Chapter 9 - THE WOMAN WHO DIED TWICE
Mireille read the note six times.
“No.”
Lucian stood beside her.
“It could be manipulation.”
“My mother died.”
“We have a death certificate.”
“You also had one for your father?”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
Because both of them knew.
Documents could lie.
Edmund was summoned.
When he saw the note, he sat down.
Mireille knew immediately.
“You knew.”
Edmund covered his face.
Margaux whispered, “Dad?”
Mireille’s voice shook.
“You knew.”
Edmund lowered his hands.
“I knew she survived.”
The room exploded.
Margaux screamed.
Mireille did not.
Her anger was too deep for volume.
“You buried an empty coffin.”
“No.”
Edmund looked at her.
“The coffin wasn’t empty.”
Mireille froze.
“Then who?”
“The woman from the photograph.”
Lucian leaned forward.
“The woman with the matching necklace?”
Edmund nodded.
“Her name was Elise Moreau. She was Celeste’s half sister.”
Mireille stared.
“We had an aunt?”
“Yes.”
“Where is my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Mireille—”
“Where is she?”
Edmund broke.
“Witness protection.”
Silence.
Celeste had survived the poisoning Victor arranged months after the fire.
Federal investigators offered protection if she testified about the chemical-smuggling network.
But Victor had people inside law enforcement.
So her death was staged.
Elise agreed to help.
Then Victor found Elise first.
She died.
Celeste disappeared under another identity.
“Why didn’t she take us?” Margaux whispered.
Edmund cried then.
“She tried.”
Mireille had never seen her father cry.
“Victor threatened you both. The government believed moving two children would expose her location. Celeste thought leaving was the only way to keep you alive.”
Mireille stood.
“No.”
She walked outside.
Lucian followed but kept his distance.
She reached the garden.
Then she finally screamed.
Fourteen years of grief came out at once.
Her mother had been alive.
Every birthday.
Every Christmas.
Every night Mireille had wished she could ask whether the scar made her ugly.
Alive.
Lucian said nothing.
He simply remained.
Eventually Mireille turned.
“Say something.”
“What?”
“Anything.”
He approached.
“She should have found a way.”
Mireille stared at him.
He continued.
“She may have believed she was protecting you. She may have had good reasons. But you’re allowed to be angry.”
That broke her.
She collapsed against him.
Lucian held her.
No solutions.
No commands.
Just arms around her while she cried.
Two days later, federal agents located Celeste.
She had been living in Vermont under the name Claire Laurent.
She agreed to meet.
Mireille almost refused.
Then she went.
Celeste waited in a small farmhouse.
She was sixty now.
Gray threaded through dark hair.
But Mireille recognized her eyes immediately.
Her mother looked at the scar first.
Then at Mireille.
“Oh, baby.”
Mireille stopped her with one raised hand.
“No.”
Celeste cried silently.
“You don’t get to call me that yet.”
“You’re right.”
“I hated you.”
“I know.”
“I missed you.”
“I know.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I know.”
Mireille’s voice cracked.
“Stop saying you know.”
Celeste nodded.
“Okay.”
Margaux entered behind her.
Celeste collapsed into tears.
They did not have a magical reunion.
There were too many years for that.
Instead, they talked.
For six hours.
Sometimes angrily.
Sometimes quietly.
Sometimes nobody spoke.
Celeste explained the fire.
Victor had ignited the warehouse after discovering she had copied his ledgers.
Lucian’s father had been helping her.
That was why he was killed later.
The evidence recovered from Building Seven was enough to prosecute the remaining network.
Victor survived his apparent suicide attempt.
He eventually accepted a federal deal that guaranteed he would spend the rest of his life in prison.
The nightmare ended without fireworks.
Just paperwork.
Statements.
Courtrooms.
And time.
Three weeks later, Mireille returned to Lucian’s estate.
Thirty days had passed.
Her suitcase sat by the door.
Lucian looked at it.
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
He nodded once.
His face became unreadable.
Mireille hated that face.
“So that’s it?” she asked.
“You said the choice was yours.”
“It is.”
“I won’t interfere.”
She walked closer.
“You’re an idiot.”
His brow furrowed.
“I’m leaving because I don’t want to live here under an arrangement.”
“I canceled it.”
“I know.”
“I canceled the debt.”
“I know.”
“Then what exactly is the problem?”
Mireille lifted her suitcase.
“I need my own apartment.”
Lucian stared.
She smiled.
“And you need to ask me on an actual date.”
Silence.
“A date.”
“Yes.”
He looked offended by the concept.
“What would we do?”
Mireille laughed.
“Dinner.”
“We eat dinner every night.”
“Not like criminals negotiating a merger.”
“I’m not good at this.”
“I know.”
Lucian looked at her suitcase.
Then at her.
“Tomorrow. Seven.”
“Where?”
“I’ll decide.”
“That sounds controlling.”
“Seven-thirty.”
She smiled.
“Seven.”
“Fine.”
Mireille kissed his cheek.
Then walked toward the door.
“Mireille.”
She turned.
Lucian stood exactly where she had left him.
For once, the ruthless Lucian Solvay looked uncertain.
“Will you come back?”
May you like
Mireille smiled.
“Ask me tomorrow.”
