A Party in the Making
Lucien sat in his grand study, the soft glow of the chandelier illuminating the room. His business partners from Canada and America had informed him of their imminent return to France after months of managing operations abroad. Their message had been clear—they wanted to celebrate their successful ventures.
Initially, Lucien had suggested hosting the party at a luxurious hotel. It was efficient, professional, and would keep things out of his personal space. But his partners had a different idea.
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The House Is the Venue
"Your house is practically a palace, Lucien," one of them had said on the call earlier that day. "Why waste money on a hotel when we could enjoy the charm of your estate? Besides, it keeps things private. No paparazzi, no unnecessary attention."
Lucien had leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his dark hair as he considered their request. Privacy was indeed a concern, especially with the media always eager to catch a glimpse of his personal life. Hosting the party at his mansion did make sense.
"Fine," he had finally agreed. "A week from now, I'll have everything arranged."
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Preparations Begin
Lucien called for Mrs. Madeline, who appeared promptly, her notepad ready.
"We'll be hosting a small party here next week," Lucien informed her. "Make sure the staff is prepared, and everything is in top condition. I want the dining area, the gardens, and the library ready for guests."
Mrs. Madeline nodded. "Of course, Mr. Marchand. Shall I arrange for catering as well?"
"Yes," Lucien said. "Only the best. And ensure the wine cellar is stocked with our finest vintages."
"Understood," she replied, making quick notes before leaving the room to begin preparations.
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Sophie Overhears
Meanwhile, Sophie had been wandering the mansion aimlessly, trying to avoid Lucien after their last encounter. Passing by the study, she overheard fragments of the conversation and paused near the door.
A party? Here? she thought, her heart sinking. The idea of more people in the house, strangers who might ask questions or make judgments, filled her with unease.
She quickly retreated to her room, pacing as she tried to process what she'd heard. "A week from now," she muttered to herself. "That gives me some time to figure out how to handle this."
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Lucien's Thoughts
Back in the study, Lucien leaned back in his chair, a rare moment of reflection crossing his features. He thought about the party, the business discussions, and—unexpectedly—Sophie.
She was an enigma, so different yet so similar to Amelie. Her defiance, her innocence, and her moments of quiet vulnerability intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. This party was about business, not distractions. Whatever Sophie was to him—an asset, a curiosity—she wasn't going to interfere with his plans.
"One week," he murmured. "Everything must be perfect."
Celine Dusfresne stood at the base of the grand staircase in her family's opulent mansion, her crop top and shorts nikka accentuating her youthful beauty. Her long legs shimmered under the chandelier light, and her high stiletto heels clicked sharply against the marble stairs as she descended, her movements deliberate and determined.
Her face was flushed, a mix of frustration and sadness evident in her watery eyes. She clutched her designer handbag tightly as if it gave her the resolve she needed.
"Celine, where are you going?" her mother, Mrs. Juliette Dusfresne, called from the sitting room, her voice laced with concern. She rose quickly, her elegant gown trailing behind her as she approached her daughter.
Celine paused on the stairs, her eyes brimming with tears. "Mom, I'm not feeling well," she said, her voice trembling. "I've informed Lucien about this, but he still hasn't come to see me. So, I'm planning to visit him myself."
Mrs. Juliette frowned, stepping closer to her daughter. "Celine, my dear, you need to rest. You're unwell. I promise you, he'll visit you soon."
Celine hissed in frustration, her voice rising slightly. "Mom, I don't even feel like we're engaged anymore. He doesn't call, he doesn't text—it's like I'm invisible to him." Her voice cracked as tears spilled down her cheeks. "It seems he's still stuck in the past with Amelie, and it's killing me."
Juliette's heart ached for her daughter. She placed a gentle hand on Celine's cheek, wiping away her tears with her thumb. "My darling, I'll talk to him. Don't worry. But right now, you need to rest. Stressing yourself like this won't help."
Celine hesitated, her anger and hurt battling with her mother's soothing tone. After a moment, she nodded reluctantly, allowing Juliette to guide her back up the stairs to her room.
As the door closed behind her, Celine flopped onto her plush bed, burying her face in the pillows. Her chest heaved with suppressed sobs as she muttered under her breath, "Why can't he just see me for once? Why does he have to keep clinging to a memory?"
Juliette stood outside the room, her own expression troubled. She smoothed her hands over her dress, sighing deeply. Lucien Marchand, you may have been through pain, but my daughter deserves more than this neglect. With that thought, she resolved to speak to Lucien herself