LOGINI nod. She clenches her teeth. I see the anger rising in her. "He said it came little by little. Like an obviousness they didn't want to see." "Fuck, what an asshole." "He's not an asshole. He's lost." "Stop defending him." "I'm not defending him. I'm saying what he told me. He was sincere. He was almost crying." "What does it change that he's crying? What does it change that he's sincere? He hurt you. He's hurting you. Period." "I know." "And now, where is he?" "I kicked him out. I told him to go back to the hospital. To go back to her." "You shouldn't have." "Why?" "Because you just sent him straight into her arms. Because you told him 'go where you want to be'." "That's where he wants to be." "You don't know that. Maybe he wanted to stay. Maybe he wanted to fight for you." "He should have fought before kissing her." Aurélie She sighs. She runs her hand through her hair. She's thinking. I know her. She's preparing something. "Okay," she says. "We're going to do th
He hesitates. Then he takes his bag. He heads for the door. He stops, his hand on the handle. "I love you, Aurélie. Really. Whatever happens, I love you." I don't answer. I can't. He opens the door. He leaves. The door closes. I stay there, alone in this too-large living room, looking at that closed door behind which my husband was a minute ago. Behind which my life was an hour ago. My legs give way. I fall to my knees on the tile floor. And there, finally, I cry. All the tears I held back. All the fear, all the anger, all the sorrow. I cry for me, for him, for her, for all of us. I cry for these babies who will be born in this chaos. I cry for everything that's collapsing. The phone rings. I look at the screen. It's Béatrice. I don't answer. I can't. It rings again. Again. Again. Finally, it stops. A message arrives. "Aurélie? Can you call me when you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you. It's important. I love you." I read the message. I read it again. I read it once
Aurélie I feel the tears rising. I hold them back. Not now. Not in front of him. "Different how?" "She's carrying my children. Literally. I feel them move when I put my hand on her belly. I hear them beat on the monitors. And she, she's... I don't know, she's strong, she's fragile, she's scared but she holds on. And last night, when we were there just the two of us, when we were talking, when we were touching, just hands, just face..." "You touched each other?" "Nothing bad. Nothing... just gestures. Comforting gestures." I close my eyes. Comforting gestures. Of course. That's always how it starts. "Did you kiss her?" Silence. Too long. Too heavy. "Answer me. Did you kiss her?" "Yes." The word falls like a blade. "How many times?" "I don't know. Several. All night." "All night?" I stand up. I don't want to sit. I don't want to stay still. I want to move, scream, hit, anything. "How could you?" I shout. "How could you do that? She's my sister! My siste
Can we talk. Those three words terrify me more than anything he could have written. I get up. I take a shower. I get dressed. I pretend everything is normal. I prepare lunch. I tidy the kitchen. I wait. The doorbell rings. Not his keys in the lock. He rang. Why did he ring? I open the door. He's there. Tired. Dark circles under his eyes. But something else. Something in his look that I don't recognize. "Hi," he says. "Hi." He comes in. He puts down his bag. He looks at me. For a long time. Too long. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Yes. And you?" "Tired." He approaches. He wants to kiss me. I step back. Just a little. Just enough for him to understand. He stops. He looks at me again. With that new look that I don't like. "Aurélie," he says. "We need to talk." "Talk about what?" "About us. About her. About all of this." My heart stops. For a moment. Then it starts again, too fast, too hard. "What, us? What, her?" He runs his hand through his hair. That gesture he makes when
It rings for a long time. A very long time. I'm about to hang up when he answers. "Hello?" His voice is different. More awake. More... I don't know. Lighter? "It's me again. Sorry. Did I wake you?" "No, no. I've been awake for a while. The doctor came by. Good news. The babies are fine, the contractions are under control. They're going to keep her another day or two, as a precaution, but everything's fine." "Good." "Did you manage to sleep a little?" "A little." I'm lying. He knows it. He knows me too well. "I'll be home soon," he says. "I just wanted to be sure everything was okay before leaving." "Okay." "Aurélie... can I ask you something?" "What?" "Do you want me to come pick you up so we can go see her together? You didn't come yesterday. Maybe it would do you good to see her, to reassure yourself." See Béatrice. In her hospital bed. With him beside her. See them together. The idea turns my stomach. "I don't know," I say. "Maybe. Later." "Whatever you want. But I
Aurélie It's two in the morning. I am alone in our bed. In my bed. In this too-large bed where I lose myself. I tried to sleep. Really tried. I counted sheep, contractions, hours. Nothing works. My belly is heavy, the baby is moving, but that's not what keeps me awake. It's her. It's him. It's them. I don't know what's happening at the hospital. I don't know if she's okay, if the babies are okay. Lorenzo sent me a text around ten o'clock. "Everything's fine. She's sleeping. I'm staying. Kisses." Three sentences. Three little sentences that should reassure me. That should be enough. They're not enough. I push back the duvet. I get up. My bare feet on the cold kitchen tile. I make myself an herbal tea. Verbena. For calm. For the nerves. For this thing that's been squeezing my chest for hours. The phone is on the counter. I look at it. I stare at it. As if it were going to ring on its own, as if it were going to give me news without me having to make the first move.
Title: I Want You, My BodyguardSubtitle: He will be mine. His professionalism is a challenge, his indifference, an insult. I am Diane, and everything belongs to me—except him. I see the desire he thinks he's hiding.Blurb:Every averted glance, every polite "no," is just one more step toward his d
ÉvaThe sound of the waves is a constant breath, a saline exhale that washes the air clean of all urban memory. The white villa stands on the cliff, facing the blue immensity, a lighthouse in our private world. There are no walls here, only floor-to-ceiling windows that abolish the boundary between
ÉvaThe reception was a success, a whirlwind of lights, muffled laughter, and calculated glances. But for the three of us, it was a performance. A choreography executed to perfection, yet behind the smiles and handshakes, it had drained us. The energy expended to maintain the façade of normalcy was
One year.Time has flowed over our wounds like slow water, polishing the sharp edges, fading the most visible scars. The penthouse is no longer a prison, nor a sanctuary. It is a home. Our home. The air is different there, lighter, even if it still carries the weight of our history.EvaI am no lon







