She's my weakness

Louis Trottier's POV,

Anne-Marie…five years have passed, yet she looked exactly the same, composed, radiant and beautiful.And beside her, my stepbrother, Éric Cerf who kept hovering around her. He didn't look at me once. Not when I entered, not when our father greeted me, not even when our eyes nearly met during the introductions. He kept his attention on her, his hand resting on her back. The gesture made my blood boil. 

I took a slow breath and told myself to stay calm. To be the man they can’t rattle with but that didn't help.The servers came with a tray of wine glasses and I took two glasses, gulping them down in a swift movement , hoping it could make me forget about them but it's no luck. I wanted to take a step towards them, because the silence and their drama was already killing me but before I could do that, a gentle hand caught my arm.

“Louis,” Isla murmured, her voice low but firm.

She looked really stunning tonight , silver gown, hair swept up like a halo and her eyes, though kind, carry warning.

“Don’t,” she said softly. “Not here.”

I blinked at her. “Don’t what?”

She doesn’t smile. “Don’t go to her. Not now.”

I glanced past her shoulder, towards Anne-Marie. She’s speaking to one of the designers, her hand still linked with Éric’s. I felt jealous, I would never deny that. I definitely didn't leave her for another man to parade her as his wife especially if it was the man I hated so much.

Isla stepped closer. “I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered. “But if you walk over there, everyone will see. And you know what that means; press, rumors, shareholders whispering about what happened five years ago.”

Exactly…how can I forget how I ruined Anne-Marie's life.

“She’s my ex-wife, not a media personality, I can speak to her.” I maintained.

“Yes,” Isla replied, her tone sharp now, “but you won’t. Because you’re not that man anymore. You’ve worked too hard to crawl out of that wreckage. Don’t go back just because she showed up on another man’s arm.”

Her gaze softened then. “Even if that man happens to be your brother.”

For a moment, I couldn't breathe as reality struck hard on me.

Cameras flash suddenly as everyone claps for the next model stepping onto the runway. I forced myself to turn back towards the stage. She’s right. Isla’s always been right. Still, my eyes refused to obey. At different intervals, I stole glances at them only to see them whispering some words I could barely make out in each other's ears. This made me so jealous that I held the edge of my chair until my knuckles whiten. The music changed suddenly, it was time for couples to dance.

Before I realized it, I was already moving one step, then another, drawn to her like a man walking toward a flame. But then a hand gripped my wrist.

“Louis.” Isla called out.

I turned to her, and she had that strict face that looked furry . “Don’t do it,” she whispered.

“She’s my ex-wife,” I hissed under my breath. “I just want a dance.”

Her fingers tighten around my arm. “No, you don’t. You want revenge. And if you go to her now, you’ll ruin everything you’ve built.”

Her grip didn't falter, and before I could protest again, she pulled me toward her. “Then dance with me instead,” she said softly but her tone leaves me no room for refusal.

I hesitated, caught between anger and reason. Around us, eyes were turning. Isla stepped closer and I had no option than to follow suit.

“Smile, Louis,” she whispered. “They’re watching.”

Then, before I could react, she tilted her face up and kissed me openly. It wasn't supposed to be strange considering that we had done this a few times before now but now it felt so weird. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by applause.Isla’s lips are soft but not compared to that of Anne-Marie.

 After the music, she pulled away, still smiling. The perfect social smile. “See?” she murmured. “Now they’re applauding you, not pitying you.”

My pulse was racing when the host’s voice boomed across the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen! A moment of celebration , a new era of partnership between two of the greatest names in French luxury!”

He gestured toward us and I definitely knew it was my father's idea. “Louis Trottier and Isla Bull for the upcoming fragrance collaboration!”

The crowd cheered again, and I managed to nod, masking the fear building inside me. We stepped forward, shaking hands with the organizers and other executives before returning to our seats 

Then the host turned to the other side of the stage.

“And, of course, our Couture partnership Éric Cerf and Anne-Marie Duval!”

The applause swells again, louder this time. My chest tightened immediately. They stepped forward, Éric, perfectly composed, his arm curled around her waist as if she’s always belonged with him. Anne-Marie stood beside him, serene, graceful and not bothered by guilt.

The organizer brings them together for a handshake, smiles bright for the cameras. Then, with deliberate ease, Éric turned to her and kissed her on the lips. Like on her lips in front of everyone.

Time stops, For a heartbeat, the music dies. The clapping fades into a ringing silence. I couldn't even feel my hands. I can’t breathe.Then the world snaps back, sharp and bright and unbearable. Before I even know I’ve moved, I’m across the stage. The next thing I feel is my fist connecting with his jaw a swift satisfying crack that sends him staggering back into the lights. Gasps exploded through the hall. 

Éric recovered fast, fury flashing in his eyes, and threw a punch of his own. It hurts but it was nothing compared to how I was feeling. Then it’s chaos , the two of us trading blows, years of resentment erupting in seconds. Security rushed in, the audience screamed, people trying to separate us. I saw Anne-Marie’s pale face, frozen in horror and I felt sad.

Isla’s voice cuts through the noise , “Louis, stop!” but it’s too late.One last hit lands. My breath heaves. My vision spins.

The chandelier light fractures

above me, scattering across the marble like broken glass.