After four days, Claire was beginning to doubt herself.
Then, one Thursday evening, she went into her office to take out the trash. Her computer was still on. In a folder labeled “Our Future,” she discovered photos of Adrien embracing a brunette woman with red lips—elegant, self-assured, dangerous.
Claire took pictures with her phone.
Footsteps approached.
She closed everything up, grabbed her mop, and retreated to a corner. Adrien entered, phone glued to his ear.
“Sarah, calm down,” he murmured. “Elise doesn’t suspect a thing. She even thinks I don’t know who her father is…”
Claire stopped breathing.
Then Adrien added, with a low laugh:
“We chose her for this.”
PART 2
Claire started the recording without moving, the mop clutched in her fingers.
Adrien stood by the window. “Elise is a bit of a romantic.” I bring her coffee, I listen to her talk about Victor Hugo, and she thinks it’s love. After the wedding, I’ll keep her away from her parents. A well-timed argument with her mother, a few tears, and she’ll sign whatever I put in front of her.
Sarah’s voice vibrated faintly on the receiver.
Adrien sneered. “If the prenuptial agreement blocks everything, we’ll invent something else. Psychological pressure. Scandal. Supposed pregnancy. Rich families always pay to avoid the noise.”
Claire felt a cold pain shoot through her chest.
Elise wasn’t a fiancée to him. She was a lock.
Adrien continued: “You and I will leave for Madrid afterward. She’s just a key.”
He hung up, then finally noticed “Martine.”
“You’re still here? In this office, we don’t pay you to listen. We pay you to clean.”
Claire lowered her head.
“Yes, sir.”
He had just made his most serious mistake: believing that a woman
