Preface

Giselle Lemaire

I notice the woman's expression of disgust, which indicates I may go up to my husband's floor, and lowering my gaze, I head toward the elevator. Since I rarely come here, I forget that I’m not welcome in this place either; the treatment from these people is no different from what I get at home.

Once I reach the top floor, I bite my lip, bracing myself for the mocking look Paulette, my husband's assistant, always gives me. But to my surprise, her desk is empty, and I let out a sigh of relief—she’s probably in the bathroom, so for now, I’m free of her.

I approach Oliver’s large and imposing office, and just as I’m about to knock, I realize the door is slightly ajar, which makes it easy to hear the voices from the other side.

“Do you already know the ingredients in the Dubois’ new perfume?” Oliver asks someone.

“Yes, Leroy gave them to me just a while ago,” my husband’s assistant replies smugly, leaving me shocked by her lack of ethics in stealing the competition’s upcoming launch.

“Who would’ve thought that man would sell out his boss for a few euros? The idiot Dubois has no idea he has the enemy in his own house,” Oliver mocks, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

“It’s the law of survival,” Paulette mutters with a pout.

A short silence settles in, and when the light screech of a chair sliding breaks it, I decide to knock on the door—but I stop once more when the woman’s next words steal my breath and, in an instant, shatter my soul into a thousand pieces.

“Oliver, there’s something I need to tell you,” she says with a slight pause before continuing, “I’m pregnant, a few weeks along, and of course it’s yours.”

I brace myself against the wall, covering my mouth with my hand to stop a sob from escaping at such news. I had long suspected my husband was unfaithful—after all, throughout our years of marriage, I’ve been unable to give him a child—but I never imagined my suspicions were true, let alone that he was cheating with his assistant.

“R-really?” he asks with evident joy and a gentle tone he’s never used with me, and I can’t help the tears welling up in my eyes.

“Yes, I hope our baby looks like you,” the woman replies joyfully. “When are you going to tell that idiot wife of yours, and more importantly, when are you going to ask her for a divorce? It’s not fair that our child and I suffer from your absence, while she lives with you like a real family—even though you’ve never loved her and only married her so she could help you with your perfumes.”

“God, I can’t believe I’ll finally be a father,” he says, still in that cheerful tone that wraps around every word, not even trying to deny his lover’s accusations. That makes it clear to me that she’s not lying—he’s used me all these years.

“I wanted to wait a little longer for Giselle to review the Dubois perfume formula and improve it a bit—you know our chemists are useless and always take weeks to modify things—but now that you're pregnant, it’s impossible to delay it.”

“Why don’t you tell her everything at the company anniversary event?”

“Why then?”

“She won’t be able to refuse in front of everyone. Just imagine her humiliation, knowing I’m pregnant and that her barren womb will never give you the child you’ve always wanted. I assure you, she’ll even forgo any alimony you owe her.”

“You’re right, that day is perfect to announce that Oliver Lefebvre is going to be a father—and most importantly, to officially launch our new product,” he boasts proudly about the low blow they’re planning against me and his main competitor.

Unable to take it anymore, I walk away when I hear the whisper of clothes falling to the floor, indicating my husband and his lover are enjoying themselves, oblivious to anyone else’s suffering. Once I reach the elevator, I press myself against one of the walls and begin to cry until the doors open on the ground floor, and I run out of that place.

I’m sure Oliver won’t find out I was at the company—his employees never pass along the messages I leave, so as always, my visit will go unnoticed.

I reach a park near the company and collapse on a bench, still crying. How could I be so stupid to stay with a man like Oliver, who has never shown me the slightest respect, not in front of his employees, nor at home, where his parents treat me like garbage?

Once I calm down a bit, I decide I need to find a lawyer. But since I don’t have a single euro to pay one, it’s likely no one will take my case. And with no friends to turn to, I have no one to lean on.

Hours pass slowly, and as the sky begins to darken, I rise from the bench and head home—that place where no one misses me. Or maybe the only one who notices my absence is my mother-in-law, but only to humiliate me, as she has for years.

When the sky is fully covered in stars, I arrive at the Lefebvre mansion, pay the cab, and eye the brand-new SUV parked at the main entrance with some suspicion. I climb the marble steps and begin to hear the shouting echoing throughout the house.

“You’re the one who should be worried—I know you stole the new perfume formula we were about to launch, and I swear this time I won’t let it slide!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dubois. It’s just a coincidence that we came up with something similar,” Oliver mocks. “Or maybe, once again, you’re just trying to steal my ideas and create cheap copies of my products.

“Remember, sometimes we win, sometimes we lose—it’s how business works, especially for those of us who know how to play our cards.”

I remain still, weighing his words. Earlier, he said he would unveil it at the company anniversary, but knowing him, he probably leaked the news that his company would release a new product soon. There’s no other way Dubois would know Oliver has his formula.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this to me. I’m sure in the past, you just modified my formulas and presented them as your own,” the man growls, and I close my eyes. He’s probably right—even if I’m not certain, it’s likely Oliver has been stealing his formulas for a long time. That’s probably why everyone says Dubois copies us—when the opposite is true.

“It’s not my fault you’re an idiot when it comes to business. I promise I’ll completely destroy you soon,” Oliver spits, and almost instantly, punches and curses follow.

“Leave my son alone!!” I hear my mother-in-law scream.

“You bastard!” Oliver croaks. “This won’t end here. I’ll sue you for trespassing. What are you all waiting for? Get him out of here!”

Oliver and the other man exchange a few more words, but since my in-laws are shouting about calling the police, I can’t hear what they’re saying. I keep hiding between a plant pot and the wall to avoid being seen.

After a few seconds, I see two men leave while several guards move through the house to check on my husband. I bite my lip, torn between entering the house or following this Dubois guy—and with no other option, I run after him and climb into his SUV before he can close the door.

“Who the hell are you?” the man demands, giving me a cold look that contrasts with the blue fire in his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here and I’ll explain everything,” I stammer, my voice trembling slightly.

“Get out of my SUV!”

“Drive, I promise you won’t regret it,” I insist, looking out the window, hoping no one saw me get in. “Please,” I beg.

The man huffs and gives his driver a slight nod, signaling him to drive away.

After a few minutes, the SUV stops in a rather dark place.

“Who are you and why did you get in my SUV like that?”

“I-I’m Giselle Lefebvre, Oliver’s wife…”

Without giving me a chance to explain, the man grabs my arm harshly and tries to open the door to push me out.

“Get out of here—I don’t want to talk to someone as despicable as that bastard’s wife.”

“P-please wait. I know who sold the formula for the new product to my husband. I’ll tell you in exchange for something,” I stammer, trying to pull free.

“You’d better stop this stupid game and tell me right now who the damn traitor is. I hate being blackmailed—especially by someone as disgusting as the Lefebvres,” he snaps, gripping my chin tightly, applying so much pressure that my eyes fill with tears again.

“Are you crazy, Nathan? Let her go! You’re hurting her,” his driver intervenes, grabbing his boss’s hand and forcing him to release me.

“I have a deal to propose,” I murmur, rubbing my chin, ignoring the disgust in Nathan’s eyes. “Looking at me like that won’t make me feel worse. Trust me, I’m used to this kind of humiliation.”

“What kind of deal?” he asks without wasting time.

“If you help me pretend to be my lover and get divorced from Oliver, I’ll tell you who the traitor in your company is—and I could even give you some new perfume formulas…”