The ballroom sparkled with opulence. Crystal chandeliers bathed the space in golden light, and soft strings of a quartet filled the air. Andrea Sachs, dressed in a sleek black gown borrowed from Nigel, stood near the refreshment table, trying to keep her nerves in check.

She had spent the evening shadowing Miranda Priestly, the woman she simultaneously admired and feared, the woman who consumed her every waking thought. Tonight, Miranda was in rare form—regal, untouchable, the queen of the fashion world, commanding attention with the flick of her wrist or the faintest glance.

Andrea was exhausted. Being close to Miranda was intoxicating and excruciating, especially when Miranda’s every word and look made Andrea’s heart race. The feelings Andrea had buried for months were starting to suffocate her.

“Andrea.”

Miranda’s sharp tone snapped Andrea out of her reverie. She turned to find Miranda watching her, one perfectly arched brow raised.

“Yes, Miranda?” Andrea said, forcing her voice to steady.

“I’m ready to leave,” Miranda said simply, already turning toward the elevator.

Andrea hurried after her, wondering how Miranda managed to make even walking away look like an art form.

---

Miranda’s Perspective

Miranda stepped into the elevator, her jaw tightening as she sensed Andrea’s presence close behind her. She had spent the entire evening acutely aware of her assistant—how the younger woman’s dress accentuated her figure, how her laughter had drawn curious glances from others at the event. It was infuriating.

Andrea Sachs was a distraction Miranda could not afford, yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself from stealing glances, from lingering on the way Andrea’s lips curved when she smiled.

The elevator doors slid shut, and the hum of the ballroom faded.

Miranda let out a quiet sigh, leaning back against the mirrored wall. She glanced sideways at Andrea, who seemed tense, her hands clenched tightly in front of her.

“Relax, Andrea,” Miranda said dryly. “I’m not about to bite.”

Andrea didn’t reply. She stared straight ahead, her breathing uneven.

And then the lights flickered.

Miranda straightened, her eyes narrowing as the elevator lurched to a halt. A moment later, darkness engulfed them.

“What—” Andrea’s voice was sharp with panic.

“Calm yourself,” Miranda said, though her own chest tightened. She reached for the emergency button and pressed it. A tinny voice responded, informing them the outage had affected the entire building and assistance would take some time.

Miranda clicked her tongue in irritation. “Incompetence,” she muttered under her breath.

---

Andrea’s Perspective

Andrea’s heart raced. The darkness, the confined space—it was too much. She took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself, but Miranda’s presence only made it worse.

“Why are you breathing like that?” Miranda’s voice cut through the silence. “Surely this isn’t your first elevator malfunction.”

Andrea bristled. “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice trembling.

“You’re clearly not fine,” Miranda said, her tone laced with exasperation. “If you’re going to panic, at least have the decency to explain why.”

Andrea clenched her fists, her composure cracking. “Why?” she snapped. “You want to know why I’m flustered, Miranda?”

Miranda tilted her head, her silhouette barely visible in the dim emergency light. “Enlighten me.”

Andrea’s words spilled out in a rush, her voice rising. “Maybe because I’m stuck in a box with the woman I’ve been hopelessly in love with for the last year! And every day, I pretend I’m fine while watching you tear apart the world with that impossible grace of yours. You’re cold, demanding, and absolutely brilliant, and it’s driving me insane because I’ll never be enough for you!”

Her chest heaved as the confession echoed in the tiny space.

---

Miranda’s Perspective

Miranda froze, Andrea’s words hitting her like a blow. Love? Andrea Sachs was in love with her?

She turned slowly, her eyes adjusting to the faint glow of the emergency light. Andrea stood against the far wall, her face flushed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Miranda’s heart ached in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

“Do you think I don’t notice you?” Miranda asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with something vulnerable.

Andrea looked up, startled.

“I’ve spent months cursing myself for caring too much,” Miranda continued. “You think I keep you around simply because you’re competent? You challenge me, Andrea. You see through me in ways no one else ever has, and it terrifies me.”

Andrea’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Miranda stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You consume my thoughts, and I’ve tried to ignore it, to bury it, because I thought you deserved better than someone like me. But if you feel even a fraction of what I feel…”

She reached out, her fingers brushing against Andrea’s cheek.

---

Andrea’s Perspective

Andrea’s breath hitched at Miranda’s touch. The woman she had idolized, adored, and fallen hopelessly in love with was standing inches away, her eyes filled with raw emotion Andrea had never seen before.

“Miranda,” Andrea whispered, her voice trembling.

Miranda closed the distance between them, her lips capturing Andrea’s in a kiss that was soft yet insistent, hesitant yet filled with unspoken passion.

Andrea melted into the embrace, her hands finding their way to Miranda’s waist. The world outside the elevator ceased to exist.

When they finally pulled apart, both women were breathless.

Miranda’s hand lingered on Andrea’s cheek as she whispered, “No more pretending.”

Andrea nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “No more pretending.”

As if on cue, the elevator jolted, and the lights flickered back on. The doors slid open to reveal a stunned maintenance worker.

Miranda straightened her jacket, her usual imperious demeanor returning in an instant. “It’s about time,” she said, stepping out of the elevator.

Andrea followed, a small smile playing on her lips. For the first time in months, she felt free.

---

Epilogue:

Later that night, as they walked together down the quiet Parisian street, Miranda reached for Andrea’s hand. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes.

No more pretending.