England's Greatest-Chapter 130: The Life of a Model Part 1

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.....

Barbara ended the call but for some reason, she didn't put her phone down right away.

Instead, she sat there, staring at her screen, her thumb hovering uncertainly over Tristan's name in the call log. Her pulse pounded incessantly in her ear—an occurrence that had begun just recently, yet left her frustrated each time.

She blinked.

What the hell was she doing?

Hadn't she been the one to tell him that she wanted to take things slow? She'd meant it as well. Or so she had believed.

Shaking her head, she finally set the phone down beside her and sank deeper into the pillows, letting out a slow breath.

She hadn't even thought about going back to sleep—not after that, not after seeing him like that.

The stupid towel barely hanging onto his hips. The way his muscles flexed so effortlessly when he ran a hand through his damp curls. The way his abs looked, defined just enough to be obvious, but not in a try-hard way.

Then the suit—God, the suit.

Barbara let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down her face, trying to erase the thought.

How had they gone from a casual conversation to...well whatever this was?

They had met, what? Ten days ago? Maybe less. She wasn't exactly keeping track, but it felt so much longer than that.

Like she had known him for months instead of just a handful of days.

And that was what really got to her.

Because it wasn't just about his looks—though to be honest, those alone were criminally unfair.

It was the way they just... clicked.

How easy it was to talk to him, even when he was being an insufferable flirt. How he made her laugh without even trying. How he could tease her relentlessly in one breath and then say something so sincere, so thoughtful, that she almost forgot how to respond.

And tonight?

Tonight, she had seen him nervous for the first time.

Tristan Hale, the most self-assured, mature, confident nineteen-year-old she'd ever met, had actually been shy about his big interview.

Sure she was 20, turning 21 in two weeks, but she matured quickly. Considering how dark the modeling industry could be, it had to be that way.

She didn't do this.

Look out for yourself, because no one else will. She had practically engraved that motto onto her heart, so why did her fingers twitch with the urge to call him back?

She had sat there, watching him go through one suit after another, offering opinions to help him choose the perfect colour. Heck, she had even given him a small pep talk, assuring him that he wouldn't mess up his first meeting with Lineker, a man he so obviously admired.

Barbara had spent years around men who made big promises but practically had a foot out the door the second things got serious. The kind who reveled in the perks of being with her yet failed to see her. Never even bothering to listen.

Tristan was different, though.

He actually listened. Even when she teased him, even when she rolled her eyes at his flirting—he remembered things. Noticed things. Cared.

Here she was, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her pillow as she stared up at the ceiling.

She had no business thinking about him this much.

Barbara let out a loud groan, smothering her face with the pillow.

They weren't even in the same country—hell, forget that, they weren't even anything.

And yet, for some reason, she was lying in bed, unable to get her mind off how unfairly good he looked in a suit, and whether his interview was going well.

She should just go to sleep. Screw that, she needed to sleep.

But, she already knew the moment she closed her eyes—

Her mind would wander straight back to Tristan.

She needed to move. Do anything but sit here replaying the last ten minutes of that call in her head.

Barbara sighed heavily and shoved the blanket off, swinging her legs to the side of the bed.

A shower.

That's what she needed—something to clear her head, reset, and maybe stop thinking about Tristan Hale for five damn minutes.

She turned on the water, letting the steam slowly fill the space, warming the cool air. The steady hum of the shower drowned out the noise in her head as she peeled off her hoodie and shorts, tossing them onto the counter without a second thought.

The second she stepped under the warm spray, her body relaxed, but her mind didn't.

Because instead of focusing on the water, the heat, the steam—she was thinking about him again.

It was stupid, really.

She barely knew him.

Two weeks, maybe less. That's all it had been. A handful of days. A few too many FaceTime calls.

And yet?

She pressed her hands against the tiled wall, exhaling slowly.

She hadn't even realized how little she'd eaten until he pointed it out. And sure, she had given him crap for it, teasing him about acting like a nagging husband, but deep down, she had liked that he noticed.

Liked that he cared.

Then there was the hat.

She still had his blue Leicester City cap—the one he had tossed onto her head so casually. It was in her hotel room, and she wore it more than she expected.

But the real problem?

Tristan was doing the same thing with her hat.

She had seen all the fan pictures and videos—Tristan walking around Leicester, heading to training, even doing interviews still wearing her black hat.

She had given it to him as a joke, not expecting him to actually keep it.

But he did.

And for some reason?

That did something weird to her.

Barbara exhaled, shutting off the water before she overthought this even more.

Wrapping a towel around herself, she stepped out, running a hand through her damp hair as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She really needed to stop thinking about him.

But at this point?

That wasn't happening anytime soon.

Especially not when her entire schedule was now built around him.

Barbara sighed, running the towel through her damp hair as she sat on the edge of the bed. She reached for her phone, half expecting a message from Tristan, half knowing she wouldn't get one yet.

Instead, she was greeted with a flood of notifications—emails, texts, schedule updates.

And just like that, the weight of what she had actually done hit her all over again.

Her schedule was supposed to be easy.

Paris Fashion Week had been the last stop on the circuit—New York, London, Milan, then Paris. Normally, she would have wrapped things up smoothly, done her final shoots, attended the last few shows, and then take a breather before moving on to her next commitments.

But then, Tristan happened.

And suddenly, she was rearranging everything.

At first, it was small changes—shifting some meetings and moving a few fittings around. But when she realized she wanted to stay longer, to actually see him instead of just exchanging texts and FaceTime calls, it turned into something bigger.

Cancellations. Rescheduling.

Calling her agency to explain why she had to move things around, why she couldn't do a last-minute campaign in Milan, and why a runway spot she had already agreed to suddenly wasn't happening anymore.

It was a mess. A headache. And she was exhausted.

But she didn't care.

Because it meant she could surprise him.

It meant more time—more them.

Barbara pulled her phone off the nightstand, scrolling through the messages she had ignored during her call with Tristan. A few from her manager. A couple of irritated messages from designers. Nothing she couldn't handle.

What she wasn't going to do, however, was tell Tristan just how much she had turned her schedule inside out for him.

She was almost 100% sure it would break his sweet heart.

The guy already worried about her eating enough—if he found out she had been running on fumes just to carve out extra time for him, he'd probably feel guilty as hell.

That was the last thing she wanted.

Barbara tossed her phone onto the bed and let out a long breath.

It was worth it.

He was worth it.

Even if she was completely running on empty.

She had barely finished towel-drying her hair when a sharp knock came at the door.

Barbara didn't need to open the door to know who it was.

"Finally," Sophia huffed as she walked in, arms full with a duffel bag and a protein shake. "I was starting to think you drowned in there."

Barbara rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let her in. "Relax, I was only in there for like twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes too long when we have this disaster of a schedule to deal with." Sophia dumped the duffel bag on the bed, turning to face Barbara with her hands on her hips. "You do realize how much work I had to do because you decided to turn your calendar into a complete mess, right?"

Barbara grabbed a hair tie off the nightstand and began tying her damp hair into a ponytail.

"You act like I didn't warn you."

"You warned me that you were adjusting a few things. What you failed to mention was that you were going to cancel runways, reschedule shoots, and throw a grenade into your Fashion Week obligations."

Barbara shrugged, reaching for her workout leggings and tank top. "Things happen."

Sophia shot her a flat look. "Oh, please. Tristan happened."

Barbara ignored the heat creeping up her neck and turned toward the wardrobe. "Are we working out or not?"

Sophia let out an exasperated sigh but grabbed her own gym clothes. "Yeah, yeah, let's go before I have a stress-induced breakdown."

The hotel gym was packed—but that was expected.

This wasn't just any hotel—it was the place everyone wanted to be during Paris Fashion Week, the kind of place where models, designers, and industry insiders either stayed or got in through the right connections.

Barbara and Sophia had barely stepped inside when she immediately recognized familiar faces.

Sara Sampaio was stretching by the mirrors, her long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Gigi Hadid, still relatively new but already a rising star, stood near the free weights, chatting with Devon Windsor. Across the room, Stella Maxwell adjusted a resistance band, while Doutzen Kroes, already finished with her lunges, sipped from a water bottle.

Barbara had planned to just keep her head down and work out, but the second Gigi's eyes landed on her, she knew that wasn't happening.

"Oh my God," Gigi grinned, tossing her towel over her shoulder. "Look who finally decided to show up."

Barbara smirked. "Missed me?"

"A little," Gigi admitted, pulling her into a quick hug. "But mostly, I just wanted to know—are you actually here to work out, or did you just come to hide?"

Barbara raised an eyebrow, pretending not to hear that last part.

Devon, tying her platinum blonde hair into a ponytail, shot her a knowing look. "You have been disappearing a lot lately."

Sophia snorted, dropping her bag onto the floor. "Tell me about it."

Barbara sighed. "Oh, here we go."

Sara, who had just pulled out her headphones, blinked in confusion. "Wait, what's happening?"

Doutzen smirked, taking a sip of water. "They're talking about Tristan."

"Ohhh." Sara's lips curled into a slow grin. "Now this I want to hear."

Barbara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You guys are unbelievable."

Gigi crossed her arms, leaning against a treadmill. "Babe, the entire internet is talking about it. We're just ahead of the trend."

Devon raised an eyebrow. "So... what's the deal? Because first, it was just the photos and videos of you guys in Milan. Now we're seeing clips of him walking around Leicester with your hat."

"And you still have his hat," Stella pointed out, arms crossed. "Don't think we haven't noticed."

Barbara exhaled, adjusting the strap on her sports bra. "There's no deal. We met, we got along, we talked. That's it."

Sophia snorted. "That's what he said in his interviews."

"Because it's the truth," Barbara shot back.

Devon smirked. "Suuuure. And how often do you guys talk?"

Barbara hesitated for half a second—exactly half a second too long.

Gigi's jaw dropped. "Oh my God, it's every day."

Barbara sighed, stepping onto the treadmill. "Can I please just do my workout in peace?"

Sara grinned, adjusting her ponytail. "Nope. We need details first."

Barbara shook her head, pressing the treadmill buttons to start her run. "Unbelievable."

The girls laughed, but as the conversation moved on, Barbara couldn't help the small smile creeping onto her face.

Barbara had every intention of actually getting through this workout.

After the relentless teasing from the girls, she figured she could at least pretend to be focused. She adjusted her ponytail, turned up the speed on her treadmill, and settled into a steady rhythm, eyes on the digital screen in front of her.

It was going well. For about thirty minutes.

Then her phone buzzed on the treadmill's ledge.

She tried to ignore it, but when she saw the name Tristan light up the screen, she barely hesitated before grabbing it.

Tristan: Finished my interview with Gary. Did everything you told me to. ❤️

Attached was a video.

Barbara hesitated, glancing around. Most of the girls were busy with their own workouts—except for Gigi, who was eyeing her from the weights section, already suspicious.

Barbara rolled her eyes and hit play.

The video opened with Tristan in the BBC studio still in his suit, looking relaxed as he leaned back in his chair.

"Look who's officially a media-trained professional now."

Barbara bit back a smile.

"Handled the interview like a pro. Didn't trip over my words, didn't say anything too stupid—" Tristan smirked, tilting the camera slightly as if to let her see the empty studio behind him. "—and, most importantly, I took all your amazing advice. You proud?"

The video ended with a close-up of his face, followed by a wink before the screen went black.

Barbara felt the blush creep up her neck.

Because God, he was annoying.

And worse? He knew exactly what he was doing.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to think of a response that wasn't too obvious.

Barbara: A miracle. You actually listened to someone other than yourself.

Tristan: I only listen to you, Barbara. 😉

Barbara rolled her eyes, but she could feel her lips twitching.

Her actions weren't as discreet as she hoped, as Gigi called her name from across the gym. "You're smiling at your phone," she said, wiping down her weights.

Barbara immediately put her phone face down on the treadmill. "No, I'm not."

Sara, who had been deep into her workout, suddenly pulled out her headphones. "Wait, what's happening?"

"Barbara's getting cute little messages from a certain footballer," Gigi smirked.

Barbara exhaled. "I swear to God—"

Before she could even finish, her phone buzzed again.

Tristan: Oh, and I was going to send you a photo of me in the suit, but you already saw it... so I guess I'll just have to wait for your next FaceTime call.

Barbara froze.

And that was when Sara, Gigi, and Devon pounced.

"Okay, nope. Who is that from?" Sara demanded, lunging toward Barbara's treadmill.

Barbara quickly locked her phone, holding it to her chest. "No one!"

Devon raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me 'no one' just texted you that and made you look like you got caught doing something illegal?"

"Exactly," Barbara deadpanned.

Sophia sighed dramatically, grabbing a nearby towel. "I'm too tired for this. Just admit you're obsessed with him so we can all move on with our lives."

Barbara huffed, hopping off the treadmill. "You guys are exhausting."

Gigi chuckled, deciding to forego any more teasing.

Barbara grabbed her phone, quickly typing out a response to Tristan as she walked toward the lockers.

Barbara: Don't hold your breath for that FaceTime.

Tristan: Too late, lol.

Barbara bit her lip, shaking her head as she tucked her phone into her bag and went back to her workout.

.....

One Hour Later

Barbara pushed open the door to her room, sighing as she tossed her bag onto the chair by the window.

She was exhausted.

Not just from the workout. Not just from the shows yesterday.

From everything.

The teasing. The speculation. The constant reminders of him.

God, even when Tristan wasn't around, he was everywhere.

She pulled her damp ponytail loose, running a hand through her hair as she wandered toward her suitcase.

Today was going to be brutal.

Not just one event. Multiple.

Her schedule was packed with last-minute runway shows, brand appearances, and interviews. To top it all off, the night would end with a private Chanel party—an ultra-exclusive invite-only event filled with designers, models, and VIPs.

Normally, she'd be excited.

But right now?

She'd rather be anywhere else.

Preferably lying in bed, ordering room service, and maybe FaceTiming a certain English footballer.

Not that she was thinking about that. Obviously.

She let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders before pulling out a pair of black jeans and a cropped sweater, and slipping them on.

Her next stop? Hair and makeup.

But before leaving, she reached for a hat—the one that felt most comfortable—and slid it on.

Then she caught her reflection in the mirror.

And froze.

Because the hat on her head?

Wasn't hers.

It was his.

Tristan's blue Leicester City cap, the one she had been keeping in her room.

The one she had absolutely no reason to be wearing right now.

Barbara stared at herself, blinking.

This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.

How had she even—?

"Wow."

Sophia's voice cut through the room.

Barbara turned sharply, already finding her assistant standing in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like she had just hit the jackpot.

Barbara exhaled sharply, adjusting the hat like it was totally normal for her to be wearing it. "Don't."

Sophia raised her hands in mock surrender, but the smirk didn't budge. "I'm just saying—it's a bold fashion statement, that's all."

Barbara grabbed her water bottle and took a long sip. "It's just a hat, Sophia. It's not that deep."

Sophia tilted her head. "Oh, totally. It's just so interesting that out of all the hats you own, you went straight for that one."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "It's comfortable."

"Uh-huh." Sophia leaned against the doorframe. "And totally not because it smells like him, right?"

Barbara almost choked on her water.

Sophia grinned. "Oh my God, it does, doesn't it?"

Barbara set her bottle down a little too aggressively. "You're actually the worst."

Sophia snorted, pushing off the doorframe. "You're just mad because I'm right."

Barbara ignored her, but she also didn't take the hat off.

Twenty minutes later, Barbara sat in front of the vanity, while Sophia stood behind her, applying her makeup.

This wasn't normal—there was supposed to be a professional makeup artist, but because her schedule had been a disaster, there wasn't time to book one.

So here they were.

"Stay still," Sophia muttered, blending foundation along Barbara's jaw.

Barbara huffed, checking her phone. "I am still."

Sophia flicked her ear. "You're fidgeting."

Barbara muttered something under her breath but let her continue.

Sophia finally set the brush down and let out a long sigh.

"Alright, I've held my tongue long enough."

Barbara glanced at her in the mirror. "That's a first."

Sophia ignored her. "You're really about to walk into a Chanel party wearing that?"

Barbara adjusted the cap slightly. "Yep."

Sophia threw up her hands. "Babe, I love a rebellious fashion moment, but I feel like Karl Lagerfeld is gonna haunt you for this."

Barbara smirked. "Sounds like a him problem."

Sophia groaned, rubbing her temples. "Okay, but just to be clear—you're wearing this why exactly?"

Barbara picked up her phone, pretending to be very busy scrolling through texts. "It goes with the outfit."

Sophia snorted. "Sure. And it has nothing to do with the fact that it's Tristan's?"

Barbara looked at her phone pointedly. "Nope."

Sophia tilted her head, totally unimpressed. "So if I handed you a different hat right now, you'd swap it out?"

Barbara paused.

For exactly two seconds too long.

Sophia's smirk widened. "Thought so."

Barbara was about to argue but held her tongue, knowing it was pointless.

Sophia just shook her head.

"Yeah, you're down bad."

Barbara ignored her, standing up and grabbing her bag.

"Come on," she said. "We have a long-ass day ahead."

Barbara didn't stop moving all day.

From the moment she left her hotel room, she had been on a relentless schedule—hair, fittings, rushing to different venues, slipping into couture pieces worth more than most people's rent, strutting down runways like she wasn't already running on fumes.

The Chanel event was in full swing by the time Barbara stepped inside.

The venue was Parisian luxury at its finest—grand chandeliers cast a soft golden glow over the marble floors while towering floral arrangements filled the space with the scent of fresh roses and jasmine.

The hum of conversation mixed with the low rhythm of jazz and modern beats, creating the kind of effortless elegance that only Fashion Week could pull off.

Waiters moved through the room, silver trays in hand, glasses of champagne balanced delicately as they weaved between groups of designers, models, and industry insiders.

Barbara barely noticed.

She wasn't here for the scene.

She was here because she had to be.

Her schedule demanded it. Her contract required it.

So she walked in, shoulders back, head high, moving through the crowd like she belonged there—because she did.

This was her world.

She had been in it for years.

Barbara slipped toward the back of the room, where a sleek, expansive bar stretched along the wall, bottles of the finest champagne and liquor glinting under the warm lights.

She had just reached for a glass when she felt it.

That familiar sensation.

Like someone was watching her.

She turned slightly, her gaze catching on a man nearby—a model she vaguely recognized.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

His voice was smooth, casual.

Barbara offered a polite nod, but nothing more.

"Busy day," she replied simply, sipping her champagne.

The guy leaned against the bar, offering a small smile. "I figured. You've been everywhere this week. Thought you might be avoiding this party, though."

She was avoiding it.

At least, she had wanted to.

But instead of saying that, she just offered a shrug. "Work's work."

He nodded, studying her for a moment before speaking again. "You know I don't think we've ever properly met."

Barbara let out a quiet breath.

She knew where this was going.

Not because he was arrogant or overbearing.

He wasn't even being pushy.

But she still wasn't interested.

Not in this. Not in any of it.

Because the truth was—

She didn't want some random guy at a Paris party who knew her name but nothing about her.

She wanted someone else.

She wanted Tristan.

And suddenly—it wasn't just an idea anymore.

It wasn't something she was fighting against or overthinking.

It was clear.

The flirting, the teasing, the back-and-forth she had with Tristan—it wasn't just fun anymore.

She missed him.

She wanted his presence, his attention, his stupid jokes, and the way he always found something to bicker about.

She wanted the way he looked at her like she was more than just another face in a crowd.

She wanted his energy, his honesty, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say.

And most of all—she wanted to be around him.

Screw taking things slow.

Barbara's fingers tightened slightly around her champagne glass.

She was standing here, at an event everyone wanted to be at, surrounded by people who admired her, chased after her, and wanted her attention.

And yet—

She didn't want any of it.

She only wanted to be somewhere else.

Barbara turned her focus back to the model beside her, realizing she had barely been listening.

He wasn't being rude. He wasn't trying too hard.

He was just making conversation.

But it didn't matter.

Because she knew what she wanted.

And it wasn't him.

She set her glass down gently on the bar.

"Sorry," she said, offering him a small but genuine smile. "I'm not interested."

The guy blinked, looking slightly taken aback but not offended. "Oh. Well, that's—"

Barbara shook her head lightly, her voice soft but firm. "Not in a rude way. I just... already know who I want."

He studied her for a moment before offering a small, knowing nod. "Lucky guy."

Barbara just smiled, not saying anything more.

Back in her hotel room, Barbara flopped onto the bed, exhaling as she kicked off her heels with a sigh so deep it could've ended a rom-com. She had lasted just over an hour at the party before finally calling it a day.

The small talk? Draining.

The fake smiles? Exhausting.

The industry gossip? Couldn't care less.

The entire time, her mind had been somewhere else.

Or rather—on someone else.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand, already knowing what she was about to do.

Her thumb hovered over the recent call list.

Tristan.

She hadn't even texted him tonight, but somehow, she knew he'd be up.

She hit FaceTime before she could overthink it.

The call rang once.

Twice.

Then the screen flickered to life.

Tristan appeared—controller in hand, headphones over his curls, completely immersed in a FIFA match.

"Oi, shoot, shoot—Vardy, you're through!" he barked.

Barbara blinked. "Did you just answer me mid-game?"

Tristan's eyes barely spared her a glance, before they snapped right back to the game.

"Barbara, you have the worst timing."

Barbara smirked, sinking deeper into her pillows. "You could've ignored the call."

"Nah," he said easily, his focus still on the TV. "I like seeing you, and we didn't talk much today."

Before she could reply, a new voice cut through the speaker.

"Wait, wait, wait—who's he talking to?"

Another voice followed, sharper, more amused.

"Tristan's on FaceTime with a girl. Who do you think it could be besides Barbara?"

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "Uh... what's happening?"

Tristan let out a huge sigh, muting his mic for a second.

"Alright, before this gets out of hand—you're about to meet my very annoying friends."

Barbara grinned. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

Tristan unmuted, and the teasing began immediately.

"Oi, Tristan, introduce us, mate!"

Tristan rolled his eyes but tilted his phone slightly, giving Barbara a full view of his screen.

A FIFA match was on display, but at the bottom, a list of players appeared in the voice chat.

Jesse Lingard. Riyad Mahrez. Jamie Vardy.

Barbara's eyes widened slightly.

She wasn't obsessed with football, but she definitely knew who Tristan's teammates were.

"Lads, this is Barbara," he introduced, inwardly bracing himself. "Barbara, these idiots are Lingard, Mahrez, and Vardy. Be nice. Don't be dickheads. Swear to God."

"Oi, oi, oi—THE Barbara?" Lingard immediately chimed in.

Barbara laughed. "That depends. Who exactly is THE Barbara?"

"The one that's got this guy acting different." Mahrez snickered.

Vardy chimed in. "The one whose hat he hasn't stopped wearing."

Barbara smirked, glancing at Tristan. "Oh? So you're still wearing it?"

Tristan groaned, running a hand down his face. "Why did I pick up this call?"

Lingard cackled. "Oh, mate, this is too good."

Barbara adjusted the phone slightly, getting more comfortable. "So, how's FIFA going? Should I be impressed or embarrassed?"

Mahrez jumped in instantly. "Depends. Do you like watching a man get cooked in real time?"

Tristan scoffed. "Don't listen to them, Barbara. They're just jealous."

Vardy snorted. "Jealous of what?"

Barbara bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

Tristan pointed at his screen. "See what I deal with? Constant slander."

Lingard grinned. "Nah, nah, we're just surprised. Didn't think you had time for FIFA with all those Vogue shoots and Fashion Week calls."

Barbara arched an eyebrow. "Oh? You've been keeping up with that?"

Mahrez chuckled. "Hard not to when this guy won't shut up about it."

Tristan shot daggers at the screen. "I hate all of you."

Barbara tilted her head. "So, Tristan... you've been talking about me?"

Tristan sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "You're never letting this go, are you?"

Vardy grinned. "Mate, you might as well confess now. It's over for you."

Lingard jumped in. "Oh, Tristan's finished. This man's already down bad."

Barbara grinned. "Yeah, Tristan. You down bad?"

Tristan rubbed his temple. "This is bullying."

Barbara just leaned back, smirking.

Because for the first time?

She wasn't the one getting teased about Tristan.

It was the other way around.

And she?

She was loving every second of it.

The FIFA match ended, and one by one, Lingard, Mahrez, and Vardy signed off, their laughter and banter fading until it was just Barbara and Tristan on the call.

The silence that followed was different.

Barbara shifted under the covers, tucking herself in like she wasn't planning on moving anytime soon.

"So... that was interesting."

Tristan let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, remind me to never let you meet them again."

Barbara grinned. "Oh, absolutely not. That was the best part of my night."

Tristan shook his head, but she could see it—the way his lips twitched, he was fighting back a smile.

And just like that, her exhaustion felt a little lighter.

Tristan's voice softened. "You back at the hotel now?"

Barbara nodded. "Yeah. Left the party early."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Didn't feel like staying?"

She hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't know. Just... wasn't in the mood for it tonight."

Tristan watched her through the screen, eyes flickering across her face like he was trying to figure something out.

"You alright?"

Barbara let out a slow breath. "Yeah, just tired. Fashion Week's been a lot."

Tristan nodded, propping his chin on his hand. "You've been running around nonstop."

Barbara smirked. "You keeping tabs on me now?"

Tristan didn't even hesitate. "Obviously. Can't have you passing out on a runway or something."

Barbara laughed lightly, but deep down, it warmed her.

She rolled onto her side, head resting against the pillow.

"You know, for someone who spends all his time on a football pitch, you sure have a habit of worrying about me."

Tristan's voice was quiet but sure. "Yeah, well... someone's got to do it."

Barbara stilled for a moment, her heart doing something annoyingly warm in her chest.

She could've said something back.

Could've teased him, made a joke, changed the subject.

But instead, she just let the silence settle between them.

Not uncomfortable. Just there.

Then, after a beat, she remembered.

"Oh! Your interview with Gary Lineker—how'd it go?"

Tristan's face lit up slightly. "It was good. You're gonna like it when BBC releases it."

Barbara smirked. "Oh? Should I be worried?"

Tristan chuckled. "Let's just say... there were some interesting questions."

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Did he ask about me?"

Tristan leaned back, grinning like an idiot. "You'll have to wait and see."

Barbara huffed dramatically. "Fine. But if you embarrassed me on national television, just know—I will find you."

Tristan let out a lazy yawn, stretching his arms. "Terrifying."

Barbara smiled softly, watching him.

He looked comfortable, like this—just talking to her at the end of the night—was exactly where he wanted to be.

And honestly?

She felt the same.

Tristan exhaled. "You should get some sleep."

Barbara hummed, closing her eyes for a second. "Yeah. You too."

Neither of them hung up right away.

Neither of them rushed to say goodnight.

Because, somehow, even through a screen—

This was exactly where they wanted to be.

...

5377 word count

Wow we have reached more than 3100 power stones, thats a crazy amount, thank you. Now I'm hoping we can at least get close to that amount again.

If we can reach 350 power stones on the same day this Chapter is posted, I release another Chapter as a bonus. Not sure if we can even hit 200 but lets see.

Also for anyone joining the Patreon, I'm breaking up the long Chapters for Webnovel but on Patron, the Chapters are the same, so Webnovel Chapters will be numbered ahead of Patreon but Patron will always be ahead by at least 30+ Chapters with daily updates.