6. The Mask Cracks

The Delcourt mansion was asleep.

Or at least, it looked like it. Behind the drawn curtains and dimmed lights, truths whispered through the walls, waiting to be torn out and exposed.

Jassy had woken before dawn. Not from insomnia, but from habit. This body, this life, this role—she now inhabited them with strategy and precision. Each morning, she reminded herself: she was no longer Jassy, the broken woman. She was Alys Delcourt. Rich. Powerful. Dangerous.

And today, she was ready to open a door to the past.

---

Around nine, she joined Raphaël in the grand salon. He was reading his newspaper, black coffee in hand, the very picture of a perfect fiancé. His routine was exact, calculated. Every detail of him... too flawless.

She sat across from him and spoke calmly:

— "You never went back into my father's office, did you?"

He looked up, eyebrows raised.

— "Why do you ask?"

— "I had a dream. A red folder. Locked in a cabinet. It felt so real."

He carefully set down his cup. A trace of unease flickered in his eyes.

— "That office has been sealed since he died. No one's touched it."

Liar.

She tilted her head slightly, feigning thoughtfulness.

— "Then maybe it's time to open it again."

---

As soon as Raphaël left the house for his so-called meetings with Lina Delcourt, Jassy slipped into the east wing. A key she had found in her desk days earlier fit the heavy oak door of the late patriarch Delcourt's private study.

Dust. Leather. Old secrets.

A locked cabinet sat at the far end.

She studied the keypad.

0621.

Click.

A red folder.

Exactly as she'd dreamed.

She pulled it out carefully.

Inside: foundation papers, medical reports, internal memos. And a name: Clara Delcourt.

A detailed psychiatric evaluation accused Clara of paranoia, emotional instability, delusional claims. The recommended action? Institutionalization—for the sake of the family's image.

At the bottom of the document: Julian Delcourt's signature, listed as the family's legal advisor.

Another paper noted a large donation to a private psychiatric facility, far outside of Paris.

No release date. No death certificate. Nothing.

Clara might not be dead.

She might still be locked away.

---

Jassy photographed every page, then closed the cabinet, wiped her prints, and locked the room again.

No trace.

No noise.

No mercy.

---

Later that day, she met Raphaël again in the garden.

— "Did everything go well with Lina?" she asked lightly.

He smiled.

— "She thinks you've… changed. In a good way."

She nodded, eyes on the roses.

But inside, her mind was a blaze of cold fury.

---

That afternoon, she visited the Delcourt secondary villa where Julian was holding an informal meeting. Under the guise of discussing the gala, she secured a private moment with him on the terrace.

He seemed pleased to see her—too pleased.

— "You seem... yourself again," he said, hugging her briefly.

She stepped back.

— "Things are becoming clearer. Piece by piece."

He smiled.

— "That's good. You'll feel better once everything is back in place."

She leaned forward.

— "Like Clara? Is she back in place too?"

Julian's smile faltered.

— "Now's not the time—"

— "No. It's exactly the time."

She placed her hand on the table, her fingers steady.

— "You signed her institutionalization. Claimed she was a danger to the family name. Thought no one would find out?"

He stood abruptly.

— "You're not thinking clearly—trauma can distort—"

She rose too.

— "I remember everything I need to. And more comes back every day."

Then, leaning in, cold as steel:

— "I'm not the woman you left behind. And if I learn that you used my absence to cover up crimes, I will bury you, Julian."

---

That evening, back at the mansion, she found Elisa in the guest wing.

— "I saw the documents. Clara wasn't sick. They silenced her. Julian signed off on it."

— "God... and you think she's still—?"

— "Alive? Possibly. But I will find out. And I will make them pay."

She opened her encrypted burner phone and played back Malik's voice message, received earlier that day. His tone was neutral, professional.

> "Your Marc Borel seems clean. No criminal record. But I discovered a 20,000-euro transfer made to one Thérèse Borel. Widow. Retired. No clear link to any shared assets, but the transaction's origin is obscure. I'm digging deeper. Contact me on this line if needed."

Jassy smiled.

Malik didn't know who he was really working for. And that was exactly how she wanted it.

---

Two days later, she attended a Delcourt board meeting. All major shareholders were present. She walked into the room straight-backed, dressed in black silk, poised like a queen.

— "I've decided to take back leadership of the annual Delcourt Gala," she announced.

Silence.

Raphaël, Julian, Lina—all exchanged glances.

— "I may have been gone," she continued, "but I'm back. And I intend to honor the Delcourt name."

No one dared oppose her directly.

But their eyes said everything.

---

That night, alone in her private suite, she studied the photos of the red folder again. She read every line. Every date.

Clara.

The erased sister.

The voice they silenced.

And Jassy, in Alys's body, swore once more: this time, no one gets away.

Not Raphaël.

Not Julian.

Not Marc.

Not Thérèse.

Not this time.