All Is Fair: A Trent Alexander-Arnold x Kylian Mbappé x Original Character Erotic Series.
18+ Minors DNI
Chapter 11
While Rosa knew that Kylian wasn't Trent, the fear of being degraded and looked down upon loomed in her mind, and in a way, it had never done before.
While she wasn't always certain in her decisions or her belief system, for the first time in a while, she had started to second-guess herself; the small, nagging voice at the back of her mind had now become a shrilling scream.
When Kylian returned home from training on a rainy Tuesday afternoon and asked her to come upstairs to his room so he could talk to her, she instantly thought the worst.
It wasn't until he explained that he had an event coming up in a couple of days to celebrate receiving the European Golden Boot after his first season at Real Madrid, and only the second player for the Galacticos to win it in recent years, that the club and its supporters were making a big deal.
“I can have my stylist find something for you to wear for Thursday if you like? I know this is short notice,” Kylian noted, as he took a seat on the edge of his bed.
Rosa hesitated, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater as she stood by the window, watching rain streak the glass. "I packed a few dresses I could wear," she said softly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. But then the words tumbled out before she could stop them, her voice barely above the patter of drops outside. "It's on my birthday, actually. Thursday."
Kylian's head snapped up, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Thursday as in two days?” Kylian asked, his eyes going round with shock. “Your birthday is in two days?”
“Two days,” Rosa affirmed, slightly amused by Kylian's reaction as he stood to his feet again.
“And you weren't going to say anything?” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a low, heated whisper. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from Rosa’s face, lingering near her jaw. "Such an important day… and you were just going to let it pass quietly?" His thumb traced her lower lip, eyes darkening with intent.
"No… I’m traveling, I'm here with you in Madrid, it didn't even cross my mind to try and celebrate,” Rosa explained.
“What about your loved ones?” Kylian asked curiously, his brow furrowing as he came to a realization. “They might have wanted to celebrate with you—”
“I haven't spoken to them in a few years,” she revealed, her voice steady but laced with a quiet ache that she rarely let surface. She held Kylian's gaze, the warmth of his thumb still ghosting her lip, but now it felt like an anchor against the sudden swell of vulnerability. The faint hum of Madrid filtered through the open balcony door, mingling with the scent of the rain-dampened backyard, reminding her how far she was from the life she'd left behind.
Kylian's hand paused, his eyes searching hers with a mix of concern and something fiercer, like he was piecing together the fragments of her silence. He didn't pull away; instead, he cupped her face gently, drawing her closer until their breaths mingled.
“Years? Rosa, that's... why?” The question hung between them, not accusatory but insistent, his voice rough with the weight of unspoken promises. She could see the flicker of his own guarded past in his expression—the way his jaw tightened, mirroring her own walls, yet his touch betrayed a need to bridge them, to make this moment more than just a fleeting night.
She hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to steady herself against the pull of old regrets. The room's soft lamplight cast shadows across his features, highlighting the intensity in his stare, and for a split second, she wondered if telling him would shatter the fragile ease they'd built. “It was easier that way,” she murmured finally, her words barely above a whisper, the confession tasting bitter on her tongue like unshed tears.
“Can we celebrate together?” Kylian asked, his voice softening as he leaned in, the warmth of his breath brushing her ear. Rosa felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers, a quiet rhythm that pulled her from her memories. She searched his eyes, seeing not pity but a simple, earnest want to fill the space she'd left empty, and it stirred something in her—a flicker of longing she'd long buried under layers of independence.
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze fully, her fingers still twisted in his shirt, the cotton warm from his body heat. The rain outside had picked up, pattering against the balcony like impatient fingers, mirroring the quickening pulse in her throat. “I don't know if I deserve that,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, revealing the fear that celebrations only amplified what was missing—the family ties she'd severed in a haze of desperation and unspoken truths. Yet even as she spoke, her body leaned toward him, betraying her resolve.
“I think you do,” Kylian said, holding her gaze. His words settled over her like a gentle weight, and Rosa's breath caught as she felt the calluses on his palm against her cheek, rough from years of chasing balls across pitches but tender now in their intentions.
“We are all human; it's not my job to judge anyone or give my opinion where it is not warranted,” he continued.
“How do you know I'm not an alien?” Rosa joked, her comedic timing bringing their tender moment to an end; she felt volatile under his gaze, regardless of whether he cared to pass judgment or not.
“I can celebrate aliens too,” Kylian chuckled, the sound low and genuine, vibrating through his chest as he pulled her a fraction closer, his free hand settling on the small of her back.
The rain drummed harder now, a steady rhythm that seemed to underscore the shift in the air between them—thicker, charged with the unspoken pull of what might come next. Rosa's joke hung there, light but fragile, a shield against the more profound truths she'd glimpsed in his eyes, truths that made her want to both flee and stay, her independence warring with the rare comfort of his steadiness.
She tilted her head, her lips curving into a tentative smile. Still, her fingers tightened in his shirt, betraying the storm inside—years of choosing solitude over the mess of family expectations, now cracking under the weight of his simple offer. “Aliens deserve birthdays too, I guess,” she said softly, her voice laced with that old ache, testing the waters as the scent of wet earth seeped in from the balcony, grounding her in this moment. Kylian's gaze held hers, unyielding, his thumb resuming its slow trace along her jaw.
The space between them grew smaller, his breath warm against her skin, and Rosa felt the heat rising in her cheeks, a flush born not just from proximity but from the vulnerability of letting someone in, even this much. His hand slid up her back, fingers splaying wide as if to hold her steady against the weight of her mind. Outside, thunder rumbled low, echoing the quick beat of her heart as she leaned in, the fabric of his shirt bunching under her grip, the world outside fading to the insistent patter of rain on stone.
Rosa’s body yielded to Kylian’s as he lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her out of his bedroom and down the hall towards the modern staircase and downstairs to his living room.
“What do aliens like to watch on TV?” Kylian drawled, his voice deep and relaxed as he carried Rosa through the sprawling house.
“Whatever the owner of the house wants to watch,” Rosa laughed softly, the sound bubbling up from her chest as she clung to his shoulders, her thighs squeezing tighter around him with each step down the staircase. The house's cool air brushed against her exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat building where their bodies pressed together. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the clean sweat of the day.
“You smell good,” she murmured into his neck.
Kylian's steps slowed as he reached the bottom step, his grip on Rosa firm as he walked her into the living room and placed her gently on the plush sofa, before reaching for the PlayStation controller on the coffee table.
“Do you mind?” he asked as he turned her head to gaze over his shoulder at Rosa.
“Not at all,” she shrugged, her eyes flicking to the large screen mounted on the wall as it powered on.
Rosa watched as Kylian browsed his home screen before selecting the latest NBA 2K game, the screen filling with the roar of a virtual crowd as he settled beside her on the sofa, his thigh pressing warm against hers. Rosa shifted slightly, her bare feet curling into the soft cushions, the lingering chill from the rain outside seeping through the floorboards and making her lean closer to his heat. She glanced at his profile, the focused set of his jaw as he navigated the menu, and felt that familiar tug—wanting to match his ease but held back by the shadows of her past, the way her coming of age always unearthed the family she'd been excluded from.
Kylian handed her a controller, his fingers brushing hers in a way that sent a quiet spark up her arm, and he selected a quick match. The players on screen darted across the court with impossible speed. “Can you play?” he asked, his voice light but his eyes flicking to her with a teasing glint, as if testing her.
Rosa gripped the controller tighter, her thumbs hovering uncertainly; she hadn't played in years, not since lazy afternoons with siblings, and the thought made her chest tighten, a reminder that fun like this once came with strings she couldn't afford to pull again. Yet she pressed start anyway, her competitive streak flickering to life, driven by a need to prove she could still claim simple moments without the weight of what she'd lost.
The game buzzed with digital cheers as she sank her first shot, a small victory that drew a grin from Kylian, his laugh rumbling low as he nudged her shoulder. But as the score climbed, Rosa's focus wavered, her mind drifting to Thursday's event—the spotlight, the strangers, the birthday she'd buried—and she fumbled a pass, the controller slipping in her sweat-dampened palms. Kylian's hand covered hers briefly, steadying her without a word, his touch a silent push against her retreating walls, as the rain tapped insistently against the windows.
He paused the game, turning to face her fully, his elbow resting on the back of the sofa as his fingers toyed with a loose strand of her hair. "You're holding back," he said quietly, not a question but an observation, his eyes tracing the tension in her shoulders.
“I haven't played in a while,” Rosa admitted, her voice steadier than she felt.
"I'm not talking about the game,” Kylian said, his gaze intensifying as he leaned in closer, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. "There's something else on your mind. Something you're not saying." His voice was low, but it filled the space between them with a weight that made Rosa's breath catch.
Rosa's eyes flicked to his, searching for something—judgment, perhaps, or pity—but found only a quiet understanding that made her cheeks warm.
“I’m okay,” Rosa smiled as she retreated into her defenses. “Really.”
“Then relax,” Kylian’s hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb tracing a slow circle that sent a shiver down her spine, despite the warmth of the room.
“Can I help you, relax?” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, the words sending a fresh wave of heat through her body. Rosa's breath hitched, her fingers loosening on the controller as she turned toward him, the game's paused screen casting a blue glow across their faces.
The rain had eased to a soft drizzle, but the air in the living room felt thicker now, charged with the unspoken invitation in his eyes. She nodded faintly, her competitive edge from the game melting into something softer, more yielding, as Kylian set the controller aside and stood, offering his hand with a gentle pull that drew her to her feet.
Guiding Rosa through the lower level of his house and back upstairs into his bedroom, Kylian sat her on the edge of his bed before disappearing into his walk-in closet.
Kylian emerged from the closet with a sleek black box in hand, its surface smooth under the bedroom's dim light, and set it down beside her on the bed with a deliberate slowness that made Rosa's pulse quicken.
He knelt in front of her, his fingers brushing her knee as he opened the box to reveal the bondage sling—soft leather cuffs, connected by adjustable silk-lined straps, designed to hold thighs apart without mercy, the kind that promised exposure and surrender. "I've had this for a while," he said, his voice low and even, eyes locking onto hers with that steady gaze that always seemed to see through her hesitations. "It's meant to keep you open, relaxed in a way words can't. Do you trust me?"
Rosa's fingers trembled slightly as she reached out, tracing the cool edge of the leather cuff, its supple give yielding under her touch like a secret whispered in the dim light. The rain's faint patter against the windowpane seemed to echo the rapid thrum in her chest, a reminder of the solitude she'd chosen years ago—cutting ties to escape the judgments that had once suffocated her, only to leave her adrift in moments like this. She met Kylian's eyes, seeing the quiet patience there, not pushing but waiting, and it stirred that buried need in her to let go, to prove to herself she could.
"I do," she breathed, the words slipping out before doubt could claw them back, her hand covering his as he reached for the hem of her top so he could pull it over her head and toss it to the floor, leaving her bare from the waist up.
“Stand for me,” Kylian murmured, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her leggings, easing them down along with her underwear in one fluid motion, the fabric whispering against her skin as it pooled at her feet. Rosa stepped out of them, her body now exposed to the cool air of the room, goosebumps rising along her arms not just from the chill but from the weight of his gaze, steady and appraising, without a trace of rush.
“Lay down and spread your legs,” he instructed, his voice a calm command that sent a shiver through her body, pooling low in her belly as she complied, easing back onto the soft duvet with her knees bending, thighs parting slowly under his watchful eyes.
Kylian secured the leather strap around Rosa's thigh, fastening it firmly before draping the silk-lined sling over her shoulders. He then wrapped the second strap around her other thigh, ensuring she was positioned completely open for him in the middle of his bed.
“Comfortable?” he asked, his cock straining as it tented against the soft yet restrictive cotton of his Nike sweatpants.
“Yes,” Rosa breathed out, her eyes meeting Kylian's as she became acutely sensitive to the way the bedroom's air whispered against her naked body, her toes pointing as she tested the tension in the straps.
Kylian couldn't help the soft moan that ripped from his throat as his eyes drank her in, the way her perfect body yielded to the restraints.
His fingers traced the inner curve of her thigh, slow and deliberate, inching closer to the heat radiating from her core. Rosa's breath hitched, her body arching instinctively against the unyielding pull of the straps, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as the vulnerability sank deeper, stirring a mix of thrill and unease in her chest.
Kylian paused, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears, his hand hovering just out of reach. “Tell me if it's too much,” he murmured, voice roughened by restraint, though his eyes betrayed the hunger clawing at him, the need to push boundaries their bodies had only whispered about before.
In that moment, Rosa saw the flicker of his own doubt—the man who thrived on control, now teetering on the edge of losing it if she pulled back, his every touch a test of how far he'd go to claim what he desired without breaking her.
She nodded, biting her lip as his thumb finally brushed against her slick pussy, sending a jolt through her that tightened the straps' hold, her toes curling into the sheets. The room filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, heavy and synced, as he leaned in closer, his free hand gripping the bedframe to steady himself against the surge of want building inside him.
Kylian's thumb circled her clit with a feather-light pressure, drawing out a gasp that made her thighs quiver against the straps' firm embrace. The silk lining chafed just enough to remind her of her exposure, every nerve ending alive to the cool draft slipping through the cracked window, mingling with the warmth of his breath as he lowered his head.
“You're so fucking sexy,” he murmured into her ear, as he singled out his middle finger, his thumb slipping from her clit as he pushed the digit inside of her, slow and measured.
Rosa's walls clenched around his finger instinctively, the intrusion intoxicating, pulling a low groan from Kylian as he watched her face contort in that blend of pleasure and strain. He pumped it deeper, curling it just right to graze that spot inside her that made her hips buck futilely against the straps, the silk whispering against her skin like a secret. Her mind raced with the thrill of surrender, the way this vulnerability stripped away her usual guarded poise, revealing the raw ache she'd buried under layers of independence, now laid bare for him to stoke or shatter.
He added a second finger, stretching her with deliberate slowness, watching as her eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan spilling from her lips as the fullness sent tremors racing down her spine. The straps were biting into her thighs with each futile twitch of her hips, holding her spread wide and immobile, every inch of her body exposed to his gaze and touch. Kylian's breath grew ragged, his fingers slipping deeper, scissoring gently to coax her walls to yield, the slick sounds of her arousal filling the quiet room like an intimate confession.
“Can I taste you, Rosa?” Kylian rasped, pulling his fingers from Rosa so he could place them into his mouth. His tongue swirled around his fingers, savoring the salty tang of her essence, eyes never leaving hers as a low hum vibrated in his chest. Rosa's cheeks flushed deeper, the sight of him tasting her like that igniting a fresh wave of heat low in her belly, her body straining against the straps that pinned her thighs apart, the silk edges digging in just enough to ground her in the rawness of it all.
She nodded, words caught in her throat, but her eyes pleaded with him—revealing the part of her that craved this loss of control, the way it chipped at the walls she'd built from years of holding everything together on her own. Kylian slid down her body with deliberate slowness, his broad shoulders nudging her legs wider within the sling's limits, the mattress dipping under his weight as his hot breath ghosted over her exposed folds, making her clit throb in anticipation.
“Such a pretty little pussy,” Kylian drawled, a broken sob tumbling from Rosa’s lips as he puckered his own, allowing a warm bead of saliva to drip onto her pussy before slurping it back up.
Using his fingers to spread her open, Kylian dragged his tongue flat against her exposed core, lapping up the slick arousal that coated her folds, the taste of her flooding his senses like a drug he couldn't get enough of. His fingers pushed back inside her tight channel, curling to press against that sensitive spot that made her inner walls tremble and clench around him. Rosa's body jerked against the straps, the silk biting into her thighs as she tried to close her legs, the frustration of her immobility only sharpening the ache building low in her stomach, a desperate need to chase the pleasure he was so expertly denying her control over.
He worked her with a relentless rhythm, his mouth sealing over her clit to suck gently at first, then harder, his tongue flicking in quick, teasing strokes while his fingers thrusted deeper, stretching her. Sweat beaded on Rosa's skin, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the dual assault overwhelmed her, the vulnerability of being held open like this stripping away her defenses, exposing the raw craving she'd kept locked away—the fear that letting go might mean losing herself entirely, yet the pull to surrender growing stronger with every flick of his tongue. Kylian's free hand gripped her hip, holding her steady as she writhed, his own arousal throbbing painfully against the confines of his sweatpants, driven by the sight of her unraveling under him, the power of making her break fueling his hunger to push her further.
Tears welled in Rosa's eyes as the pressure coiled tighter, his fingers scissoring inside her to rub against every sensitive inch, his mouth devouring her with wet, obscene sounds that echoed in the dim room. She sobbed out his name, the sound broken and pleading, her body trembling on the edge as waves of pleasure bordered on madness, the straps creaking under the strain of her futile bucks, hot tears finally spilling down her cheeks to soak the pillow beneath her head.
Kylian's eyes flicked up at the sound of her sob, catching the glint of tears streaking her cheeks, and he stilled, his mouth releasing her with a soft, wet pop that left her throbbing in the sudden absence. Concern softened the hunger in his gaze as he crawled up her body, the mattress shifting under his weight, his lips brushing away the salty trails with gentle kisses that tasted of her own arousal mingled with his breath. “Hey, beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, his voice a low rumble of reassurance, fingers tracing her jaw as he searched her eyes, the raw need in him warring with the urge to protect this fragile edge they danced on—his control a thin veil over the fear that one wrong push might shatter the tru she'd placed in his hands.
Rosa's chest heaved, her body still humming from the brink he'd left her on. Still, she leaned into his touch, the sweetness of his kiss grounding her amid the storm of sensation, revealing her quiet strength in the way she whispered back, “Don't stop,” her words a vulnerable admission of how much she needed this release, needed him to see her break and still hold her together.
Kylian nodded, swallowing hard as he reached for the nightstand, ripping open a condom packet with his teeth, the foil crinkling in the quiet room; he rolled it on with steady hands, though his cock twitched at the friction, his mind flashing to the ways he'd map every inch of her while the straps kept her splayed and his. He positioned himself between her thighs, the sling's tension pulling her open as he placed the head of his cock at her entrance, pushing in slowly and deeply, a guttural groan escaping him at the tight, wet warmth that gripped him like a vice, her walls fluttering around the sudden fullness.
Rosa’s nails dug into Kylian's back as he thrust forward, folding her legs back until her knees brushed her shoulders, the sling's straps slacking as he pinned her into the mating press position, his hips snapping with a rhythm that drove him deeper into her pussy. Rosa's body arched beneath him, the angle letting him hit that spot inside her with every roll of his hips, her cries muffled against his shoulder as sweat slicked their skin, the bed creaked under the force of his need to claim her completely, to feel her shatter around him in this locked vulnerability.
“You're so deep,” Rosa gasped, her voice fracturing on the words as Kylian's thrusts grew heavier, each one burying him to the hilt in her slick pussy, the sling's straps now taut again from the way her body strained against the overwhelming fullness. Her fingers clawed at his shoulders, leaving red trails that made him hiss through gritted teeth, the sharp sting only fueling the possessive drive in him—the need to mark her as much as she marked him, to unravel the composed woman he admired into this raw, pleading version that trusted him with her body.
He shifted his weight, pressing her thighs harder against her chest, the position locking them together in a way that left no room for retreat, his cock kissing feverishly against her cervix.
“Oh my God,” Rosa gasped, her dainty hand pressing against Kylian's pelvis as she tried to temper the intensity, but her palm trembled against the taut muscles of his abdomen, betraying the way her body craved more even as her mind flickered with the edge of overwhelm. Kylian's eyes darkened at the touch, his hips slowing just enough to let her feel the thick length of him pulsing inside her, the slick drag pulling a whimper from her throat that echoed the quiet storm building in her chest.
He captured her hand in his, interlacing their fingers and pinning it above her head, the shift in leverage driving him even deeper with a single, deliberate thrust that made her gasp, her walls clenching around him in desperate rhythm. Rosa's breath came in short, ragged bursts, her free hand clutching his shoulder as the pressure coiled tighter, every snap of his hips grinding against that spot inside her that sent chills racing up her spine, her thoughts fracturing into fragments of need and lust—the way his gaze held hers, unyielding yet tender, revealing his own vulnerability.
Kylian's grip tightened on her pinned hand as he felt her walls flutter wildly around him, the wet heat of her pussy pulling him closer to the edge, but he wasn't ready to let go yet—not without shifting her, claiming her from a new angle that would drive them both over. With a low growl rumbling in his chest, he eased out just enough to roll her onto her side, the sling's straps twisting with her movement, keeping one thigh hiked high while the other pressed against the mattress, her body now curved open for him in the dim lamplight.
He slid back in from behind, the new position burying him impossibly deeper, his arm wrapping around her waist to anchor her against his chest, hips snapping forward in a steady, punishing rhythm that made her gasp into the pillow, the rain's faint drizzle outside mirroring the building storm in her veins.
Rosa's fingers gripped the sheets, her body arching back into him as each thrust stretched her fuller, the head of his cock dragging against her inner walls with a friction that sparked a coiling low in her belly, her mind a haze of surrender and the rush of being so utterly consumed. She could feel his breath hot against her neck, ragged and uneven, his free hand sliding up to cup her breast, thumb circling her nipple in time with his hips, the dual sensations pushing her higher, her moans turning desperate as the tension wound tighter, revealing her deep-seated craving for connection—to let go of the isolation she'd armored herself with for years, even if just for these stolen moments.
Kylian's pace quickened, his teeth grazing her shoulder as he chased his own release, the way her body yielded to him fueling that raw need to fill her, to mark this trust they'd built in the heat of vulnerability.
Their climaxes crashed over them in tandem, Rosa's cry muffled against the pillow as her pussy clenched rhythmically around him, waves of ecstasy rippling through her limbs while Kylian buried himself deep with a guttural groan, his release pulsing hot inside the condom, his body shuddering against hers in the aftershocks. She turned in his arms as he softened and slipped free, the sling still secure around her thighs, and curled into his side, her head nestling against his damp chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as her fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the lingering chill of exposure.
Rosa lay speechless, her lips ghosting against the warm skin of Kylian’s collarbone as he placed one hand on the small of her back, the other blindly removing the contraption from her thighs.
“Rosa?” Kylian drawled.
“Hmm?” she hummed against him, lazily lifting her head from his chest.
Just then, the loud shrill of Kylian's doorbell rang out through the house, his body stiffening as he remembered that his assistant was coming over so she could take notes while he sat in a Zoom meeting with his management ahead of Thursday’s festivities.
“Fuck,” Kylian hissed, as he sat up, bringing Rosa's sated body with him. “My assistant is here,” he
explained, his voice low and apologetic as he glanced toward the bedroom door, the distant chime echoing like an unwelcome intruder.
Rosa's stomach twisted, the post-climax haze shattering under the sudden reality of exposure—her skin still flushed, the faint scent of their intimacy clinging to the air, and now this, someone stepping into the fragile bubble they'd just shared. She slid from his grasp, pulling the sheet around her like a shield, her mind flashing to Marcel, the way his sneer had stripped her bare not with touch but with words, reducing her choices to shame she couldn't wash away.
Yaelle stood in the foyer when Kylian opened the door, her tablet clutched to her chest, eyes widening slightly in amusement at his disheveled appearance and the hurried tug of his sweatpants before she schooled her expression into professional neutrality.
"You forgot?" she smirked knowingly, aware of his company after having been the one to arrange Rosa's travel to the Spanish capital, stepping inside with the click of her heels on the marble floor.
Kylian rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin cracking his usual composure as he stepped aside to let Yaelle in, the foyer light catching the faint flush still lingering on his skin. "Slipped my mind," he admitted, his voice carrying that easy charm he used on the pitch, but his eyes flicked upstairs, a silent pull toward the woman he'd left tangled in sheets.
He led Yaelle toward the living room, where the paused game screen glowed mockingly on the TV, the controllers abandoned like evidence of their interrupted ease. His mind was already racing ahead to how he'd shield Rosa from this intrusion, driven by the fierce protectiveness that had bloomed in him during their shared vulnerability.
Upstairs, Rosa sat on the edge of Kylian's rumpled bed, her mind racing as she psyched herself up to head downstairs and meet Kylian's assistant for the first time.
Rosa's bare feet padded softly against the cool hardwood as she descended the staircase, feeling exposed despite being fully dressed. The murmur of voices from below grew clearer—Kylian's low rumble mixed with a woman's sharper tone—and her stomach knotted, visions of judgmental stares flashing in her mind like warnings. She paused at the bottom, smoothing her hair with a nervous hand, determined not to hide but to face this head-on, ignoring the doubt that lingered.
Yaelle looked up from her tablet as Rosa entered the living room, her eyebrows lifting in polite surprise before she offered a warm smile, extending a hand without missing a beat. "You must be Rosa—mice to put a face to the name, non finally?" she said, her voice light but genuine, though Rosa caught the quick scan of her disheveled state, the unspoken question hanging in the air like the faint scent of earlier intimacy.
Rosa took Yaelle's hand, the grip firm yet welcoming, and felt a small knot in her chest loosen as the assistant's smile held no trace of the scorn she'd braced for. The living room's soft afternoon light filtered through the rain-streaked windows, casting a gentle glow on the scattered controllers and the half-empty water glasses from earlier, everyday remnants that suddenly felt less like evidence of chaos and more like the normalcy of shared spaces.
Yaelle released her hand and gestured to the sofa with an easy nod, her tablet balanced casually on her knee as she launched into notes about the event's schedule—timelines for arrivals, seating charts, the quiet buzz of Madrid's elite without the pressure of performance—her words flowing like a conversation rather than an interrogation, pulling Rosa in despite herself.
As Yaelle described the stylist's options for outfits sent over by Dior, Kylian's gaze caught Rosa's, a subtle reassurance in the way he leaned against the armrest, his presence an anchor amid the unfamiliar rhythm of this intrusion. Rosa sank onto the cushion beside him, her fingers brushing his thigh unconsciously, the warmth seeping through his sweatpants reminding her of the trust they'd just woven upstairs, a thread stronger than the doubts that had clawed at her before. But as the talk turned to simple logistics, a quiet clarity began to settle in her mind—the fears of degradation, the echoes of Marcel’s cutting words about her worth, weren't truths etched in stone but shadows she'd let linger, feeding them with her own self doubt rather than starving them.