The message arrived on a Thursday evening, just as Angie was finishing organizing some contact sheets on Léo's desk. She glanced at her phone without paying much attention… until she saw his name.
Grégory.
Her fingers froze. She hesitated before opening the message.
> "I need to see you. Just once. Far from here. Tell me you'll come."
Simple. Straight to the point. Yet burdened with a weight she wasn't ready to carry.
She hesitated. Her heart was already racing. And yet… she replied.
> "Where?"
The response came almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting by the screen.
> "The old lodge at the Bay of Mists. You remember? The seminar place, three years ago. Nobody goes there off-season. Saturday, at 4 PM. Please."
She remembered. A stone building overlooking a small lake surrounded by pines. Quiet. Out of the world. Back then, they'd shared laughter, glasses of wine by the water. Nothing ambiguous. Just the sweetness of growing closeness.
But today… everything was different.
"Everything okay?" asked Léo from the kitchen.
Angie looked up at him, masking her turmoil with a quick smile.
"I'm fine—just a work message."
Another lie.
---
Saturday arrived under a pale sky, washed in grey and silence. Angie drove slower than usual, her gaze often lost on the white lines of the road.
She had worn just a touch of makeup—enough to mask fatigue, but not enough to draw notice. She even berated herself for hesitating over which dress to wear.
When she arrived, the lodge seemed asleep. No cars in the small gravel parking lot. Just the sound of wind in the branches and the rhythmic lapping of water below.
Grégory was already there, waiting under the awning, hands in his pockets, wearing a charcoal sweater and dark jeans. When he saw her, he lifted his head slightly, relieved she'd come.
"Thank you for coming," he murmured.
She nodded, keeping some distance.
"I needed fresh air."
They went inside. The owner handed them the key without questions, offering a knowing smile—perhaps sensing, without knowing why, the complexity of their bond.
The room was warm and simple. A fireplace stood cold, wooden paneling lined the walls, and a large window looked out over the lake. Everything felt frozen in a pause.
Angie stayed by the window while Grégory set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the small coffee table.
"I wish… this could be simpler," he said, not looking at her.
She turned, arms crossed.
"It already is too complicated. You know that."
"I know. But I can't forget you. Since that day… nothing feels right. Not at home. Not inside me."
She looked away.
"You have Jessica."
"Yes. And I love her. But not like I love you."
Those words, delivered without a safety net, hit Angie hard.
"You shouldn't say that. You're putting me in a position…"
"I know. But I'm already too far gone. I lie to her. And I betray myself in silence."
A long silence followed.
Grégory moved closer. He didn't touch her. He just sat next to her on the edge of the bed.
"You spend all your time with Léo."
She started, surprised he brought it up.
"He's there for me. He gives me peace. He doesn't demand a choice. He just listens."
"And do you love him?"
She paused. Then:
"I don't know. But at least he doesn't carry a promise with him."
Grégory closed his eyes briefly, swallowing a tremor.
"Tell me you don't feel anything for me anymore. Say it and I'll walk away."
Her throat tightened.
"That's not the point. It's precisely because I still feel something that I have to run. I'm disgusted with myself, Grégory. I've betrayed my best friend."
He stood then, walking to the window, his gaze lost in the lake's cold blue.
"I still want you. Every time I'm with her, your name passes through my silence."
"Stop… please…"
He returned to her and approached slowly. In his eyes there was no lie. Only pain.
"One last time, Angie. Just to understand. To close the loop. After that, I'll leave you in peace. For good."
Angie felt tears rising. But she didn't move.
"I can't. If I give in, I'll never be able to look at myself again. And I'll never be able to look at her again."
Grégory lowered his head. He understood.
He made no move to touch her. He grabbed his jacket and murmured:
"Then I'm going. Thank you for coming."
He left the room without turning back.
But as his steps faded in the hall, Angie felt a ripping in her chest. She ran to the door and flung it open.
"Wait!"
Grégory stopped a few meters away. He turned slowly, breath caught, eyes surprised.
She closed the distance in long strides, then unexpectedly slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled him to her, their lips finding each other with a heartbreaking urgency.
That kiss… it was no longer stolen. It was surrender. A silent scream. Their mouths searched, reunited, devoured each other. Grégory pressed her gently against the hallway wall. Their breaths tangled, panting, burning. His hand slid into her hair, his palm on her waist. Angie shivered.
This was not impulsive. It was the weight of all the unsaid silences, the violence of a feeling restrained too long.
"I hate you… for making me feel all this," she breathed against his mouth.
"Me too… and yet…"
He kissed her again, more slowly this time. Deeper. As if he wanted to imprint the moment in her memory.
Then, their foreheads touched. Silence returned. Their breathing was still finding a rhythm.
"This isn't right," she murmured.
"I know…"
But neither of them pulled away.