Chapter Text
The city of lights glittered below her, a constellation at her feet, but Miranda Priestly felt nothing akin to awe. Paris, the city of lovers… how trite. She stood motionless in the center of her suite, still clad in the couture gown from the evening’s event, her fingers curled loosely around a glass of champagne she had no intention of drinking.
Andrea had left.
She tried to convince herself that she was merely irritated, disappointed by Andrea’s lack of professionalism and impulsive behavior. Betrayal was nothing new; friends, lovers, and family had all proven untrustworthy before. And yet, Andrea Sachs walking away had cut deeper than any prior deceit. She didn’t feel anger, though... not really. When had this happened? When had Andrea slipped past her defenses, becoming someone whose absence she could feel so acutely?
Her phone buzzed nearby, and Miranda almost ignored it. She glanced, half hoping, half fearing, it might be Andrea. But the name flashing was Nigel. Of course. Practical, reliable Nigel. She let the call go unanswered. She had neither the patience nor the energy to deal with him now.
She abandoned the champagne flute on the nearby table and stepped onto the balcony. A chill settled into her skin, but she welcomed the sharp bite of the air. It grounded her, reminded her of who she was: unshakable, untouchable. And yet, even as she stood there, staring out at Paris, her mind stubbornly returned to her—to Andrea, who had managed exactly that: to touch, disrupt, to reach beneath the armor Miranda had painstakingly maintained for decades.
Why was Andrea’s departure so unsettling? Assistants quit all the time; it was practically tradition. Andrea Sachs should mean nothing more to her than a hundred girls who had come and gone before. Except she wasn’t just another assistant...
A knock at the suite’s door interrupted her thoughts, startling her pulse into unwanted quickness. Miranda stilled, and irritation swiftly overcame curiosity. She wasn’t in the mood to see anyone, certainly not room service or Nigel attempting damage control. Surely Nigel knew better than to show up uninvited.
Straightening her shoulders, she crossed the room decisively and opened the door with an abruptness designed to intimidate. The cutting words she’d prepared evaporated instantly. Andrea stood in the doorway, wind-tousled hair framing wide, anxious eyes.
“Miranda, I… I needed to—” She rushed the words out before the door could close in her face, but the rest caught in her throat.
“You needed to what, Andrea?” Miranda snapped, regaining control in a breath. She shoved down the mix of anger, betrayal, and something dangerously close to hurt.
“To apologize.” Andrea twisted her fingers nervously. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I was upset, and my feelings clouded my judgment. You’re dealing with enough, and the last thing you needed was more disappointment from me.”
Miranda fought the urge to soften visibly at Andrea’s earnest words. “Your departure was… ill-timed,” she admitted grudgingly, her voice gentler than she’d intended.
Andrea’s mouth curved into a tentative smile, sensing the subtle concession. Miranda stepped aside slightly as an unspoken invitation. After a moment’s hesitation, Andrea moved cautiously past her, glancing around the suite as if seeing it anew.
Miranda remained silent, her face unreadable, though her hands tightened fractionally against her gown. “If you’re looking for sympathy, Andrea, you won’t find it here.”
Andrea flinched but held her ground. “I’m not. I don’t see the point in pretending.” She drew a steadying breath. “I walked for hours after I left. Thought about everything, about what I wanted.” Her gaze lifted, meeting Miranda’s. “And I realized the last thing I wanted was to leave y…” Her voice faltered. “Things like that.”
“And you believed walking away would simplify matters?” Miranda’s tone was low, edged.
Andrea turned fully toward her, standing taller despite the clear vulnerability in her posture. “I didn’t mean to abandon you. That’s not who I am.”
Miranda studied her. The word abandon landed harder than it should have. She should’ve dismissed it. Should’ve raised her chin, turned away, severed whatever still linked them with a single sharp word. But Andrea’s voice lingered. Leave you… followed now by abandon you. How neatly it all aligned.
All of it was absurd. Miranda Priestly did not get left behind. People were released, dismissed, excised from her life. And yet Stephen’s name flickered through her mind unbidden, the divorce papers still unsigned. She pushed the thought aside.
“Then tell me,” she said, stepping closer, “Who are you, Andrea?“
Andrea looked away briefly, then met her gaze again, gathering her courage. “Someone who won’t make the same mistake twice.”
Silence stretched between them. Miranda broke eye contact first, acutely aware that prolonging it risked revealing far too much. “Very well,” she murmured. “See that you don’t.”
Andy nodded, relief softening her features, though tension still coiled beneath the surface. “I’ll see you in the morning, Miranda.” But as she turned, confusion flickered through Andy. That was it? No sharp remark, no icy dismissal? Miranda hadn’t argued, hadn’t even looked angry. Andy had seen designers shredded for less, assistants fired for a missed call. This—this calm, this quiet nod of acknowledgment—it was entirely out of character. She hadn’t expected forgiveness, but she’d expected at least some fire. The absence of it unsettled her.
Miranda inclined her head slightly as a silent dismissal. Andy moved toward the door. Her hand touched the handle when Miranda’s voice halted her.
“Andrea.”
Andy turned, eyes wide and expectant.
Miranda hesitated, not entirely sure why she’d spoken at all. Andrea had been honest, and some part of Miranda felt compelled to match that honesty with something of her own. Not a performance or show of power but the truth, stripped down to its most vulnerable. “I’m… pleased you came back.”
Andrea’s expression softened further, almost disarmingly gentle, and Miranda’s breath caught uncomfortably in her chest.
“Me too,” Andrea replied. Then she was gone, the door closing behind her.
Alone again, Miranda released a slow breath and crossed back to the balcony. Her hands gripped the railing, steadying herself against the emotions churning inside. Andrea’s brief departure had exposed something terrifying, something dangerous and impossible. The weight of it settled over her like a tailored coat lined with thorns, sharp and exhilarating.
Andrea Sachs mattered. More than was safe. More, perhaps, than anyone had since the twins were born.
She closed her eyes against the night breeze, steeling herself. This revelation would complicate everything. She was Miranda Priestly—control incarnate, ruthlessly calculated. She didn’t fall in love. Certainly not like this: without permission, without a plan, without an escape. And most certainly not with someone who had every reason to despise her.
Yet as she stood above Paris’s glittering lights, the truth was undeniable. Andrea had disrupted the order Miranda had spent a lifetime perfecting. She had unraveled something inside her.
And Miranda Priestly, it seemed, had finally found something she could not control.