Three days later, Aurélie sat in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the collar of her white blouse for what felt like the hundredth time.
"You look great," Elio said from the doorway, arms crossed, a small proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Aurélie: "You sure? I don't look too nervous?"
Elio: "You are nervous. That's what makes it charming."
She laughed under her breath, standing up to face him.
Today was her first official public interview—not as someone's assistant, or someone's charity face—but as herself. A featured speaker in the humanitarian conference organized by L'Institut pour l'Humanité. Her topic? "The Humanity Behind the Headlines."
She had written the entire talk herself. Elio hadn't touched a single word. But he had read it five times behind her back. He knew that by heart.
As she grabbed her bag, Elio stepped forward and held out a small object wrapped in velvet.
Elio: "For luck."
She opened it.
It was an old brass fountain pen. Heavy. Elegant. The initials E.C. engraved near the base.
Aurélie: "Elio... this is your favorite pen."
Elio: "Not anymore. It's yours now."
She blinked fast.
Aurélie: "You're going to make me cry before I even start."
Elio: "Good. Now you'll look even more sincere."
She laughed, tucked the pen into her bag, and kissed him softly.
Aurélie: "Wish me luck."
Elio: "You don't need it."
---
The event hall was grand but warm. Panels of sunlight streamed through the high windows, dancing across the polished floors. Reporters milled around the entrance. Camera crews buzzed in the distance.
Aurélie had never felt smaller.
She found herself clutching Elio's pen as the event manager led her backstage.
There, waiting, stood the moderator—a young woman in her thirties with a clipboard and soft eyes.
Moderator: "Miss Moreau, thank you again for joining us. We're truly honored."
Aurélie smiled nervously.
Aurélie: "I should be the one thanking you."
The woman leaned in.
Moderator: "Just speak from the heart. People remember honesty more than perfection."
Aurélie nodded.
The lights dimmed. The announcer introduced her name.
It was time.
---
She walked onto the stage, heels echoing slightly. The crowd wasn't massive, but intimidating enough—journalists, philanthropists, political advisors. All watching. All curious.
She took a breath.
And began.
---
> "Good afternoon. My name is Aurélie Moreau.
I'm not a politician. I'm not a celebrity. I don't have a long list of degrees. But I do have something else.
I have stories.
Stories of a girl who once cried in an alley because she couldn't afford rent. Stories of kids in Cameroon who laughed despite having nothing but dust and dreams. Stories of women who survived war, and still had the strength to hold others up.
And one story in particular... of a man who hid his heart behind contracts and rules, but eventually learned how to say 'I love you' without fear.
That last one might be my favorite.
Because it taught me that humanity isn't always loud. Sometimes, it whispers.
Sometimes, it shows up in quiet places—in forgotten letters, shared meals, awkward silences filled with care.
That's why I'm here today. Not to impress you. But to remind us all:
We are not our headlines. Not our achievements or failures.
We are our choices.
And I choose, every day, to believe in people. In change. In love."
The room was quiet.
Then, applause. Long. Genuine.
Tears welled in her eyes again—but this time, they were full of release.
---
After the session ended, the media swarmed in.
"Miss Moreau, do you represent the Cadenza Foundation now?"
"Is it true you married Elio Cadenza?"
"Was it a love match or an arranged agreement?"
"Are you planning your own organization?"
She answered calmly, smiling but firm.
Yes, she collaborated with Cadenza.
Yes, she was married—to Elio Cadenza.
Yes, it had started as an agreement.
No, she didn't regret any of it.
Yes, she was building something of her own.
Behind the crowd, she spotted a familiar figure in a black coat leaning near the exit—Elio, hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze fixed on her like the rest of the world had vanished.
He didn't try to interrupt. He just stood there. Watching her shine.
---
That night, they sat on the rooftop of their apartment, sipping tea under the stars.
Aurélie: "You really didn't have to come."
Elio: "I didn't come for the event. I came to see you own it."
She leaned against his shoulder.
Aurélie: "I was scared out of my mind."
Elio: "I know. That's what made it powerful."
A pause.
Aurélie: "Some reporter asked if our marriage was real."
Elio: "What did you say?"
Aurélie: "I told her it started with ink, but turned into fire."
Elio raised a brow.
Elio: "That's poetic."
Aurélie: "It's also true."
He brushed a strand of her hair away.
Elio: "Let them ask. Let them guess. We don't owe anyone our story."
She looked up at him, smiling.
Aurélie: "But maybe one day, I'll write it."
Elio: "Let me guess. Chapter One: The Arrogant CEO and the Broke Assistant?"
Aurélie: "More like The Man Who Forgot How to Feel Until a Stubborn Girl Made Him Remember."
He laughed.
And under the Paris sky, their fingers laced tighter—like a new chapter was just beginning.