Chapter 43 - Chapitre 43

I look at her for a few seconds before suddenly bursting out laughing.

Seriously…Me who thought Leïla was already completely crazy, here I find another one. And worse, this one is even more talkative.

It had been a long time since I laughed this spontaneously.

— I'm adding your laugh to the list, she suddenly announces very seriously.

I slightly frown, amused.

— What list now?

She counts on her fingers.

— Your hair. Your eyes. Your lips. Your body. And now your laugh.

She nods to herself.

— Honestly, it's insane at this point.

I let out another laugh.

— You're really crazy.

— Completely, she confirms without any shame.

She finally puts her measuring tape back on the table.

— Alright… we're done.

She places her notebook down before walking toward a small table where pastries, water bottles, and juices are arranged.

Without hesitation, she grabs a pastry and starts eating it.

— Anyway… the rumor was completely false.

I immediately frown.

— What rumor?

She calmly swallows before shrugging.

— That you were arrogant.

What?

— Apparently, many people thought that the woman who managed to marry Tony Arrison would automatically be arrogant, condescending… the kind of woman who looks down on others.

She then grabs her juice and continues:

— But you're just… normal.

She points at me with her pastry.

— Like, really normal.

A laugh escapes me despite myself.

— Thanks… I think?

— It's a compliment, she confirms seriously. Because here, everyone is intimidating. Especially your husband.

Oh that's true.

— People also say that if the Arrisons didn't dare show their new family member… it's because you were mentally unstable, paraplegic, or I don't know what else.

I immediately freeze, my smile slowly disappearing.

What?

I look at her, shocked.

So… is that really what people think of me?

People are truly incredible. They don't even know me, yet they've already invented an entire life about me.

Lyse immediately grimaces when she sees my expression.

— Hey… don't take it the wrong way. People say anything when they don't have information.

She sighs before continuing, clearly annoyed by the rumors.

— And the worst part is, they kept going. Some even said Tony only married you out of obligation or because you were pregnant. Others said you were probably a manipulative woman who came out of nowhere just to take their money.

I stay silent because what bothers me the most isn't even the insults.

It's the fact that no one ever imagined for a second that I could simply be… a normal person. An ordinary girl with fears, doubts, and wounds.

Lyse finally comes back to me and gently places a hand on my arm.

— But now that I've met you… can I tell you something?

I slowly lift my eyes to her.

— They are all completely wrong.

— Thanks… that's kind.

I let out a soft breath, a little relieved despite everything.

This is why my father-in-law wants to organize this reception… he probably wants to protect me from all these poisonous tongues… from all these bad people.

— When they see you, she continues, they'll be completely shocked.

I slightly frown.

— Shocked?

— Yes, she replies confidently. And they'll be even more shocked when they see the dress that Elise designed for you.

— Seriously? She designed me a dress?

Lyse nods, clearly excited.

— And not just any dress. It's a special piece. She wants to launch a new collection, and your dress will be the centerpiece.

— WHAT…?

My voice comes out a bit too loud.

— She really did that?

Lyse laughs softly at my reaction.

— Oh yes. And you know what? That's typical of her. When she gets involved, she never does things halfway. In the fashion world, this is huge. People will analyze every detail, every stitch, every fabric… especially if it's Elisabeth Arrison.

When she talks about fashion, her eyes shine as if she's describing something magical. She gestures with her hands, as if she's drawing in the air.

— And there, your story… is going to become public.

I keep looking at her, a little intrigued by the enthusiasm in every word.

— You really admire her…? I ask softly.

Lyse immediately lifts her head, as if the answer is obvious. She smiles sincerely.

— Yes, very much.

She's our role model. She's so kind to us… she really treats us well.

She pauses for a moment, then adds with a small laugh:

— But when she's angry… wow, she becomes a completely different person.

Ah.

That, I can easily imagine.

— She's demanding, yes… but fair. And she always sees people's potential before they even see it themselves. Her eyes shine with admiration. Honestly, working with her is stressful… but also motivating.

I slowly nod, without answering right away.

In my mind, something mixes together.

The cold image of my mother-in-law… and the one Lyse is describing two completely different versions, and yet they are talking about the same person.

I finally murmur, more to myself:

— …I see.

Lyse looks at me again, then continues more calmly.

— You'll get used to it. With her, nothing is simple, and she's a bit difficult to understand at first. But if she chose you for that dress… it means she has already accepted you, in her own way.

Accepted…

I still don't know if that word reassures me… or puts even more pressure on me.

We keep talking for a while longer before I finally decide to go back to my room.

I walk quietly along the silent corridor when a voice calls me from behind.

— Esther!

I turn around and see Samira quickly walking toward me.

— Where are you going like that?

— Uh… I'm going back to my room.

She looks at me for a few seconds, arms crossed.

— You're not going to stay locked up alone in your room, are you?

I stay silent for a moment, just long enough for her to understand that… yes. That was exactly my intention.

Because honestly, after everything I heard today, staying alone in a quiet room felt like paradise.

But of course…

with this family, peace never lasts long.

Samira rolls her eyes slightly before grabbing my arm.

— Come with me.

— Where to?

— Mom asked me to choose the decoration colors for the reception. And since I refuse to suffer alone, you're going to help me.

I let out a small sigh.

— Samira…

— No, no. Too late. You're coming.

And without giving me a choice, she almost drags me to the living room.

As soon as we enter the room, my steps suddenly slow down.

Because he is there. But he is not alone. A girl. No, a woman is sitting right next to him.

No…

way too close to him.

Her hand is hooked around MY husband's arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if that place belonged to her.

And him… he is perfectly at ease, calm, focused on his phone, as if this closeness doesn't bother him at all.

A strange feeling immediately tightens in my chest.

Samira, meanwhile, walks toward them naturally.

— Deyla? Since when are you back?

 The young woman stands up gracefully, wearing a bright smile before kissing Samira on the cheek.

— I've been here for an hour.

— Seriously? Why didn't you call us to come get you? And you, why didn't you tell me? she says, directing the question at her brother.

But he simply shrugs.

The young woman smiles softly before turning her eyes slightly toward Tony.

— I asked Tony to come pick me up. I wanted to surprise you all.

Then her eyes finally settle on me, and immediately, her expression changes. She slowly looks me over from head to toe without any embarrassment or discretion.

And in her eyes, I see a sort of emotion, a strange glimmer that I can't quite explain. The kind of look one woman gives another woman she considers a threat.

— I'll make the introductions since the person who was supposed to do it is... occupied, says Samira sarcastically, throwing a glance at her brother.

Tony doesn't even look up from his phone, as if none of this concerns him.

— Deyla, let me introduce Esther, Tony's wife. And Esther... this is Deyla. Tony's childhood best friend.

— Oh...

That's all that comes out of my mouth. Because personally, when I don't like someone... it shows immediately. I've never known how to pretend. Hypocrisy exhausts me. I'd rather be honest from the start.

She walks toward me and extends her hand with a smile that I would describe as... terribly fake.

— Nice to meet you, Esther. I'm really very happy to finally meet Tony's wife.

I lower my eyes to her outstretched hand and then to her face.

Her smile looks so forced that it's almost ridiculous.

Honestly, I just want to turn around and leave her hand hanging in the air.

But unfortunately, my parents raised me far too well. They always taught me to stay polite, even with people who don't deserve it. So with all the willpower in the world, I end up shaking her hand.

— Nice to meet you, Deyna.

Her face immediately freezes.

And her hypocritical smile slowly disappears.

…I enjoy this far too much.

I'm doing it on purpose. Nobody likes having their name distorted.

So I put on my sweetest innocent smile.

— It's Deyla, she corrects coldly. It's not that difficult to pronounce.

— Oh... I'm sorry, I say in a falsely innocent little voice before smiling even more.

She looks at me with disdain for a few seconds before going back to sit down, and of course, she immediately sticks herself right back to Tony.

Seriously...

Can't she let him breathe for two minutes?

And he says nothing. That's the worst part. As if this closeness were completely normal.

We sit down as well.

Deyla slips her arm around his once again and almost rests her head on his shoulder.

Then she throws me a small satisfied smile.

A strange heat rises inside me. I feel something boiling.

Is it anger?

No. I can't be angry. Why would I be?

— Tell me, Esther, Deyla suddenly begins with curiosity, how did you and Tony meet?

The question falls into the room with almost innocent calmness.

But her gaze is anything but innocent.

She wants to know.

No, she mostly wants to hear the answer.

I take a small breath before replying calmly:

— During a meeting organized by our fathers.

Deyla slightly raises an eyebrow.

— A business meeting?

— Yes.

A slow smile appears on her lips.

A smile I already dislike.

— Oh... I see.

The way she says it bothers me.

— What do you mean? I ask softly.

She shrugs.

— Nothing. I just find it... surprising.

— Surprising?

— Yes. Tony hates that kind of arranged family gathering and anything that even remotely resembles an official introduction.

She slowly turns her eyes toward him with a familiarity that instantly irritates me.

— Normally, he runs away from that kind of thing.

Tony remains focused on his phone.

As if this conversation doesn't interest him.

Deyla lets out a small laugh.

— Honestly, when I found out he was married, I thought it was a joke.

This time, Tony finally looks up at her.

— Deyla.

His tone is calm, but cold enough to serve as a warning.

She immediately raises her hands with an innocent smile.

— What? I'm just telling the truth.

Then her eyes return to me.

And this time, her smile becomes subtler... and sharper.

— Especially since Tony has never really been the sentimental type.

I slightly tighten my fingers on my knees.

I understand exactly what she's trying to do.

She wants to remind me that she knows him better than I do.

That she was part of his life long before I arrived.

And I think she's succeeding.

Because Tony says nothing.

Samira, who has been watching the scene this whole time, finally sighs.

— Deyla, please avoid starting an argument.

— What? she replies immediately. We're just talking.

A lie.

This woman doesn't talk.

She attacks.

— So then, she continues, was it love at first sight?

I nearly choke.

— Excuse me?

She smiles even more.

— You and Tony. Did you fall in love immediately?

I freeze for a few seconds.

And before I can even answer

— Impossible.

Tony's deep voice immediately cuts through the room.

He finally puts down his phone before leaning back calmly against the couch.

— Esther thought I was arrogant the first time she saw me.

My eyes widen instantly.

Why is he telling them that?!

Samira immediately bursts out laughing.

— Seriously?!

Tony slowly turns his head toward me, a hint of amusement crossing his dark gaze.

— You looked at me as if I were the devil himself.

My cheeks instantly heat up.

— That's not true...

— No, it is true, he replies without hesitation.

Samira keeps laughing while I slightly look away to hide my embarrassment.

But beside Tony... Deyla isn't laughing. Her smile has frozen slightly, and even though she tries to keep her relaxed expression, I immediately notice the change in her eyes. That small tension, that subtle tightening around her jaw.

Then slowly, her eyes drop to my neck.

And she freezes for a second.

— Wait... that necklace...

Instinctively, my hand rises to the piece of jewelry around my neck.

— It looks exactly like the one Grandmother used to show us.

She immediately turns her eyes

— LIES! Tony hated everyone at that time!

— Hey! protests Deyla laughing.

I remain silent.

Because even if she is joking…

I notice the way she always goes back to him.

Always seeking his attention.

Always reminding everyone that she was part of his life before me.

It's that annoying feeling in my chest every time she gets a little too close to him.

Deyla laughs softly before shaking her head, as if lost in her memories. Naturally… far too naturally for my taste… she gently places her hand on Tony's thigh.

A simple gesture. Almost innocent.

But it immediately makes me lose my composure. My gaze drops to her hand, then to Tony—he doesn't even remove it.

An unpleasant heat rises in my chest. I look away slightly, trying to stay calm.

But inside, I'm completely boiling.

Deyla, meanwhile, continues calmly speaking as if she didn't just start a war in my head.

— Do you remember when I wanted to become a model?

Samira immediately rolls her eyes.

— Oh my God… that period.

Deyla bursts out laughing.

— I was unbearable, I know.

Then she turns her eyes toward me with an amused smile.

— At twelve, this one here was already organizing fashion shows in the living room using Grandmother's curtains as dresses, Samira explains.

— And I was FABULOUS, Deyla corrects seriously.

Tony lets out a faint amused breath.

— You were mostly dramatic.

— False. I was talented.

Her gaze slides toward Tony, softer this time.

— But him… he always told me I was pretty.

My stomach tightens immediately.

— Tony already thought I had a "model face."

She even imitates his deep voice playfully.

— "You're going to make boys stupid later."

Samira bursts out laughing.

— Wait, he actually said that?!

— Yes! And the worst part is he refused to let boys approach me.

This time, even I suddenly turn my eyes toward Tony.

Him?

Protective?

— Because they were idiots.

— See? Deyla immediately says with a victorious smile.

Then she turns to me.

— Once, he even made a boy cry because he tried to flirt with me in front of the school.

— He should have stopped being weird, Tony replies calmly.

— The poor boy just wanted to give me a letter!

— A stupid letter.

Samira is now literally doubled over laughing.

— I didn't even know Tony could be that jealous!

— Oh, he was, Deyla confirms happily. Horribly jealous.

With each new memory she shares…

I feel like she keeps reminding me of one thing over and over:

She knew a Tony that I don't know.

A younger Tony.

A more alive one.

Maybe even a gentler one.

And it bothers me far more than it should.

Deyla ends up smiling softly, staring into the distance.

— In the end, I went to Milan at sixteen… and I achieved my dream.

She shrugs elegantly.

— Today, I'm a model.

So in the end… Tony was right. Boys really do become stupid.

Samira chuckles again.

I fix my gaze on that hand still resting on Tony's thigh. He doesn't seem bothered at all.

I look away slightly before crossing my arms over my chest, trying to calm this ridiculous irritation boiling inside me.

— This house is seriously turning into a giant fashion runway or what?

Laurène's voice echoes through the living room even before she appears, probably referring to the boxes of decorations and garlands scattered everywhere.

A few seconds later, she finally walks into the room. She is dressed in low-rise jeans, luxury boots, an oversized perfectly tailored jacket, sunglasses resting on her hair tied up in a messy bun.

The kind of girl who looks like a walking photo shoot without even trying.

She stops right in the middle of the living room.

— Hey everyone.

— Laurène, Samira murmurs.

— Yeah, do you miss me?

Samira rolls her eyes.

Then Laurène's eyes finally land on Deyla. And immediately, her expression changes.

— Ah… she's here, that one.

Oh.

— Hello to you too, Laurène.

Laurène slowly removes her sunglasses and throws them on the table.

— I was expecting Milan to kidnap you permanently. Too bad.

Samira immediately lets out:

— Not today, Laurène.

While I just blink. They really don't like each other, that's obvious.

— Still as adorable as ever, I see.

— Still as fake as ever, Laurène corrects, walking further into the room.

Her gaze slowly drops to Deyla's hand resting on Tony's thigh.

— Really?

Deyla gently raises an eyebrow.

— What?

Laurène lets out a mocking laugh before sinking into an armchair.

— Nothing. I just find it fascinating how you always feel the need to mark your territory.

The tension immediately drops into the room.

— I don't know what you're talking about.

— Of course you do.

Laurène tilts her head slightly.

— You've been doing it since we were kids. Clinging to Tony like a luxury bandage.

Deyla finally removes her hand from Tony's thigh and elegantly crosses her legs.

— I understand. Jealousy always makes you a bit aggressive.

Laurène immediately bursts out laughing, looking her up and down slowly.

— Jealous of you?

— Oh please. We work in the same industry. I know exactly your level.

Deyla keeps smiling.

But her jaw tightens slightly.

— And yet, you keep following all my campaigns.

— No, I just look at what not to do.

— Laurène… Tony sighs tiredly. Having peace in this damn house is too much to ask.

Neither of them listens, their eyes locked on each other like two caged lions.

Laurène crosses her arms slowly.

— Now… you're going to let go of my big brother right now.

Deyla raises an eyebrow.

— Excuse me?

— You heard me.

Laurène gestures toward Tony with her chin. He doesn't need a leech glued to him twenty-four hours a day.

— Laurène… Tony warns in a colder voice. Watch what I just said.

But she completely ignores him, her eyes still fixed on Deyla.

— Seriously, even his wife doesn't cling to him like you do.

And before I can react

— And you, you're okay with someone touching your husband like that?!

She looks at me.

— Uh…

I don't even know what to say because… she's not entirely wrong.

"Since when did you become so weak," my conscience whispers.

Shut up. This is not the time.

Deyla lets out a nervous laugh before sitting up slightly.

— You're overreacting again.

— No, you're crossing the line as usual.

— Laurène, enough, Tony says more firmly. Don't speak to her like that. She's not your equal.

But she continues anyway, eyes filled with anger.

— Since we were kids, that girl has been manipulating everyone here!

Deyla's face immediately closes off.

— Be careful with what you're saying.

— Oh no, I'm speaking today.

Laurène straightens in her seat. You always act like the nice, innocent, sweet girl… but you're just possessive and manipulative.

— Laurène! Samira snaps. Stop with your insolence, you're going too far!

But she doesn't stop.

— You think we don't see your game?!

She points at Deyla angrily. You deliberately touch Tony in front of everyone! You deliberately cling to him!

— Enough now, Tony says in a frozen voice.

But Laurène shakes her head.

— No! Because you refuse to see what she's doing!

Her breathing gets heavier with anger.

— This girl is a manipulator, Tony. You should stop

— THAT'S ENOUGH!

Tony's voice suddenly explodes in the living room.

Laurène immediately flinches.

Tony stands up abruptly from the couch, his gaze dark.

— You're crossing the line. If you have nothing better to say, shut up.

Laurène swallows slightly but keeps her chin up.

— I'm just telling the truth.

— SHUT UP.

She flinches again. The silence becomes suffocating.

Tony runs a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed.

— So now you're yelling at me for HER?

— I'm yelling at you because you're acting like a child.

His gaze wavers for a second before he looks away sharply, and despite her attitude, I immediately see that she is hurt.

He keeps staring at his sister.

— I forbid you from speaking about her like that. Is that clear?

Laurène stays silent for a few seconds, hurt… and angry too.

— …Yes, she says quietly.

Since I've been here, I've never seen him yell at her like that. Even when she talks badly to Samira, he doesn't yell at her like this.

Deyla slowly gets up from where she was sitting and comes over to Tony, then gently places her hand on his shoulder.

— Please calm down, she says in a soft voice.

That is too much.

I don't even wait another second. I suddenly stand up from the couch.

— Esther.

It's Samira calling me, but I don't even listen. I turn around and immediately leave the living room under everyone's surprised looks.

I hear someone calling my name behind me, but I don't turn back.

Because I already know who it is.

And most importantly, I know that if I turn around now, I'm going to explode.

So I keep walking quickly down the hallway.

My heart is beating hard without even knowing why. This is not me.

I finally reach our bedroom and immediately reach for the doorknob.

But before I can even enter, a hand grabs my arm roughly and forces me to turn around. I find myself facing Tony, his gaze dark and irritated.

— What is your problem? he snaps coldly. What is this behavior?

My eyes fall on his hand around my wrist.

That same hand.

The same one Deyla was touching a few minutes ago.

A sudden anger rises instantly inside me.

I violently pull away from him.

— Don't touch me!

He looks at me with real surprise this time, as if he didn't expect that reaction.

But I don't even give him time to speak. I quickly open the door and go inside the room.

— Esther—

I start to close the door, but he immediately blocks it before coming in as well. The door slams shut violently behind him, the sound echoing through the entire room.

I'm at my limit.

— Are you serious right now?!

— Lower your voice.

— No! I point at him, furious. You let her cling to you right in front of me like I don't exist, and then you come asking me what MY problem is?!

His gaze turns even darker.

— Be careful how you talk to me. I'm calm, but don't push me too far.

— Or what?!

He lets out a nervous laugh, but I don't care.

— Seriously, Tony, you're unbelievable! That girl is practically sitting on you and you just stay there like an idiot!

His eyes darken dangerously, but I'm too angry to stop.

— And then you act like a shocked husband because your wife gets angry? Go to hell!

In a second he crosses the room and slams me brutally against the wall. I let out a shocked gasp from the impact.

Oh my God… my back.

His hand wraps firmly around my wrist above my head while the other presses against the wall next to me. His dark gaze locks into mine.

— Be very careful with what you say.

My heart instantly races, not only because of fear—no—because of this suffocating closeness, his scent hitting my senses, his deep voice making me shiver against my will, and that cold anger in his eyes piercing right through me.

I think I'm going crazy. That's the only explanation.

— I'm not one of your little boyfriends, Esther. Not your friend. Not your equal.

And the things I hate most in this world… are disrespect.

His grip around my wrist tightens slightly, not enough to hurt me but enough to make me understand he's serious. I swallow hard.

— So the next time you talk to me like that… I won't be this calm.

For a few seconds, nothing moves. I stay pressed against the wall, breathless, unable to think properly. His gaze stays locked on mine—intense, crushing.

He finally lets me go abruptly, as if he himself just realized how close he had gotten.

I stay still for a few seconds while he runs a hand through his hair in frustration before stepping back. I'm still trying to regain my senses. My heart is beating so hard I feel like it might explode. This is the first time I've let my anger take over like this.

Me, someone who is usually calm… I'm surprised at myself for losing control like that.

He finally looks away and starts walking toward the door, and I don't know why… but the idea of him leaving like this suddenly tightens something in my chest.

— Tony… my voice comes out weaker than expected.

He stops but doesn't turn around.

I take a small breath and step slowly toward him.

— I…

Damn it.

Why is speaking suddenly so difficult? I lower my eyes slightly.

— I'm sorry.

He doesn't answer, and that makes me even more nervous.

— I shouldn't have spoken to you like that… this is the first time this has happened to me.

I nervously fidget with my fingers.

— It's just that…

I want to explain myself, to tell him.

Tell him that seeing that girl so close to him made me lose my mind without even understanding why, but no words come out properly because I don't even understand what I'm feeling myself.

He finally turns his head slightly toward me. His gaze falls directly on my face, then on my nervous hands, and something changes in his eyes. The anger is still there, but less intense.

I step a little closer. My voice becomes almost a whisper.

— I didn't mean to disrespect you… I was just angry.

He looks at me for a few seconds without saying anything, and before I can see it coming, he presses me gently against the wall—except this time there is no brutality, only this unbearable tension between us.

His right hand settles at my waist, firm but not rough. The other rests near my shoulder, as if to keep me from escaping.

I feel his breath against my skin… near my neck.

And despite myself… a shiver runs through me.

My heart immediately starts beating way too fast again.

He lowers his eyes slightly toward me.

— You really get insolent when you're jealous.

I suddenly look up at him.

— I'm not jealous.

The corner of his lips moves slightly, giving me a faint smirk.

— Liar.

My stomach does a strange flip.

He leans a little closer.

Enough for me to feel his breath against my skin.

— You know what's dangerous about you? His voice is low. You feel things very strongly… but you still refuse to accept it.

I swallow hard.

— That's not true… I… I already apologized because I behaved badly, that's all.

He tilts his head slightly without taking his eyes off mine.

— That's not what your face says. Because it betrays you every time.

His gaze is still locked on mine, but this time… there is no more icy harshness like before, just something deeper, closer, more dangerous in a different way.

Tony doesn't move and I feel like if I breathe too loudly… everything will break.

His gaze drops for a fraction of a second to my lips, then returns to my eyes as if he had caught himself.

It lasts barely a second, but I saw it.

My hands stay frozen by my sides, unable to decide what to do.

Tony lowers his head slightly toward me.

Slowly, he brings his hand toward my face—his fingers stop just before touching my cheek. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then lightly brushes my skin. A gentle contact, but it sends a full electric shock through my entire body.

— You say you're not jealous, he says calmly.

I barely nod.

— Y…yes, I'm not. You… you misunderstood me.

A corner of his mouth twitches.

I don't even have time to understand what's happening when he is even closer. I can feel the warmth of his body surrounding mine, his face just a few centimeters from mine.

His gaze slowly drifts from my eyes to my lips, as if he himself is unsure of the boundary not to cross.

And me… i don't move. I barely breathe. My body doesn't seem to obey me anymore. Without really understanding why, I close my eyes a reflex, or maybe something else I refuse to admit.

The air between us becomes even heavier. I feel his presence.

His warmth.

His scent.

His body.

My heart is beating so loudly it feels like it's going to betray everything I can't say.

I don't know what I'm waiting for, but a part of me… wants him to stay, to finally close that distance, to… kiss me. Yes, I… I want it.

— Tony, are you there?

I flinch slightly and immediately open my eyes. Tony straightens a little, without fully breaking our proximity, but enough to regain control.

— Tony, open the door.

Deyla's voice echoes behind the door.

Instantly, he steps back. He runs a hand over his jaw, looks away for a second, and walks toward the door.

My heart drops violently.

No, wait… I don't want him to leave. I don't even understand why, but I don't. When he opens the door, I look at him, and without thinking, my eyes beg him to stay.

I say nothing, but I know he understands. Because he stops for a fraction of a second his gaze returns to me, softer, quieter, as if hesitating, as if he heard me without words. But the next moment, he pulls himself together and leaves.

The door closes.

I stay there, motionless, against the wall, with this strange feeling in my chest.

As if something had just begun… and was already taken away from me.

POV Chris (Malik's father)

Sitting in my office, the silence is heavy. Not calming. No… accusatory.

I stare at the space in front of me, but my mind keeps looping.

He failed.

It's ridiculous. Almost insulting.

After everything I put in place. Everything I built for him. Everything I gave him… he had it all. Absolutely everything.

And despite that… he failed.

He decided to think.

He decided to feel.

As if that was a luxury he could afford.

I slowly clench my jaw.

I wasn't asking for a feat. Nothing glorious. Nothing complex.

A simple task. Almost insultingly simple.

Get close to her.

Earn her trust.

Make her fall.

Destroy her afterward.

That was all.

Child's play for someone properly trained.

And the worst part… he was almost there.

That's what is most disappointing.

She was already his. Already trapped. Already shaped.

She looked at him as if her entire existence depended on him.

He only had to finish the job.

But he failed.

Because he let something useless interfere.

Emotions.

I let out a short breath, without humor.

Pathetic.

He knew exactly what he had to do. I taught him. I repeated it to him. I instilled every step into him.

But no…

He chose to listen to his heart.

Like an idiot.

Like someone who understands nothing about the world he lives in.

He didn't fail because the task was difficult.

He failed because he is weak.

And weakness… in my world… is not a mistake.

It is a sentence.

Now… she is tied to the Arrisons. Untouchable. Unreachable. Out of my reach.

The Arrisons… they are not a family. They are a system. A network that stretches everywhere without ever truly revealing itself. They don't just dominate the business world… they hold it by the throat.

Banks, investment funds, multinational corporations… they are not always the visible faces, but it is always them who decide. Behind every major transaction, every merger, every sudden fall of a company… there is their shadow.

They don't enter a room to negotiate.

They enter already knowing how it will end.

They buy what can be bought.

They destroy what resists.

And the rest… disappears on its own.

That is the real business world. Not the pretty speeches, not the conferences full of idiots in suits. No.

It is a battlefield.

Silent. Cold. Calculated.

And now… she is at the center of it all. Protected by their name, their money, their men. By impossible contracts to break and secrets no one must know. Before, she was accessible. Fragile. Exploitable.

Now… she is a fortress.

Jon Arrison… and Alex Besson…

Once again, they have won.

Once again, they have crushed me.

It is always the same with them. Always that damn certainty that they will land on their feet, no matter what happens.

While me… I never really had anyone. No friends. No allies. Just interests, deals… people who stay as long as it benefits them.

Them… it was different.

They were like two fingers of the same hand. Inseparable.

Not just partners. Not just associates.

Something stronger. More dangerous.

They faced everything together.

Crises. Betrayals. Downfalls.

Even when everything threatened to collapse… they held on.

Even when the storm could have broken anyone… they stood.

Together.

I saw them falter.

I saw them separate.

And I believed it.

I believed it was over.

That their bond would finally crack… then break.

But no.

They came back.

As if nothing could truly destroy them.

As if their loyalty was stronger than everything else.

And now… they go even further.

They are uniting their children.

As if their alliance was meant to become eternal.

As if even time could do nothing against them.

Jon Arrison and Alex Besson…

My greatest rivals.

Yesterday. Today. And apparently… tomorrow too.

And the worst part…

No matter how many times I face them… they always find a way to win.

And Alex…

Alex Besson is the person I hate most in this world.

My hatred for him is deep. Rooted. Unshakable.

He is everything I despise in this world. Everything I refuse to be… and yet everything this world rewards.

He has everything I will never have.

And that thought eats at me.

Rage. Frustration. Bitterness.

Because deep down… this family could have been mine.

This world could have belonged to me.

That girl should have been mine.

That woman should have been mine.

I should have had it all.

But fate decided otherwise.

So… I decide to defy fate.

To strike where it hurts.

I want to hurt him.

I want to make him suffer through her.

I want him to pay.

To feel every pain. Every loss. Every crack.

Yes… that's what I want.

For him to have no escape left.

Don't they say children pay for their parents' mistakes?

A knock on the door pulls me brutally out of my thoughts.

— Come in.

The door opens. My secretary appears.

— Sir, a woman is asking to see you.

A slight smile appears on my lips.

I already know who it is.

It is exactly the person I was waiting for.

— Let her in.

She obeys.

The door closes, then opens again.

She is there. She hasn't changed. Still that confidence. Still that way of entering a room as if everything belongs to her.

She doesn't ask permission.

She doesn't really announce herself.

She just sits down without waiting.

She really thinks this is her place.

I look at her for a long moment without smiling, without warmth.

Just a cold gaze.

— You're late.

You know very well I don't like waiting.

The Arrison manor stood like a work of art in its own right, imposing without being cold, luxurious without ever slipping into ostentation.

From the gates and main entrance, a pathway lined with golden lanterns guided guests toward the property. The lights, carefully placed between perfectly trimmed hedges, drew a path that felt almost unreal, like an invitation into another world.

The garden had been completely transformed.

The fountains, usually discreet, were now illuminated by soft light effects that made the water dance like crystal in motion. Arches of white and ivory flowers rose at different points across the park, blending roses, peonies, and orchids in a perfectly orchestrated harmony. The light wind made the petals tremble, giving the whole scene a delicate, almost breathing life.

Further on, elegant tables had been set up under a transparent structure worthy of the greatest receptions. Hanging fairy lights across the ceiling cast a warm, golden glow that softened even the shadows of the night.

Every detail seemed thought out, controlled, mastered.

And it clearly bore the signature of Elisabeth Arrison.

Inside the manor, the transformation was even more striking.

The usual hall, already majestic, had been elevated. The two grand marble staircases were framed with cascading floral arrangements, as if nature itself had been invited into the architecture. The crystal chandeliers had been cleaned and adjusted to emit a brighter, more radiant light that made every polished surface shimmer.

The main living room had been rearranged to host the guests. The furniture had been moved with precision to create an open, fluid, almost theatrical space. Elegant fabrics covered the sofas in cream and pale gold tones, echoing timeless sophistication.

Even the corridors had not been forgotten.

Discreet bouquets, soft fragrances, dim lighting… everything contributed to this impression of total coherence, as if every square meter of the manor was part of the same staging.

And at the center of it all, invisible yet omnipresent in every choice, every harmony, every balance…

This was not just decoration.

It was a statement. A world prepared for an evening where nothing would be left to chance.

From the men's side, the atmosphere was very different from that of the illuminated garden.

In the Arrison parents' bedroom, transformed for the occasion into a true preparation atelier, Tony stood in front of a large mirror.

His mother, Élise, had insisted that he get ready here. And as always, he had ended up giving in to his mother's wishes without arguing.

The suit she had designed for him was a unique piece.

A deep midnight blue, almost hypnotic, that caught the light without ever overpowering it. The jacket fit his broad shoulders perfectly, highlighting his build with almost artistic precision. The slightly textured fabric gave an impression of movement with every gesture.

Under the jacket, a slightly satin white shirt, opened just enough at the collar to reveal a natural, effortless elegance.

A thin tie, an even darker blue, structured the outfit without excessive rigidity.

At his wrists, discreet silver cufflinks engraved with the family crest, an "A," reflected the chandelier's light.

And on his feet, perfectly polished black Italian leather shoes, whose slightest reflection betrayed the extreme care given to every detail.

Tony adjusted his jacket slightly, then his collar, before looking at himself in the mirror with a faint satisfied smile.

— Mom… you did a good job. See how handsome I am?

His voice was light, almost amused, as he observed his reflection with calm confidence. Behind him, Élise was still making a few adjustments to the final folds of the fabric. She lifted her head upon hearing his words, and a sincere smile formed on her face.

— Yes, my baby… you are magnificent. Just like me.

Tony froze immediately.

He slightly turned his head toward her with a grimace.

— Mom… I've already told you not to call me that. I'm not a baby. Do you realize if one of my employees heard that seriously?

But Élise didn't even seem to hear him. She gently placed her hands on his shoulders and, without warning, pulled him into an embrace.

— For me, you will always be. Until the end of time.

Silence fell for a moment in the room.

Tony did not respond, nor did he protest. His gaze drifted for a second into the mirror, then his shoulders relaxed slightly, and slowly he tightened his arms around his mother in return.

A rare but sincere gesture.

In that suspended moment, far from the world and the reception awaiting them…

there was no CEO anymore.

No heir.

No cold and arrogant man.

Just a son… in his mother's arms.

The door to the bedroom suddenly opens with an explosion of crystal-clear laughter.

— We want hugs too!

The twins run in, even more impatient than the rest of the world.

Tony and Élise immediately pull away from their embrace.

And their eyes land on the children.

Amira and Amir.

Two small silhouettes, perfectly dressed, as if taken out of a luxury fairytale.

Amira is wearing a slightly pink-tinged ivory tulle dress, designed by Élise Arrison. The fabric is delicately embroidered with golden flowers that sparkle with every movement. Her waist is marked by a fine satin belt, and the airy skirt spreads around her like a cloud. Her hair is styled in two elegant little braids, mixed with fine pearly beads that catch the light. On her feet, small white ballet flats with golden ribbons complete the outfit, giving her the look of a little princess.

Amir, on his side, wears a perfectly tailored miniature suit in deep midnight blue, matching Tony's. The jacket is structured with silver buttons, the white shirt is impeccably ironed, and a small dark bow tie adds a touch of childlike charm. His hair is neatly styled, slightly slicked at the sides, with a clean but natural finish. On his feet, small shiny black leather shoes, matching the adults' outfits.

Everything has been designed by Élise.

Every detail as if even childhood had to carry the elegance of her house.

Tony doesn't think for a second.

He steps forward, grabs Amira in his arms and lifts her effortlessly.

— Yesss! she screams, laughing.

He plants several small kisses on her cheeks, making her burst into laughter.

Meanwhile, Élise takes Amir into her arms with maternal ease and begins covering him with kisses.

— Mami! stop! he protests, laughing. But he makes absolutely no attempt to escape.

The whole room fills with laughter and warmth, a total contrast to the calm sophistication of the rest of the manor.

— My uncle, you are very handsome! Amira says, admiring Tony with bright eyes.

— Thank you, my princess. And you are beautiful.

— More than grandma! she adds proudly.

Tony glances amusedly at his mother.

— More than grandma?

Élise rolls her eyes with a smile.

— Traitor.

Laughter erupts again.

— And me, how am I? Amir asks, looking at his grandmother seriously.

Élise places a final kiss on his forehead.

— You are very handsome.

— More than Uncle Tony?

Tony raises an eyebrow.

— Yes, more than Uncle Tony, Élise confirms without hesitation.

The two children look at each other proudly, as if they had just won an official family beauty competition.

Then Amira leans discreetly toward Tony's ear.

— My uncle… you know, Aunt Esther is very beautiful with her pretty dress and her hair.

At that name, Tony's smile fades slightly, but his gaze changes very subtly. A memory crosses his mind without warning.

The night before.

The silence, the closeness her scent, the warmth of her body against his.

Her lips almost against his… everything he wanted was to possess those pretty lips that haunt him. To kiss her until he lost his breath. But he held back—why? Because he doesn't want to be rough or force her. He wants everything to come from her.

He blinks softly, returning to reality.

— Yes… he simply says.

She is beautiful.

Amira smiled widely.

— More than me?

— You will always be the most beautiful.

He placed one last kiss on her forehead.

And for a second…

in the middle of the children's laughter and the light of the manor…

his gaze drifted again, without him really controlling it.

Toward her.

The door opened again, letting in a presence that immediately changed the atmosphere of the room.

— Are we having a party without me? said the voice calm, amused, full of confidence as it entered the bedroom.

All eyes turned toward him. He walked calmly into the room still filled with the children's laughter.

He wore a deep black tailored suit, custom-made, whose cut emphasized his imposing build. The slightly fitted jacket highlighted his broad shoulders, while a perfectly ironed white shirt elegantly contrasted with the depth of the fabric. A dark tie, perfectly knotted but with a deliberately relaxed stylish touch, gave him a look that was both strict and casual.

At his wrist, a discreet yet luxurious steel watch reflected the light.

His black leather shoes, perfectly polished, echoed slightly on the marble floor with every step.

And his hair…

slightly slicked back, with a natural yet controlled finish, added to his almost magnetic charisma.

He didn't even need to speak to impose his presence.

Élise looked at him immediately.

And in her eyes, something softened a silent pride, an obvious love. She followed him with her gaze, as if time slowed down; each step he took toward her seemed to awaken something in her.

— How I love that man, she said with a discreet smile she didn't even hide.

And in his posture, his charisma, he carried Tony's face. Everything about him was identical to Tony no need for a DNA test to say they were father and son.

And in those thoughts, she was proud. Proud to see how much her son and her husband resembled each other.

The more she looked at him, the softer her expression became, almost vulnerable with love.

Tony, however, barely reacted. Not a single glance, not a single movement, as if his father's arrival had no importance. And even if Jon said nothing, he could feel it but he did not show it The children, however, didn't hesitate for a second. They immediately climbed down from their arms and ran toward their grandfather.

— Grandpa!

Jon slightly crouched to welcome them, opening his arms.

They jumped on him enthusiastically.

— How are you? he asked gently.

— Good!

He chuckled softly before carefully putting them back on the ground.

— Go on, head downstairs. Maria will give you chocolates.

— Yesss!

And they ran off, leaving behind a light laughter.

Jon straightened up and turned his gaze toward Élise without saying a word. He approached her and took her into his arms, then placed a small kiss on her cheek.

— Are you okay? he asked softly.

— Mm… Yes… it's fine.

They said nothing more. They didn't need to. Only their gaze was enough a silent complicity, a story they didn't need to explain.

— If I'm disturbing you, just say so… I'll leave your room and go.

 Tony said from the other side of the room, with irony.

The parents burst out laughing at the same time.

Élise gently shook her head before walking away toward the dressing room, leaving the men alone. Even despite the tense relationship between him and his father, he had always found his parents' relationship touching and soft. At least he hadn't failed as a husband, he thought toward his father.

Jon then turned his gaze to his son and, without saying anything, walked toward him.

Tony was adjusting his slightly crooked tie in the mirror Jon approached calmly.

— Let me help you.

— It's not necessary.

But his father was already ignoring him, gently adjusting his son's tie with precision.

— I'm proud of you.

Tony stayed still for a second, then replied coldly:

— Spare me your speech.

Jon didn't react immediately.

But his hands paused for a moment on the tie.

And his gaze on his son became deeper, more serious, because behind the harsh tone he recognized what was not being said.

And yet he continued fixing the tie patiently, as if he still hoped to reach something words couldn't touch.

Jon remained silent for a moment, his hands still on Tony's tie. Then, more softly, without looking directly at him:

— "I love you, Tony."

Tony didn't react right away. His gaze stayed fixed on the mirror, as if refusing to hear it. Because that word… he knew it too well. And yet it still unsettled him.

In his mind, memories came back despite himself. That look from his father, that night the silence and the coldness of his voice, the way he had looked at him, how everything had broken without explanation.

He clenched his jaw slightly.

A part of him wanted to forgive.

Another part still refused.

Jon understood that silence.

He didn't force anything. He didn't ask for anything.

He simply stayed there.

— I know… it's not simple between us,he continued in a lower voice. I know I made mistakes.

He paused, searching for his words.

— But you are still my son. No matter the time, no matter the distance… that doesn't change.

Tony swallowed slightly. His eyes remained hard, but something trembled inside, because deep down he wanted to forgive. But he couldn't. Not with those memories that always came back at the wrong time.

Jon gently exhaled, then without warning, stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Tony.

Tony froze instantly, unable to react. The contact was too unfamiliar, too old, too long forgotten.

— Dad…he murmured instinctively, almost despite himself.

Those words so simple had been so difficult to say. It had been years since Tony had said them.

Jon held him tighter.

— Just let me… one second, my son.

A long silence settled. Then slowly, very slowly, Tony's resistance lowered. His body relaxed just enough not to pull away.

Jon closed his eyes.

And in that simple, almost fragile gesture, he found something he thought he had lost. His son against him he was really there, finally. A single tear slid down Jon's cheek without him noticing. He didn't wipe it away.

Because he didn't want to. Because it had been far too long since he had felt that weight lift, even for a second.

Tony stayed still a moment longer, then almost imperceptibly, he slightly returned the embrace. Not fully, not completely but enough for Jon to feel it.

And that simple gesture broke something in him not painfully, but humanly.

Jon tightened his hold gently, as if afraid the moment would disappear. And in that silence between them, there was no more anger only two hearts still trying to find each other again, despite everything that had pushed them apart.

The dressing room door opened softly Élise came back into the room, still elegant, her steps calm… until she stopped. Her gaze fell on the scene in front of her. Jon and Tony embracing.

She stood still for a second, afraid to break something if she moved or even breathed too loudly. A soft, sincere smile appeared on her face, carrying everything she had always wanted to see.

— …Finally, she murmured to herself.

She then walks forward without hesitation and, before the two men even have time to react, she wraps both of them in her arms.

Jon is caught between surprise and emotion.

Élise holds them against her gently, as if gathering something that had long been scattered.

— You two are adorable… she whispers with tenderness.

Her voice trembles slightly, but she smiles.

Jon lets out a small muffled laugh, still emotional, without loosening his hold around Tony.

— You always arrive at the right moment, he says softly.

Élise doesn't answer right away.

She just tightens her embrace a little more.

— Because that's how families stay… together.

A soft silence settles.

Tony, still caught between his parents, lowers his eyes slightly.

His expression remains closed…

but his body is no longer resisting as much.

And for the first time in a long time, the cold, arrogant, mysterious, and distant man can feel the warmth of family from his two parents.

They slowly separate, still carried by emotion.

The silence that follows is not empty… it is heavy, filled with everything that was just said without really being said.

Jon runs a hand over his face, as if still struggling to realize it, not fully believing it. He has really held his son in his arms. It has been so many years since he pushed him away, but this time Tony did not step back.

Élise, meanwhile, remains still for a moment. Her eyes are slightly moist, barely holding it in.

— Don't cry, Mom… or you'll ruin your makeup, Tony says with a hint of soft irony.

She lets out a small laugh, discreetly wiping the corner of her eye.

— You're right… that would be a shame.

Then she catches her breath and adds:

— I'm going to see where the girls are.

In her hands, a small red jewelry box.

Jon and Tony slightly nod.

She is about to leave when

— Mom, wait.

Tony's voice stops her. She turns around gently. He takes a few steps forward and hands her a small elegant, simple blue box, carefully closed.

— Can you give this to Esther.

Élise looks down at the box, hesitating for a second, then she understands, and a faint smile crosses her face. Because she knows.

She knows what this gesture means.

— Alright, she replies simply.

She takes the box and leaves, leaving behind a different kind of silence.

Jon looks at his son for a few seconds, then lets out a soft sigh.

— I know this marriage was arranged, he begins calmly. And I know Esther is not the kind of woman you usually associate with.

But trust me, my son… she is made for you. She is the ideal woman.

Tony doesn't respond.

But his gaze slightly hardens, as if refusing to hear… while still listening anyway.

Jon continues, more softly:

— I'm not saying that just because she's the daughter of my best friend… but because I believe it. And I feel it.

He briefly places a hand on his shoulder, then walks away toward the dressing room, leaving them alone with those words.

Tony remains still for a moment, thoughtful and unsettled.

The door opens again to reveal Laurène.

She wears a fitted royal blue dress with satin reflections, slightly slit on the side. Her shoulders are bare, highlighted by a thin silver necklace. Her matching heels click softly on the marble floor. Her hair is tied in a perfectly sleek high ponytail, with a few strands framing her face, giving her an elegant yet proud look. A small luxury bag hangs from her wrist, and her makeup is flawless, emphasizing a still slightly hardened gaze.

But behind this elegance… her expression still betrays tension.

She is still angry at her brother for having yelled at her the other day.

— I'm looking for Mom. Haven't you seen her? she asks sharply.

Tony sighs slightly, already aware of his sister's mood.

— No. She just left.

Laurène tightens her jaw slightly.

She is about to walk away without another word when

— Laurène.

She stops, hesitating, but turns back to face her brother again.

His arms are slightly open, without insistence. Just a silent invitation.

She hesitates for another second but eventually gives in and leans into him.

Tony holds her gently, as if despite her difficult personality… she is still his little sister.

— Try not to stay angry, he murmurs. Forgive your big brother. He messed up.

A small smile appears on Laurène's lips.

— Yes… I forgive my big brother who is an idiot.

— Careful, don't push it.

— But you said it yourself.

A light laugh slips between them.

The tension eases a little.

— You should be with the girls, he adds.

— Yes, but they don't want me there.

— Laurène…

She sighs.

— Fine… I went there on my own. Because no one talks to me.

— Stop acting like a brat just to get attention.

She lowers her eyes slightly.

A brief silence.

Then she barely nods.

— I know… I'll do it.

At that moment, Jon comes back from the dressing room and his daughter goes to him, curling into his arms. He kisses her forehead.

— Are you okay, sweetheart?

— Yes… and you, daddy?

He smiles.

Then he turns toward Tony and hands him a small signet ring.

— It belonged to your grandfather. He gave it to me on my wedding day… and today, I give it to you. Take care of it.

Tony takes it without comment. He has always appreciated his grandfather. He holds it firmly in his hand and slips it into his right pocket, promising himself to take care of it.

Laurène crosses her arms, pretending to be offended.

— And me? I get nothing?

— You'll get a gold set. Especially for you.

Her eyes immediately light up.

— Thank you, daddy! she says, jumping slightly in place.

At that moment, a maid enters quickly.

— Sir, Madam… the guests are starting to arrive.

— We're coming.

She nods and leaves.

Tony is the first to go out, followed by his father and his sister. They all head toward the exit.

The manor is about to begin its evening.

In Samira's room, the atmosphere is completely different from that of the rest of the manor, softer and more intimate. The preparations are coming to an end, and a strange silence hangs between excitement and nervousness.

Sitting in front of the mirror, Esther remains seated, her gaze drifting over her reflection as if she still has trouble recognizing herself.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she adjusts the necklace resting around her neck, the jewelry gifted by her father, now perfectly in place, shining softly against her skin.

Then her gaze lowers to the dress, Élise's creation.

A dress of almost unreal elegance.

The bodice is perfectly fitted, hugging her figure with refinement, highlighting her waist and the softness of her curves without ever being excessive. The off-the-shoulder design delicately reveals her skin, while a draped fabric wraps lightly around her arms, like a silk caress. The thin straps adorned with tiny gemstones shimmer with every movement, subtly catching the light.

The fabric is fluid, slightly stretchy, with delicate pleats that structure the upper part with sophistication.

From her arms, a long train falls gracefully, giving each of her movements an almost royal allure.

The skirt, cut in a soft mermaid silhouette, follows her curves before gently flaring out toward the floor with elegance. A delicate slit reveals part of her leg, bordered with fine pearls and sparkling rhinestones that catch the light with every breath.

She is... beautiful.

But Esther still cannot fully feel like she belongs in it.

— You're going to wear out that mirror if you keep looking at yourself like that, a teasing voice says behind her.

Samira.

She is standing near her, already ready. And the moment you look at her, you immediately understand why she belongs to this family.

She is wearing a deep sapphire-blue gown, fluid and elegant, with a structured bodice adorned with fine silver embroidery that forms delicate floral patterns across the fabric. The long, lightweight skirt opens into several layered sections that move gently with every step, creating an airy effect.

Her shoulders are highlighted by a subtle neckline, and a thin transparent cape attached to her arms falls delicately behind her.

At her ears, small diamond earrings sparkle without excess.

Her hair is styled into an elegant low bun, slightly loose, allowing a few strands to frame her face softly.

She carries the same natural class as her mother... that almost instinctive elegance, effortless and genuine.

Samira approaches and sits beside Esther.

— You look beautiful, she says simply.

— I feel like I'm... too noticeable.

Samira smiles softly.

— Welcome to the Arrison family.

Then she adds more lightly:

— And trust me... if you're nervous now, wait until you see everyone's reaction tonight.

Esther lets out a breath.

— That doesn't help at all.

Samira laughs softly.

— That wasn't the goal.

She then straightens up, lightly adjusting a loose strand of hair.

— But seriously... you have nothing to worry about. You wear that dress as if it had been made for you all along.

Esther slowly lifts her eyes toward the mirror.

Her reflection is there.

Different.

And despite herself... she begins to believe it a little.

In the silence that follows, Samira stands.

— Come on... we'll be going downstairs soon.

She extends her hand with a reassuring smile.

— Ready or not... the evening is starting.

— How do I look?

The grandmother's voice echoes from the entrance of the dressing room, proud and full of confidence.

She slowly steps out of the room.

And a brief silence settles.

She is wearing a long champagne-colored gown, lightly satin-finished, catching the light with every movement. The cut is elegant despite her advanced age: fitted at the bodice, then flowing gracefully to the floor. A delicate beaded belt highlights her waist with refinement. Her long sleeves are semi-transparent, decorated with fine embroidery that recalls an old yet sophisticated style.

Her hair, carefully styled into a flawless low bun, is adorned with small discreet golden pins. A light but expertly applied makeup still brightens her face without hiding her natural features.

There is nothing excessive about her.

But she commands attention.

— You're completely ugly, old woman, Samira immediately says with a provocative smile.

The grandmother slowly turns her head toward her.

A stern look.

— I wasn't asking you.

She lifts her chin slightly.

— Besides, you're just jealous because I'm much prettier than you.

Samira bursts out laughing.

— Yeah, sure... and exactly who are you planning to seduce? Nobody would want you.

The old woman narrows her eyes.

— Young lady, don't play with me. I'm still young and beautiful. Plenty of men are after me. In fact, I have a suitor tonight. He's coming to ask for my hand. You'll see.

Samira explodes with laughter.

Even Esther, despite her nervousness, lets out a small laugh.

— Honestly, this woman is unbelievable... she murmurs.

At that moment, another voice is heard from the doorway.

— Good evening, ladies.

It is Ibrahim, Samira's husband, making his appearance in the room.

He enters calmly, wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit, an immaculate white shirt, a slightly loosened yet elegant tie, a discreet watch on his wrist, and polished leather shoes.

He pauses for a moment when he sees the scene.

— Have you turned my room into a beauty salon or what?

— Yes, as you can see, says his wife.

He walks forward with an amused smile.

His gaze settles on Esther.

— The little chatterbox has become a woman, it seems...

— I've always been a woman, Mr. Journalist, Esther immediately replies.

Ibrahim laughs softly.

— Says the girl who can talk for more than twenty minutes without breathing. And stop calling me "Mr. Journalist." You're talking to a police inspector. I'll arrest you, and you'll spend your evening in a cell.

— It's not my fault you introduced yourself as a journalist. And you'll never be able to arrest me, she says, laughing.

— Don't get too confident. I'll lock you up right now, and then your husband can find another wife to replace you immediately.

Esther shoots him a dark look, making the journalist laugh. He continues on his way and approaches the grandmother, kissing her cheek respectfully.

— How are you, my wife?

— Very well. And you?

— I'm doing well too.

Samira crosses her arms.

— Hey! Aren't you forgetting someone?

Ibrahim turns toward her, a mischievous smile on his lips.

— Oh no... I heard you speaking badly about my first wife, so I'm not greeting you.

Samira's eyes immediately widen.

— WHAT?! But it was just a joke! We were only teasing, right, Grandma?

— Oh no, the grandmother calmly replies. She was making fun of me. So it wasn't a joke. You see? Even your husband has fallen under my charm. Soon he won't want you anymore.

Samira immediately points at her grandmother.

— Hey, old woman, I forbid you from going near my husband.

— Oh no, he's not your husband anymore. And you... I want you to divorce her immediately.

— You wouldn't dare, would you? she says while looking at her husband.

— It's so enjoyable watching women fight over me.

He turns toward the grandmother.

— Orders received. Consider this girl no longer part of my life.

The grandmother lets out a victorious laugh under Samira's dark glare.

Samira adores her grandmother just as much as her grandmother adores her granddaughter. The two love each other deeply and express that affection by constantly teasing one another.

Esther watches the scene with a small smile, caught somewhere between amusement and astonishment.

What a family, she thinks.

At that moment, the door opens with almost theatrical elegance as Élise enters, instantly changing the atmosphere of the room.

She is wearing a long deep emerald-green gown made from a fluid, lightly satin fabric that catches the light with every movement. The bodice is structured yet delicate, adorned with fine tone-on-tone embroidery forming subtle floral patterns. Her shoulders are slightly exposed, covered by a transparent veil that falls into light sleeves down to her forearms, giving her an appearance that is both noble and gentle.

Her waist is perfectly defined, emphasizing an elegant silhouette effortlessly.

The skirt, long and airy, extends to the floor with a small discreet train gliding behind her with every step.

Her shoes, barely visible, are elegant nude stiletto heels.

Around her neck rests a fine white-gold necklace with a discreet gemstone that softly catches the light.

Her hair is styled into a sophisticated low bun, slightly loose, with a few wavy strands framing her face.

Her makeup is perfectly executed: luminous complexion, delicately enhanced eyes, and lips in a soft rosy shade that accentuates her natural grace without hardening her features.

She doesn't need to do much.

She already commands the room.

— Mother-in-law... Ibrahim says with an admiring smile, you are stunning. A true rare gem.

He tilts his head slightly, teasingly.

— Accept Father-in-law's divorce… and marry me on the spot.

— First my grandmother, then my mother? Why can't you be serious? his wife says mockingly.

Élise gently shakes her head, amused despite herself.

— You… I already told you that you're in your abandonment phase, she says ironically. I love my husband far too much to divorce him.

— Ooooh! Mom is in love! Samira exclaims with a laugh.

Élise gives her a falsely stern look, but her eyes remain soft.

— You should focus on your crazy wife instead of wanting to marry another woman.

Ibrahim raises his hands in surrender.

— Don't worry, Mother-in-law… I'll send this crazy woman to an asylum and come back to win your heart.

This time, Élise can no longer hold back.

She bursts out laughing.

A laugh that is almost rare to hear.

Even the grandmother, who was in front of her mirror proudly adjusting her makeup, lifts her eyes to watch her daughter-in-law laugh.

— Poor Amir and Amira… they really have immature parents, Esther murmurs.

— That's not wrong, Samira adds, crossing her arms.

— Alright, enough talking, Élise says, regaining her composure. The guests are starting to arrive.

The grandmother immediately lifts her chin.

She slowly runs a hand over her dress as if making sure it is perfect. Without warning, she hooks one arm through Ibrahim's and the other through Samira's.

Ibrahim smiles, amused.

— There. Now everyone will see that I have two beautiful people by my side. They'll all be jealous.

And they leave the room together. The laughter fades away, the sound of footsteps softens, and the room gradually empties until only Esther and her mother-in-law remain.

She walks forward without saying a word at first, then stops right in front of Esther.

— Here, she says simply.

Esther hesitates for a second before taking it.

— Is this… for me? she asks softly.

Élise nods.

— Yes.

Listen to me carefully. You are not to leave this room until someone calls for you. And when I say calls for you… it must be your father-in-law who says your name. Not before. No matter what you hear outside.

— Okay… she murmurs.

Élise watches her for another second, as if making sure she understands. She turns slightly, ready to leave.

But before she reaches the door, Esther suddenly speaks.

— I'm sorry.

Élise stops and turns to face her.

Esther lowers her eyes slightly toward her hands.

— That day… I didn't mean to humiliate you or disrespect you. I just wanted to help that woman… because I felt she had already been humiliated enough.

Forgive me, Mother-in-law.

Élise looks at her for a long moment without speaking. Her face remains calm, difficult to read.

But something more subtle passes through her eyes.

A hesitation.

Even though she has not completely forgiven her, she knows one thing.

If today her husband and her son are finally speaking to each other again, it is partly because of this girl.

And despite herself, that matters.

So after a few seconds, Élise finally gives a small nod.

A tiny gesture, but coming from her, it almost feels like a genuine second chance.

She opens the door.

But just as she is about to leave, she stops once more.

As if she has suddenly remembered something.

She walks back to Esther and this time hands her a small blue box.

— I almost forgot… Tony asked me to give this to you.

Esther's heart immediately skips a beat.

Tony…?

Her fingers gently close around the box.

Élise does not stay any longer and immediately leaves the room, leaving her alone once again.

Esther lowers her eyes to the blue box in her hands. She hesitates for a moment but finally opens it.

Inside is a bracelet.

Fine, delicate, luminous.

A piece of jewelry adorned with elegant little charms: silver moons, a discreet little heart, and above all, two intertwined letters T and E hanging at the center like a silent bond between two names.

Everything glimmers softly beneath the light, simple yet incredibly meaningful.

It's… beautiful, she thinks.

And really strange for someone like Tony.

She slowly turns the bracelet between her fingers, as if afraid of breaking it, and notices something.

A small folded note tucked beneath the bracelet.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she takes it and reads:

"Don't ask too many questions tonight."

"Wear it and never take it off. — T"

She lowers her eyes to the bracelet again.

The letters T and E gleam faintly.

She no longer knows whether she should smile… or be even more afraid of what she feels.

And without thinking any further, Esther slowly removes the bracelet she was already wearing and fastens Tony's bracelet around her right wrist.

Her fingers brush against the silver charms.

A small smile appears on her lips.

It is the first time he has ever given her something.

Not because he had to, not for appearances.Just… because he wanted to.

And that thought alone is enough to gently warm something inside her, while she is still admiring the bracelet, a motionless figure secretly watches her from outside the room.

Hidden in the shadows of the hallway, their gaze fixed on Esther, overflowing with violent hatred.

This person hates her enough to ruin this evening. Enough to erase that smile from her face, so very slowly, without making the slightest sound, the person closes the bedroom door.

Click.

The sound of the lock immediately echoes.

Esther startles.

Her brows instantly furrow.

— Hey?

She rushes toward the door and tries to open it, but nothing happens. The handle refuses to move.

— Hey! Open the door!

She pounds on it several times.

— This isn't funny!

And outside, the figure remains silent as if hearing nothing.

Then suddenly...

Music begins to echo throughout the manor. Elegant violins, conversations, laughter.

The reception has officially begun.

And hearing all that noise drown out Esther's pounding against the door, a slow smile appears on the stranger's face.

Because now no one will hear her scream.

— Let's see how you get out of this.

Satisfied, the figure slowly turns away and disappears down the hallway without a single glance back.

Esther desperately searches for a way to calm her stress. She sweeps her gaze across the room.

Her heart pounds wildly. Every second spent in this room seems to tighten the pressure around her chest a little more.

Her eyes search the room for anything that might help her get out, but there is nothing.

So she heads toward the balcony.

The cool air immediately brushes her face, making a few strands of her hair flutter lightly. For a moment, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Below, several luxury cars continue arriving one after another. Elegantly dressed guests step out and head toward the estate.

But she pays them no attention.

She walks to the edge of the balcony and looks down.

It is far too high.

Part of her had hoped to find an escape route, even a ridiculous one.

But there is none.

A deep sense of despair washes over her.

Meanwhile, the hall is already full of guests.

Conversations blend together in an elegant and lively atmosphere. Some admire the luxurious decorations while others exchange laughter over glasses of champagne.

The dim lighting gives the room an almost unreal feeling, as though suspended outside of time.

Then, the moment the Arrison family enters the hall, everything changes.

The journalists rush forward.

Camera flashes explode from every direction, illuminating the room endlessly.

Ibrahim, as a police inspector within the law enforcement forces, had nevertheless given clear instructions to his team: no questions, no interviews without prior authorization.

Ibrahim in the center, his wife on his left, and her grandmother on his right, whom he affectionately calls "my first wife," as he likes to joke.

They form a close-knit trio, strong, almost perfectly harmonious.

The grandmother eventually releases his arm and approaches her granddaughter, Samira.

— Hey, Samira… look at the back of the room. Who's that?

Samira follows her gaze... then freezes slightly when she notices an elderly man, nearly the same age as her grandmother.

She turns her attention back to her, puzzled.

— That's my suitor.

Samira stares at her in shock.

— Wait... you were serious when you said that?

— Did you really think I was joking? the grandmother replies calmly.

Samira lets out a small incredulous laugh.

— Yes... I really thought you were joking.

— Insolent girl, the old woman replies. You're just jealous. I still have several men chasing after me.

This time, Samira can no longer hold back and bursts into laughter, drawing a few curious glances from the people around them.

— Come on, old woman, you're not at the age for that anymore

— And so what? I'm still beautiful and healthy, so stop being jealous.

Still amused, Samira turns her head toward her husband, Ibrahim, who is standing beside her and seems to be holding back a smile.

— And what are you going to say? Are you just going to let your "first wife" run off with another man?

— Don't listen to her, the grandmother interrupts. This girl just wants to destroy our happiness.

— That's true, Ibrahim replies calmly. I trust you completely. I know you won't break my heart.

The grandmother throws Samira a triumphant look and sticks out her tongue before walking away toward her supposed future husband.

Élise was holding onto her husband's arm, moving confidently through the crowd.

She maintained an elegant posture, a controlled smile, as if nothing could unsettle her. Jon, upright and imposing at her side, carried the same quiet confidence.

They formed a charismatic couple, the kind who naturally attract attention without needing to say a word.

The moment they appeared, the atmosphere in the room changed. Conversations softened slightly, and the journalists already scattered throughout the hall straightened almost instantly as they began moving toward them.

The cameras came alive once again.

The flashes intensified, brighter and closer.

— Over here! Mr. and Mrs. Arrison, one question please!

But the security agents and Ibrahim's team quickly stepped in, enforcing the strict instructions: no approaching, no questions without authorization.

Élise tightened her grip slightly around her husband's arm, keeping her smile intact, accustomed to this kind of commotion.

She murmured softly, never losing her composure:

— They never change...

Jon glanced at her briefly, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

— No... but we're who they came to see.

Together, they continued forward, moving through the flashes and persistent stares.

A couple had just made their appearance, instantly stealing the spotlight from every other couple present.

The moment they were seen, the journalists rushed toward them. Flashes erupted from every direction, capturing every movement, every detail.

The man walked confidently. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, fitted flawlessly to his frame, paired with a white shirt slightly open at the collar. A luxury watch gleamed on his wrist, and his polished leather shoes reflected the flashes of light. His hair, carefully swept back, gave him an appearance that was both strict and elegant.

At his side walked a woman with effortless grace. She wore a long, refined gown that flowed with every step. The lightly satin fabric caught the light subtly, while her elegant updo highlighted her graceful posture.

Beside them walked a young woman. She wore a modern and chic dress, fitted without being provocative, adorned with delicate details that discreetly attracted attention. She walked confidently, making no attempt to avoid the cameras.

Together they moved forward with style and presence, drawing every eye in the room.

Upon seeing them, Jon hurried over. When he reached them, he shook the man's hand and pulled him into a firm embrace.

The photographers did not miss a single second.

— Can't you make a simple entrance like everyone else? he asked.

— No. You know me... wherever I go, everyone has to know I've arrived.

The two men laughed.

— How are you, Asael? Jon asked, looking at her.

— I'm doing well, and you? she replied calmly.

— I'm doing well too.

At that moment, Élise appeared.

— Alex, you're finally here.

— Yes, finally.

He stepped forward and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, then greeted Asael and the young woman as well.

— How are you, Asael? Your dress is beautiful.

— Not more beautiful than yours... yours is even prettier, she replied with a smile.

The two women burst into laughter.

— Jon, Élise, let me introduce Leïla, Esther's best friend. We consider her our own daughter. And Leïla, these are Esther's in-laws: Jon and Elisabeth Arrison.

— Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Arrison, Leïla said politely.

— Good evening, Leïla. Welcome to the Arrison Manor, Elisabeth replied warmly.

— Thank you very much.

Alex looked around in search of his daughter.

— Where is she? I don't see her anywhere.

He laughed softly.

— She's upstairs. She'll come later. Come on, I'll introduce you to my daughter and son-in-law.

They began walking away. In the distance, Leïla noticed a familiar figure and decided to go over.

— Excuse me... Auntie, I'll be right back.

Before Asael could even respond, she quickly walked toward the figure.

She approached and stopped in front of him.

— Tony Arrison?

Leïla stepped closer to him.

He turned his head slightly toward her.

— Leïla.

— Don't you get bored standing all alone in your corner?

— No.

— Obviously.

Tony turned his attention back to the room while Leïla shook her head.

— You know, one day you'll have to learn how to hold a real conversation.

— I am holding a conversation.

— With one-word answers?

— It saves time.

Leïla let out a small laugh.

— You're impossible.

— That's what people often tell me.

Leïla scanned the room.

— By the way, where's Esther?

Tony simply raised a hand and gestured toward the upper floor with his chin.

— Up there. First floor, left wing. The first door.

Leïla nodded.

— Okay.

Tony walked away, leaving Leïla as she rushed up the stairs, eager to see her best friend.

She tries to breathe. But that is exactly the problem.

A light pressure, then a heavier one, begins to settle in her chest. She tries to inhale more deeply… but the air does not come properly, as if blocked.

— No… not now…

She moves toward the room, placing one hand against the wall to steady herself.

Her breathing becomes faster… yet paradoxically less effective. Each breath feels incomplete. A sensation of tightness spreads through her chest, as if something were slowly tightening around her lungs. A dry cough escapes her mouth once, then twice, then three times. Her breathing becomes irregular.

— My… inhaler… I need my inhaler...

<

Ever since she was little, her breathing has never been quite like that of other children. Winter nights were often the hardest… when the air became too cold, too heavy, and her chest tightened without warning.

Her mother still remembers it.

When Esther was a baby, a single attack was enough to wake the entire house in panic. She can still hear that fragile wheeze in her daughter's breathing, that sound that shattered the silence and made a mother's heart race.

— Breathe… slowly, my daughter… breathe…

She would hold her close, trying to calm her, trying to give her a little air, a little life, and even though, over the years, Esther learned how to live with it that slightly stubborn breathlessness never completely disappeared.

It is a part of her. Quiet… but always there.>>

She searches around her, her movements becoming more hurried now in her bag on the bedside table but nothing.

A trace of panic begins to show in her eyes.

— No… no…

Her chest tightens even more.

She tries to speak, but her voice comes out broken.

— I… forgot… how could I forget...

Her breathing whistles slightly now. Every breath requires effort.

Her body begins to react: a slight weakness, trembling caused by the lack of air, an unpleasant warmth in her chest.

She leans against the bed.

Her legs become less stable.

— Breathe… calm down…

But that is exactly the problem.

She tries to breathe… but cannot do it properly. Her vision blurs slightly, not because of tears threatening to fall, but because of the lack of air.

She drops onto the bed abruptly, one hand pressed against her chest. The world begins to narrow. Her breathing wheezes, shorter and shorter.

— Help… me…

She curls into herself.

Her arms instinctively wrap around her stomach, as if that gesture could somehow give her a little air… a little control.

Her eyes close, not by choice, but from exhaustion, from survival instinct. Her breathing remains uneven, short, irregular. Every breath seems more difficult than the last.

Her chest rises weakly, as if her body is still fighting, but without enough strength.

The world around her becomes blurry, distant. The sounds of the room gradually fade away. Only her breathing remains… and that lack of air that refuses to disappear.

— Inhale… exhale… inhale…

But even her thoughts begin to slow down. Her fingers tremble slightly where they rest against the fabric of the bed. Her body shakes from the lack of air. Her eyelids grow heavy and finally close gently.

But from the hall, a deep voice echoes… a voice that immediately forces her to open her eyes again.

It is her father-in-law's.

On the other side, in the hall… Jon Arrison steps onto the podium, a microphone in hand.He pauses for a moment, takes a breath, and clears his throat softly.

Silence gradually settles throughout the room. The lights slowly dim, leaving only a single spotlight illuminating him alone at the center of attention.

He briefly lowers his eyes, as if gathering his thoughts… then lifts his head.

— Good evening, everyone… I won't make a long speech. I simply want to take a moment to thank you. An evening like this only has meaning because you are here. You could have been somewhere else. You could have refused, stayed at home… but you chose to be here.

He pauses, sweeping his gaze across the room, then continues confidently.

— As you already know, this evening marks an important turning point for our companies.

Today, Arrison Group and Besson Group officially become partners.

Applause immediately erupts throughout the hall.

The journalists are already taking notes at incredible speed.

— This merger represents far more than a simple financial agreement, he continues confidently. It is a new vision. A new power.

But that is not the only reason for this conference.

A murmur spreads throughout the room.

Jon Arrison slightly turns his head toward his son, then back toward the crowd.

— Tonight, I also have the honor of officially introducing the daughter of my best friend and new business partner, Alex Besson.

He pauses.

— And also my son's wife.

The flashes explode almost instantly. He lifts his gaze toward the upper floor, and everyone follows it.

— Esther Arrison.

Everyone looks upward, but no one really sees anything… no one appears clearly.

The whispers grow louder and louder, blending together into a constant buzz. The wait is becoming heavy throughout the room. Guests exchange questioning glances. The journalists, meanwhile, are already filling their notebooks or capturing every expression on Jon Arrison's face, hoping to spot a clue.

But Jon remains there, motionless.

Since the beginning of the evening, he seems to be losing his confidence. His gaze moves from Alex to Tony, then returns to the staircase.

Still nothing.

Concern begins to settle in.

Beside him, Élise wonders what could possibly be happening. Yet she had given Esther very clear instructions.

So why had Esther still not come downstairs?

Asael wonders the same thing. What if something was wrong?

She knew better than anyone that her daughter had never liked attracting attention. Ever since she was young, Esther had always preferred staying in the shadows rather than under the spotlight.

But this...This was different.

Her absence was becoming worrying.

Little by little, nervousness spreads through the entire family.

Even some guests begin to grow restless, wondering what could possibly be delaying the appearance of the mysterious Esther Arrison.

Then suddenly... a voice rises from the middle of the crowd.

— There she is!

Instantly, every conversation stops. Every gaze turns in the same direction.

She is there.Finally. Appearing at the top of the staircase like a vision from a dream.Appearing at the top of the staircase like a vision from a dream.

Her dress perfectly follows her curves with natural elegance, highlighting her figure without ever becoming excessive. Every detail seems to have been designed for her, as if the gown had been created solely to enhance her beauty.

Her dress perfectly followed her curves with natural elegance, highlighting her figure without ever becoming excessive. Every detail seemed to have been designed for her, as if the gown had been created solely to enhance her beauty.

The lights reflected delicately across the fabric, giving her an almost unreal appearance.

But it was not the dress that truly captured everyone's attention.

It was her.

Her face, with its delicate features, seemed almost angelic. Her eyes shone beneath the spotlights while a slight hesitation could be seen in her expression, making her even more endearing.

For several seconds, the entire room remained silent. The journalists stopped writing. The photographers almost lowered their cameras, captivated.

Every gaze was fixed on her.

Just her.