Ch4 - Not for her

 

Raphael assumed Grace had fallen asleep.

Only then did he pick up his tablet, resuming the few hours of work he had put on hold.

The temperature inside the car was perfectly adjusted—a cocoon of comforting warmth, carrying the faint scent of clean leather and something crisp, unmistakably refined.

His fingers tapped soundlessly against the screen, the muffled clicks absorbed into the plush wool blanket.

Then, suddenly—

A sharp notification tone pierced the quiet.

Not his.

His devices had been switched to silent the moment he entered the car.

Beside him, Grace stirred.

The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she frowned in sleepy annoyance, her lips—a perfect shade of crimson—pursing slightly before she reluctantly cracked her eyes open.

She reached for the phone resting on her lap, barely suppressing her irritation.

Who the hell was messaging her now?

The screen’s brightness was blinding, making her squint. She quickly lowered it before blinking at the sender’s name.

Clara Rouss.

Her best friend. Her business partner.

And, as always—annoyingly fast at picking up news.

"Your husband’s back?"

"Did you know beforehand?"

Grace let out a breath.

She should have expected this.

They had barely left the auction, and Raphael’s return had already begun to spread.

But none of that interested her right now.

She typed a quick response: "No."

Then, without waiting, she sent another: "Did you find it?"

Clara, no doubt bursting with a hundred more questions, restrained her curiosity for the moment and got straight to the point.

"That garnet brooch you mentioned—I traced it."

"We sold it last December to a German businessman in luxury cosmetics. No idea how it ended up with Dana."

Grace's fingers tapped idly against the edge of her phone as she processed the information.

Dana’s husband came from an old-money German family—it wasn’t a stretch to assume he had some business ties with the buyer.

So he must have acquired it from him.

Pity for the businessman—having to part with such a rare piece.

Clara noticed her lingering silence and sent another text.

"What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re mad?"

A quiet laugh escaped Grace’s lips. Her fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Mad? I couldn’t be happier. I got paid, AND I got free publicity."

Élan G.

The brand she and Clara had built from scratch.

Known for its bold, vibrant, and intricate jewelry designs, Élan G had built a reputation shrouded in mystery—no advertising, no interviews, nothing but the sheer brilliance of its craftsmanship.

But this secrecy wasn’t by choice.

It was because of Grace herself.

For personal reasons, she had no choice but to keep her identity as Élan G’s designer a secret—for now.

She was fortunate—a year ago, a ruby butterfly brooch she designed caught the eye of a philanthropist and went on to set the record for the highest price of a single jewelry piece that year.

That moment catapulted Élan G into the spotlight.

Even with its limited annual production, the brand’s prestige had skyrocketed.

At this rate—she wouldn’t even need another year.

Soon, the company would be fully independent.

Untouchable.

Even by her father.

Grace was so absorbed in her conversation with Clara—so caught up in venting her lingering frustration toward Dana through text—that she failed to notice how loud her typing had become.

In the silence of the car, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her nails against the screen stood out sharply.

Raphael glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

Then, without a word, he turned off his tablet and set it aside.

Reaching for a fresh bottle of water, he twisted the cap open.

Only then did Grace fully register that she wasn’t alone in the car.

Turning her head, her gaze landed on him just as his Adam’s apple moved with a slow, effortless swallow.

Her breath caught for a split second.

By the time Raphael set the bottle down, she had already snapped herself out of it.

But for that fleeting moment—just like two years ago—she found herself distracted by the sheer symmetry of his face.

Her husband, for all his rigid seriousness, was undeniably, devastatingly handsome.

Sharp jawline. High, aristocratic nose. Deep-set eyes, cold and unreadable in their glacial blue.

Perhaps it was his time in London, years spent moving through the city’s financial circles, that gave him that timeless, restrained elegance.

Like a damned relic of Westminster—a living embodiment of Big Ben.

Traditional, imposing, Yet rigid, unmoving.

Grace straightened slightly.

Not for me.

She shoved the thought aside, certain her typing must have been disturbing him.

She was just about to offer a polite apology when—

Raphael spoke first.

"I should have told you I was coming back."

His voice was low, even.

"My apologies."

Raphael had considered it carefully—if she was upset, there was likely only one reason.

He had never been in the habit of reporting his whereabouts to anyone.

But perhaps… as her husband, he was supposed to.

Grace blinked, momentarily stunned. Her normally unshakeable, composed husband was actually apologizing?

She hadn’t been angry, not really. She had long understood her place in this marriage.

But still…

After a moment of silence, she asked directly,

"How long are you staying this time?"

Her tone was flat, neither accusatory nor particularly interested.

Just neutral.

Unbothered.

"I’ve been transferred back to headquarters."

A pause.

"I’ll be staying indefinitely."

His deep, smooth voice was pleasant to the ear, yet Grace’s mind was already spinning with thoughts.

He’s staying here—for good?

Why now?

She had just been calculating—one more year.

One more year, and Élan G would be fully independent, free from her father’s influence.

If Raphael had stayed away just a little longer, their lack of emotional connection would have made divorce a mere formality.

Her excuse was ready.

A clean, airtight reason—a marriage that had spent more time apart than together.

No one would blame her.

But now?

With him back in Paris?

That meant an entire year of playing pretend.

A full year of attending events together, making public appearances, navigating social obligations and their family.

The thought alone was exhausting.

Her hand rose to her temple, half-burying her face in her palm.

Raphael hadn't expected that reaction.

She didn’t look pleased.

If anything, she looked frustrated.

The car continued its smooth journey through the Seventh Arrondissement, streetlights flickering through the windows.

Raphael casually unlocked his phone, tapping through a few messages.

Meanwhile, Grace was still lost in thought.

Yes, she had just listed all the inconveniences.

But truthfully?

These past two years, being ‘Mrs. Sterling’ had been… comfortable.

For a man from a family as old and powerful as his, Raphael had never imposed any restrictions on her.

Not once.

Unlike Dana.

Her husband’s family had some aristocratic roots, and they lived by those outdated rules as if they were still living in another century.

Dana’s wardrobe had to be approved by the family’s personal stylist.

Even her social media posts had to be screened.

For someone as vain and attention-seeking as Dana, it was torture.

Tonight had been one of the rare occasions where she finally got the chance to show off.

Children born into elite families like theirs were accustomed to some level of restriction growing up, but being controlled by a husband’s family was an entirely different matter.

And, of course, there was the most important expectation of all.

A child.

Within three years.

That deadline was approaching fast.

Despite their constant petty rivalry, Grace couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for her.

Especially when her husband wasn’t even the sole heir. There were two other brothers, plus an extended web of cousins vying for power.

But then again, that was just how most powerful families worked—messy, complex, suffocating.

Compared to her, Grace almost felt…

Lucky.

No tangled web of stepmothers. No half-siblings competing for inheritance.

At a young age, Raphael had already secured his position as the head of the family business.

He was good, she admitted.

But their personalities?

Worlds apart.

Grace couldn’t imagine a lifetime of this.