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CHAPTER 75: The Guardian
publish date:
2026-03-28 23:40:00Martha
The tea grows cold in my hands, forgotten. I'm at the kitchen window, behind the lace curtain. A silent sentinel. I saw everything.
I saw Marcus leave the house, his face a frozen storm. I saw Élianor collapse against her own door, a moment of total weakness before she straightened, reassembled her mask of icy determination. I saw the children at the upstairs window, two small shadows pressed against the glass, watching the stranger who looks so much
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LIORAI look at her. I look at all of us. Slightly threadbare suits. Jewelry that’s seen better days. A pride in tatters, still held together with pins. She’s right. We are no longer anyone’s peers.“Then we’ll play the role,” I say coldly. “Until the role becomes reality. We’ll organize a reception. To welcome him to the region. Here at the club. We’ll do it properly.”They stare at me, first incredulous, then a spark of cunning hope lights up in their eyes. A reception. A perfect pretext. A gilded trap.“We split the costs?” Antoine asks, the eternal accountant.“We split the costs, we split the contacts, we split the information,” I confirm. “But. The information only. When he’s here, among us, it’s every man for himself.”My declaration freezes them for a moment. The solidarity of distress shatters at the first glimmer
The Revenge of One Humiliated Chapter 76: The Bait 1
LIORAThe club still smells of old wood, wax, and disillusionment. But tonight, a new perfume hangs in the air, almost palpable: that of pure greed. Élianor Hammond’s cream envelope, with its contemptuous purchase offer, is still on the table, like a scar. But we are no longer looking at it. Our eyes are turned toward another target, fresh prey that has just, without knowing it, thrown itself into the pen.“His name is Marcus,” Raphaël announces, his eyes gleaming with nervous excitement. “He arrived three days ago. He bought the Domaine des Saules.”A low whistle cuts through the room. The Domaine des Saules. Two hundred hectares of woodland, meadows, and abandoned vineyards, with the old neo-Gothic manor overlooking the valley. A financial black hole for a generation. No one around here has that kind of cash to throw away.“What’s his story?” Chloé asks, leaning forward, her fingers graz
The Revenge of One Humiliated CHAPTER 75: The Guardian
MarthaThe tea grows cold in my hands, forgotten. I'm at the kitchen window, behind the lace curtain. A silent sentinel. I saw everything.I saw Marcus leave the house, his face a frozen storm. I saw Élianor collapse against her own door, a moment of total weakness before she straightened, reassembled her mask of icy determination. I saw the children at the upstairs window, two small shadows pressed against the glass, watching the stranger who looks so much like their brother.My heart, this old heart that loves Élianor above all, clenches painfully.I know. With a certainty beyond reason. A certainty of instinct, of a woman who has seen lives born and raised. Marcus is the father of these children. The resemblance to Léon is no coincidence. It's a fact, written in the flesh, in the way they carry themselves, in that intensity of gaze.And Élianor… my poor, brave, terrified Élianor. She thinks
The Revenge of One Humiliated CHAPTER 74: The Anchor
MarcusThe cottage is a silence too vast. A silence that leaves too much room for the echoes of our confrontation, for memories distorted by time and desire, for the obsessive vision of her face—closed, denying, impregnable.I pace. The room is too small. The world is too small, now that I know. Now that I've seen them.Léon. Lilou.The names are incantations on my lips. A prayer and a curse. A discovery so monumental it crushes everything else: the search that brought me here. All of that seems trivial now, distant, the affair of a man I no longer was, and will never be again. Because what I'm discovering goes beyond anything I imagined… I found the woman from that night and with her, two children.I stop at the window facing the house. She's there, behind one of those panes. Rebuilding her armor, patching the breaches I thought I'd opened. She's repeating the lie to them, cementing it in their little minds. The t
The Revenge of One Humiliated CHAPTER 73: The Fortress
ÉlianorThe house door closes behind me with a dull thud that resonates through my entire being. I lean against it, palms flat on the cold wood, as if to anchor myself to the reality it represents. My reality. The only one that matters.But behind my closed eyelids, it's his face I see. Marcus. Distorted by a shattering certainty. And his words. His words that cut through six years of silence and barricades like knives.The Mercure hotel. The scar.An uncontrollable shiver runs down my spine. I press my hands harder against the wood until my knuckles whiten. No. It's impossible. He can't know. He can't remember."Mommy?"The small voice, full of unsatisfied curiosity, pierces me. I open my eyes. They're both there, at the foot of the stairs. Léon, with his stubborn air, his green eyes that are today a living accusation. Lilou, slightly behind, clutching her teddy bear to her, her refuge.ÉLIANOR
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MarcusTheir little footsteps still echo in my head, synchronized with the disordered beating of my heart. Léon. Lilou. The names spin, imprint themselves. Soft, light names that contrast violently with the weight of their existence.I haven't moved. The sun rises, warming the terrace stones, but a coldness persists inside me, deep down. It's no longer the shame of the dream. It's a far greater vertigo. The vertigo of the obvious.Their resemblance is no vague coincidence. It's a copy. A replica. The inheritance is there, flagrant, in every detail of Léon's face. And Lilou… her eyes, that way of tilting her head. Élianor is there, in watermark.Our daddy is in heaven.The child's words return, cutting. A pious lie. A tomb built from scratch. For them. For me. For her.The main house door opens again, but this time it's not a small figure that emerges.It's her.Élianor.Sh
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ÉlianorThe silence between us has become a third presence, heavy and elastic. It stretches, tightens, charged with everything left unsaid. With my lie of omission. With hers, larger, more fundamental.She is still sitting near the bed, my hand in hers, but her touch is no longer simple warmth. It
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ÉlianorWhite.An immaculate, gentle white that wraps around everything. It is the first thing I perceive. An absence of color, of weight, of cold. A diffuse, soothing light.Is this what heaven feels like?I have never truly believed in heaven. Hell, yes I know it well. I have walked through it. B
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SabrinaHer fingers are still tracing lazy circles on my back. Sweat is beginning to dry on our skin, creating a thin, salty film that sticks us together. The silence is heavy, satisfied. Then his voice breaks the spell, low and curious."And Liora? How is she?"I smile, burying my face against his
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ÉlianorThe words flow now, a dark and liberating torrent. I tell her about school. The hallways turned into gauntlets, the laughter that stung harder than slaps, the nicknames carved into my locker. I tell her about the entire town, a gossiping chorus where everyone, from the baker to the libraria
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