum. The glass dome dispersed sunlight into a rainbow cascade, pouring onto everyone’s shoulders.
Among the thousands of beating wings and dancing light, she clearly saw her fourteen–year–old self.
That girl standing at the alley entrance with chocolate clutched in her hand and scabbed knees was smiling at her present self across the long years.
