xxvii.

LAURENTINE BONFAMILLE ARSENAULT stirred the clot of cream layered atop her morning cup of tea, with her eyes fixed ahead and her heart and mind numbed to any sensation or realization.

Her breakfast sat untouched, the round breakfast table—at present for only one—was crowded with gravy boats full of different flavored creams, a big glass jug of fresh milk, a big bowl of chopped strawberries mixed with blueberries and chopped apples and pineapple—all topped with a dash of caramel and maple syrup, a plate of scrambled eggs, a plate of freshly toasted bread, a bowl of plain sweetened yogurt, a big glass jug of fresh cranberry juice, and small glass jars of liquid cheese, margarine, jams and butter. Everything was displayed around and in between beautiful delicate white China etched with intricate blue designs.

The breakfast had been set for her this morning in the balcony of the highest floor in the estate—the floor entirely for the Lord and Lady of the house. The view of the gardens below was immensely beautiful, and the early morning sky above was so serenely pale that the birds sung its praises on the top of their lungs.

Yet, despite everything, Laur could not bring herself to eat anything.

She had watched mindlessly as Manon had poured a mixture of milk and cream into a bowl for Berlioz, and how the kitten had jumped to his breakfast feast set on the balcony ground upon an olive velvet cushion, whilst Manon stroked his fur gently.

Now Berlioz was still busy licking at his cream clotted bowl of milk, but Manon was occupied elsewhere—standing at a side observing Laurentine with grave concern puncturing her usually lively face. Except, the last time Laur had seen Manon as her lively self was when she and Édouard had arrived. When Laur and Édouard had..

But that had been a whole day before yesterday.

Édouard Arsenault hadn't returned home afterwards. He had left, without a single word spoken of his intentions to any of the estate staff. He had left Laur in the bathroom, and his estate, in the middle of the night and had not since returned. And now, a whole day had passed since his departure. A second lonely breakfast—a second terribly empty morning—for Laur.

If Laurentine thought about his actions for a second more—after spending all of yesterday isolating herself and crying out her heart's grievances—she was certain she would die, for there were no more tears left in her and any further exertion would shatter her system completely.

Laur breathed softly, snapping herself back into reality, her cream tea stirred so much that it had turned into an entirely room temperature blend. She pushed her chair back and stood up before a footman could do it for her.

"My lady, please you must eat," Manon uttered hastily, distraught to watch her mistress go without food for what seemed to her to be the umpteenth time since Manon had received her at the estate. Mon Dieu, how many times can a person—a lady of Laurentine's stature—go without sustenance, before it completely weakened her?

"I'm sorry," Laur blinked, looking at Manon as though she had forgotten the maid was there. "I just don't have the appetite for it."

The lady of the house glanced at Gaston then, who was standing to her left and attending to her.

"Please don't let the food go to waste, Gaston."

"My lady," The butler spoke tightly, masking the concern on his face. "Would you like me to have it packaged and distributed to the homeless shelter like you asked all the meals of yesterday to be sent to?"

Laurentine's eyes narrowed slightly at him, her heart feeling heavier in her chest—a burden she wanted less of. She could sense the tightness—the disapproval—etched into the butler's tone and manner. But there was a genuine concern underlying all of his movements, and Laur was grateful that he—unlike Manon—considered it prudent to keep the concern largely to himself.

"Have it packaged," Laurentine spoke softly then. "I shall like to pay a visit to an orphanage here in the city today, how many do you suppose are there? Maybe the children would appreciate the effort of the cook and you, Gaston, more than I did."

A flicker of guilt washed over the butler's face and his demeanor softened. Not because he knew of Laur's connection with orphanages—because he didn't—but simply because every sentence that left his new mistress' mouth seemed to be so completely unselfish, that it almost made him lose his footing, unravelling his preconceived notions about her everyday since her arrival.

"I will let the carriage driver know where to take you, my lady," The man uttered, "It is one of the only two orphanages in Bordeaux, and is in the city center."

"Merci, Gaston," Laurentine managed a slow smile before she pivoted to exit the balcony.

"I shall come with you, my lady," Manon blurted out then, rushing to follow at Laur's side.

"No, Manon," Laurentine spoke, pausing in her steps to pick up Berlioz, who had finished his own breakfast and had followed her descent too.

"Please stay here, I just—I need to breathe a little," Laur tried apologetically. "I need space to think, darling. I shall be just fine with two footmen accompanying me."

"But my lady, please," The girl cried desperately. "You are worrying me. You don't eat, you don't sleep as much. What if something happens—"

"Then I shall be glad to have the footmen with me," Laurentine cut in, her tone firmer yet still cordially assertive. Shooting Manon a final glance, she began walking away again, Berlioz at her chest as she slowly stroked his fur, but the ginger haired girl was insistent.

"My lady, Monsieur Arsenault would not approve—"

"I'm sorry?" Laur halted in her steps, anger and hurt engulfing her chest as she turned to face Manon again.

The maid looked instantly chastened, guilt drenching her entirely.

"Do not tell me what my husband will, or will not approve of, Manon," Laur tried to school her tone, reminding herself that though her heart was suffering, she was still talking to one of the dearest souls in her world.

"You do not have the place to do so or the knowledge."

"My lady," Manon's voice was meek, as she lifted her marble eyes to look at her mistress.

"Monsieur Arsenault will come back."

Laurentine blinked, her composure threatening to break. She had had no discussion with Manon about Édouard, after he left. Her maid and best friend knew nothing about her marital relations, only that Édouard had left in the night without a word. Of course, such things lead to speculation, but Laurentine would've preferred if she could hurt in silence with everyone around her entirely clueless. Even Manon, with whom Laur was used to sharing everything on her mind. But had been back in Paris. Back when Laurentine wouldn't have felt.. ashamed or degraded to share anything on her mind with her maid. But at present, she couldn't imagine what the girl would think if she knew the truth, would she argue and turn her back on Laurentine like Colette Blanc had done?

"Of course he will," She kept her tone firm. "This is his home and I am his wife, of course he will come back."

Manon swallowed thickly, wanting to say more on the subject, but failing to find the strength to.

"The landscape artist for Château Borély, Monsieur Jean-Charles Adolphe, is coming today in an hour, my lady," The maid spoke instead. "He sent in an apology yesterday for a delay of his train?"

"Indeed, I remember," Laurentine nodded once, her heart tightening.

Édouard was supposed to introduce the landscape artist to her, for she hadn't even seen the man before. Her husband was the one who had sought him out merely because she had admired the gardens at Château Borély, he was the one who had arranged this meeting and given her liberty to have the gardens at their estate entirely redone. And he was the one who wasn't here. He was the one who had left her to face this alone. Laur had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle any emotion threatening to rise up.

"Inform Gaston that we shall be going to the orphanage after the Monsieur's visit, then," Laurentine stated absently, "Cannot imagine why I forgot."

──── ౨ৎ ────

"Oh, madame," Monsieur Jean-Charles Adolphe uttered with a charm that reminded Laurentine Arsenault of being back in Paris somehow. Of being in the presence of the kind of men she had often spoken to after shows and met at dinners with her peers.

There was this indistinguishable Parisian charm that Monsieur Adolphe seemed to employ in him with his brown eyes turning into thin slits when he smiled, his sandy colored facial skin dimpling hard at his cheeks, and the tallness of his physique assorted alongside the elegance of his manner. His hair was polished to perfection, tamed down with a thick gel that seemed to reflect light as he turned his head, and the way he crossed his legs on top of the other as he sat in the guest drawing room of the Arsenault Bordeaux estate, was a presentation of his sharp yet charming manner. He seemed to be no older than her husband, and perhaps it was the man's constant affinity to smile, that cordial and dimpled smile, that made Laur instantly like him.

"The estate grounds are divine, I must admit," The man spoke as he brought his cup of tea to his lips and sipped slowly. "But not more so than the mistress who owns them."

Laurentine beamed, feeling light for what seemed like a long time.

"That may be so," She responded with a shy smile, sipping her own cup of tea. "But I do prefer the estate grounds being flattered more so than me at present, Monsieur."

"And flatter them we shall, madame," The man grinned, eyeing the view of the gardens from the tall glass windows in the drawing room. "Once you tell me exactly what I can transform, and what kind of transformation you would like–for I do remember Monsieur Arsenault speaking of your admiration for my work at Borély?—I shall have it done."

"Your work at Borély was simply enchanting," Laur managed. "Though I cannot possibly imagine asking you to put that much work here as well?"

"Oh please, Madame," The man waved a hand in dismissal elegantly, "You underestimate my capability. I can have anything you want done. And besides, Monsieur Arsenualt's absence at present signifies how much he trusts in your taste for this project."

The mistress of the house offered a slow smile, her eyes drifting out to look at the gardens outside through the tall glass windows.

"I have already shown you the gardens, Monsieur," Laur spoke then, meeting the man's eyes. "I think I want to keep the essence of them intact as it is, without making too many changes. Though, I do want the gazebo area transformed as I've suggested to you during our tour."

"And I already have a clear idea of how I'm going to have that done," The man affirmed, "Something regally extravagant. But might I say that keeping the essence of the gardens intact is a brilliant consideration, for these are such beautiful gardens, I doubt any place in Bordeaux has anything that can compare. And trust me, I know much all of the exceptional landscapery in the top French cities."

"And this is a home, Monsieur," Laurentine's voice was thoughtful as she gazed out at the gardens again. "I do not want to take that away."

"Ah, I admire that, madame. I admire that completely."

"Do you know I almost missed your visit today?" Laurentine changed the subject, keeping her voice playful and light. "I was about to head out until Manon reminded me of your visit. I would've been terribly upset to have missed you."

"Then that would've been my fault entirely, Madame," The man pursed his lips and shook his head briefly. "Bordeaux-Saint-Jean station has gotten quite.. immersed in irregularities these days, I'm afraid. It is making liars and cheats of us gentlemen, with us having to delay our appointments on account of late trains. What has possibly become of this city is beyond me, especially when the city itself is such a beauty. I consider it the jewel of France, though I was born and raised in Paris."

"Paris is where I come from too," Laur smiled softly. "Though I do understand the tendency to not entirely be in love with the city you grew up in. I have–had–a friend who felt the same."

Laurentine's voice almost broke as she made the mention of Colette Blanc, and thought of the dark haired girl's distaste for Paris and her affinity to escape elsewhere.

"It isn't love, I think, Madame," Monsieur Adolphe ventured thoughtfully. "I think some people just get attracted to better things and places, even if the one they had was beautiful enough. For me, I'm utterly disloyal. My heart jumps upon a beautiful place faster than anything."

Laur tilted her head slightly to the side, her sparkling blue eyes fixed in the gentleman's. "I understand that, Monsieur. I understand that completely."

"Now, Madame," The man beamed, leaning forwards to put his empty tea cup to the side on the glass table, before he looked over his shoulder and flicked a hand to summon his assistant waiting upon him alongside Laurentine's footmen in the drawing room.

The assistant hurried over with a giant rolled up sheet that Monsieur Adolphe took charge of and spread out on the desk carefully in front of the mistress of the house. Laur saw the geometric diagrams, the labeling and the multitude of boxes and measurements alongside each line on the plentiful of blue grid paper. It was the existing design of the Arsenault estate's present garden landscape situation, courtesy of Gaston finding the sheet in Édouard's office.

"Let us mark all the changes that need to be made," Monsieur Adolphe met Laur's eyes in determination. "And I shall get right to it."

──── ౨ৎ ────

Monsieur Édouard Arsenault—the owner of the infamous Arsenault banks in France, a financier, wealthy investor and businessman—was in Paris. His senses weren't entirely sure how he had managed to arrive in the city on the spur of a moment's decision, let alone having boarded a train. His eardrums seemed to be numb to the noise of the city, and his eyes saw only the mundane—the repetitive and mechanical workings of the day to day bustle of a city—for hadn't he travelled to and from numerous French cities to make that conclusion?

They were all the same each time he stepped off a train. People at the station were always rushing, always sobbing with tissues pressed to their reddened faces, always crying out on account of having forgotten a briefcase or two, always shouting at their friends and family to write when they themselves never will. Then, venturing into the city outside of the station, it was always the same scene—like a painting he kept seeing over and over. Carriages rushing by, the clip clopping of hooves, the constables and security traffic police that managed to do nothing at all, the ladies rushing by under colorful parasols, the men cursing and checking their pocket watches.

Édouard hated it all. He hated every second wasted outside like this when these people could be inside racking their brains and working hard to achieve something and getting ahead in life. He hated—despised—carefree gentlemen like he despised his late father, but then again, at least his father had built a name for his family—a pig as he had been.

Édouard wanted nothing to do with men who didn't have ambition, and fed off of other people's hard work like leeches.

He shut his eyes tight, his hands fisting at his sides as he tried to control his fury. Then slowly opening his eyes, he fixed the collar of his black coat and stepped out into the cold Paris street, making his way past strangers as his eyes bore ahead—determination marring his face.

It had gutted him through, to leave in the middle of the night. His home in Bordeaux—expensive and expansive as it was—didn't matter to him. Fuck, he left it whenever he pleased, and he came back to it whenever he pleased. But all of that had changed now. All of that had changed because he had married and brought Laur into the picture. The picture of his cursed—empty—life.

Leaving her in the middle of the night like he had, had been gutting. But he had to leave. He had to get out of there. What sort of a man was he if he didn't? If he stayed, knowing the fact that someone had hurt his wife and he had blamed her for it—thought the worst of her, what sort of a man would he be if he stayed in her presence after that? He couldn't stay. He couldn't just ignore his fucking shortcomings and the scars on her body, he couldn't pretend that none of that had happened, he simply couldn't let her love him without him having done anything to deserve it.

So he would do everything he could to deserve it. He would do it all and then he would go back to her, and maybe then her love would make him feel everything but the sick and guilty bastard he felt like at present.

That was why he was in Paris, his feet taking him through the cold streets, the ice in the air hitting the exposed skin on his face even with his coat collar pulled up. He had no desire or inclination to fetch a carriage, his fury at himself such so that he believed he deserved no comfort until he had done what he needed to do.

Like an address memorized in every single muscle of his body, he wound his way towards Street 74 rue de la Boétie.

He thought of the street as his feet pounded the ground to get to it, his first consideration for the land to build his Parisian skyscraper on—an Arsenault Banks skyscraper. When he had bought the land, fuck, he had seen the skyscraper on it. But then, he hadn't. He had changed all his plans in a single minute for her. For the woman who was now his wife.

A little complication on the land—a younger sister indulging herself—had led to Édouard giving a plot in the land away, deciding a new location for his skyscraper, and then marrying the woman whose love he couldn't even deserve at present.

Hadn't this land too been the first time where Édouard had ever seen Laur? She had stepped out of her carriage with Berlioz held against her chest, her chin lifted as her gorgeous blue eyes observed the plot her sister was to take. Édouard had stopped in his tracks that day, watching this beautiful woman he was certain was Laurentine Bonfamille, the famous opera performer. She was magnificent—fuck, she still was divine and magnificent. But how had that day simply caused fate to write Laur into his life with such permanence? What the fuck had he done to deserve her?

Street 74 rue de la Boétie appeared round the corner, and Édouard quickened his pace to approach, his eyes fixating themselves on the plot he had given away—the boutique shop, owned by Mademoiselle Colette Blanc, as per the official paper Édouard had later approved.

The person who had hurt his wife—the inhumane orphanage dean—Édouard needed his name and address. Édouard needed to eviscerate him if he had any hope of deserving his wife's love and feeling the satisfaction of his guilt taking its leave. He needed to have his revenge. He needed to pound the man's face in for even a shred of relief the act would give him. But Laur wouldn't say anything more to get Édouard where he wanted to be, to find the man. So perhaps the woman his wife had spent that time in the orphanage with, would know and say more.

He was in need of a private audience with Colette Blanc, and he didn't care what he had to do to get it.

His steps slowed as his brows furrowed. There was no bustle in front of the shop, in fact, the doors were nailed shut by big wooden planks outside. The title board of the boutique had been taken down, and people simply passed the shop by as though it served no purpose.

"Excuse me," Édouard uttered, panting as he called out to an older woman passing the shop by. She had glanced up at the boutique and shaken her head to herself as if in sad recognition.

The old woman looked up as Édouard jogged up to her.

"Do you know what happened to this boutique?"

The woman scrunched up her face as though she somehow blamed Édouard for the question he had asked, but then, taking in his polished suit and coat and the hard determination in his gaze, she faltered slightly, as though she had suddenly realized he was a powerful man and was now afraid to cross him when he had intentionally singled her form out on the street side.

"It went bankrupt, that's what," The woman let out shakily. "One of the owners left and the other was too reckless for her own good."

Édouard blinked, his eyes hardening as something twisted inside him. Did Laur know about this? Did she know the boutique she thought her sister was running alongside Colette Blanc lay shut down? Bankrupt? No. Laur couldn't know this, if she had, she wouldn't have hidden it from Édouard, not after the promises he had made to protect Adelaide's welfare. And why the fuck wasn't he informed? Hadn't he assigned men to keep this whole area under watch? Hadn't he assigned a further two men to keep secret guard upon the boutique shop for Adelaide's safety?

Why the fuck wasn't he informed?

"Where can I find Colette Blanc?" Édouard spat then, fury making him shake as his fists tightened at his sides.

He needed to see the Blanc woman first, and then he would personally strangle the men who had failed to do their jobs and keep him informed.

It was Colette Blanc who had put her name on the official paper. It was she who owned the shop according to law after Édouard had signed his approval. Adelaide's name was nowhere on the paper, so which of them had caused the shop to go bankrupt like this? What the fuck had happened? Adelaide was young, but Blanc? What the fuck had that woman done?

"She lives over there," The old woman uttered then, pointing a finger at an apartment building adjacent to Street 74, a dull white painted building that looked unkempt and dotted with several dusty black windows in rows upon rows.

"Apartment number 201, I believe," The woman shook her head. "I just visited a few days ago to get my money back for a dress for my daughter-in-law that they never made. Pity, the dressmaker and the painter girl both seemed so nice and had such promising potential."

Édouard didn't stay to listen to another word, for he was already running to cross the street, the cold wind nipping at his skin as he made his way towards the building, approaching the entrance and pushing himself in, springing onto the staircase and jogging upstairs, making note of the apartment number ranges displayed on each floor as he went.

Fury and anger controlled his every move. If Colette Blanc had caused Adelaide to lose the boutique endeavor—if Blanc had caused this bankruptcy—Édouard would not let her get away with it. Not when he had sworn to protect his sister-in-law's welfare. Not when his wife trusted him to. Fuck, not when he had taken the responsibility to.

Édouard saw the range 200-230 displayed on a plaque on the third floor when he reached it, and he immediately rounded into the dingy corridor, his senses inhaling the stench of the moldy carpet underneath his feet and the damp walls too close together–barely a corridor.

He slammed his fist against the second door at the right, glancing only once at the 201 embossed at the top of the wooden door. He waited for a second, and then continued hammering at the door, fury coiled tight around his every nerve.

It was then that he heard muffled footsteps rushing to the door, and a pause before the door was unlocked with a slow click and opened an inch. He saw Blanc peer outside, the woman's dark eyes curious and estranged as she peeked at him, trying to place who he was. She looked dazed somewhat, with stringy black strands of hair falling over her forehead.

Édouard had seen the woman only once, and that too in a mere glimpse. He had seen her in that cell that night at the police station, when he had asked for Laur's consent to fix everything, and then asked her to marry him. Blanc hadn't mattered a lick then, and Édouard's main concern had been to get Adelaide out of the cell and give her the shop, all so that Laurentine could be at ease–all so that she would be alright. Blanc was just a woman who was coming attached with every decision he had made for Adelaide and Laur, like a fucking buy one get two deal at a grocery store.

"Open the door," He let out, putting his feet into the door regardless and pushing it open forcefully.

Colette Blanc stumbled back, gasping, as he let himself into the crooked, dingy apartment. The place was smaller than a shed, and cramped. The kitchen sink was overflowing with dishes, contributing to the stench in the room that was primarily coming from the carpeting. A singular velvet couch sat in the corner, but it was a strange yellow color darkening at some points, making him sick to even consider seating himself.

"What–how dare you just barge in like this?" Colette Blanc cried as she got her footing, anger making her plain face red at the high points.

Édouard turned around from his inspection of the one room apartment, to face her. His frustration having molded into a hard distaste. The woman was nothing like Laur or Adelaide, so what the fuck did both his wife and sister-in-law see in her?

"Do you know who I am?" Édouard Arsenault's tone was grave, his eyes hardened and fixed at the woman. "I can fucking barge into any place I want in Paris–France, for that matter, so what the fuck is your disgusting apartment?"

Colette Blanc bit her lip, faltering as her gaze flickered and her anger vanished into anxiety. She raised her eyes to him again.

"You are Édouard Arsenault," She uttered then, her voice meek. "The business tycoon, bank CEO, the merciless real estate investor, and Laur's husband. But none of those things legally allow you to barge into my–"

"Do not fucking tell me the law when you yourself are dumb and blind to it," Édouard spat. "What the fuck have you done to the boutique?"

Colette swallowed thickly, avoided his gaze before looking at him briefly again with a newfound defiance. "Why? Have you decided you want the place back after all? Did your courtesy to Laur wear out?"

Édouard's hands fisted at his sides, and he forced himself to keep his anger on a leash and maintain distance from her.

"What have you done to the boutique?" He reiterated, pausing after every word, his tone menacing.

Colette raised her hand to touch the back of her neck, spinning away from him as if in defeat.

"I–I borrowed a loan I couldn't repay," She sighed then, "Simple as that."

"Simple?" Édouard's voice raised. "You ruined it for Adelaide, fuck, that was supposed to be for her! What loan did you require? You should have come to me. The shop was for Adelaide!"

"No!" The dark haired woman spun back to face him, her face twisting as she mirrored his anger. "None of it was for Adelaide! You manipulated both Laur and her! You did it all just to get Laur to marry you, you are nothing but a sick bastard. Laur deserves so much better than you. Why are you even here? Have you left her behind in Marseille? Bordeaux? For what? An urge to explore opera houses, restaurants and brothels to see what other woman you can find?"

Édouard turned his head to the side, his jaw so tight it was throbbing. He touched his chin, rolling his shoulder once in an attempt to stop himself from erupting with the hot foaming fury inside of him at this woman's words.

"How long has it been since you squandered the shop?" He asked after a pause, his voice low and dangerous.

"A week," The woman answered, her voice small. "Maybe a few days more. I don't know at this point."

Édouard abruptly turned on his heel, making for the door.

"Wait!" Colette cried out then, making him halt in his steps. "Where are you going?"

He shot her a glare over his shoulder, letting her know that he would most likely lose himself if he didn't step away from her presence and outside of this godforsaken building.

"To Adelaide," He uttered. "I need to speak with her."

"No–," The woman blurted out once he took another step away, making him stop again.

"Adelaide isn't–," Colette stammered, her hands shaking at her sides and her face anxious. "She isn't.. there."

Édouard's brows furrowed as he turned to face her entirely. "She isn't at the Bonfamille mansion? Where is she then?"

"Adelaide left," Blanc managed then, as though the words were rocks lodged deep in her throat. "She just.. left."

"What the fuck are you saying?" Édouard shouted, furious and impatient. "Where is Adelaide?"

"She left!" The Blanc woman cried out. "She ran away with someone to England! She left me all alone to deal with the boutique and I tried to hold on to it–but then I needed a loan, and I just–"

Édouard Arsenault blinked, panic tightening in his veins at what he was hearing.

"When?" He managed, "When did Adelaide leave? With whom?"

"She left a day after your.. wedding," Colette swallowed. "She left me a note. She had found someone involved directing with the suffragette cause in England, here in Paris. They convinced her to leave immediately to join them."

Édouard didn't know how to calculate the immense anger that he was feeling. Anger at himself and at the men he had assigned here to keep a watch on Adelaide and the boutique. He hadn't been informed of anything, and fuck, Adelaide had left a day after the wedding. He had seen the girl at the wedding in Marseille, she was lively, happy and excited. She hadn't confided anything to him, or to Laur for that matter. How could she have she just upped and left without telling her own sister? How could she have just run away, knowing how Laurentine would worry? No. Adelaide was not that sort of girl. She wouldn't needlessly hurt Laur or cause her distress.

Édouard shook his head, his jaw so tight a vein bulged out. "You're fucking lying to me. That can't be all. Adelaide would not just leave like that. Show me the fucking note."

Colette hesitated, before turning to approach the mess on her kitchen counter, pulling out a sqaure folded piece of small paper and bringing it to him, except she held onto it without giving it up.

"I–I told Adelaide everything," Blanc shut her eyes in regret, and Édouard's brows furrowed.

"What are you talking about?"

"About you and Laur," Colette let out impatiently. "I know what had transpired between you two. I know that Laur married you as a favor because you promised to help her protect Adelaide's welfare. I was angry that Laur had reduced herself like that to marry for convenience. I–I just couldn't let it go."

Édouard grabbed the back of his neck with both hands, alarm bells deafening him.

"Adelaide and I had a disagreement about the boutique and I just–I just said too much."

"Damn you," Édouard managed, remembering all of the times Laur had told him how Adelaide hated it when Laur fussed, worried and consistently watched out for her.

The girl was so happy at the wedding day, she had believed her elder sister was marrying for love. Fuck, how broken hearted would she have been to realize that that was not the truth? To realize that her elder sister had made a pact with her life just for Adelaide's sake? And that–and that there was no love?

Édouard wanted to shout out the unfairness of it all. He wanted to scream out there was love now, he wanted to let the entire world know that he loved Laurentine with his whole being and that he would die without her. He wanted to let them all know that he was making amends–that he was trying to be worthy of her love. But it was too late for Adelaide to hear. If the girl had impulsively run away to England with someone she barely knew, and no regard given to her protection, it was too late for her to hear.

Holy fuck, what would Laur do when she found out that her sister was long gone? When all this while she had assumed her to be safe and sound in Paris?

"Why didn't Benoit send word?" Édouard spoke, his voice dazed in his fury. "Why didn't he inform me or Laur?"

Colette brought out the note forwards, and Édouard took hold of it, opening it to see the cursive message inside.

'Keep the boutique, Colette. I believe you do much better when you're the only one in charge. I met someone from the suffragette cause in England, here! Can you imagine that? Hopefully we shall see each other again one day. Thank you for being honest with me.'

Édouard looked back up at Colette, the note crumpling in his fist, his hard eyes fixed in hers.

"I–Iied to their butler that Adelaide was staying with me," Blanc stammered then. "He would've instantly informed Laur if he knew, and Laur would be so worried. I didn't know what else to do except to lie."

Édouard Arsenault exhaled through his nose, his fists boulders of rock at his sides as his hatred for the woman oozed out of him with such force that he staggered on his feet in an attempt to not cross the distance and strangle her entirely.

"Please, Monsieur Arsenault," Colette spoke then, her voice cracking as she teared up. "What shall we do? I've been on my own with this and I'm so helpless."

"I will find Adelaide," He uttered, his baritone thick in his determination. "You will stay the fuck away from this. You've done more than enough."

"But I want to help–"

"Help by keeping your damn mouth shut," Édouard spat. "If you send word about this to Laur, fuck, if you try to contact her at all, I will have you strangled in your sleep. Do you understand me? I will have you killed, if you cause my wife distress."

"But she deserves to know about her sister! You cannot keep things from Laurentine like this!"

"I assure you, I won't keep it longer than you have. But I swear to God," Édouard exhaled then, "I swear to fucking God, I will have you killed if you cross me on this."

Colette took a step back, genuine fear coursing through her. A silence engulfed the apartment room, before Édouard Arsenault spoke again.

"Now, I need you to answer one more thing before I take my leave, Mademoiselle Blanc, and if you lie right now, like it seems you are so habitual of doing, nobody will find you after this hour has passed. I promise you that."