Part 1
“Dear parents of Rising Sun Nursery School, we look forward to welcoming you and your child tomorrow morning for the inauguration ceremony. Please arrive on time.”
I froze. Julien and I had been married for five years, but we had no children. Why was he receiving a text from a nursery school?
At first, I told myself it had to be a mistake—a simple wrong number. Then another notification popped up: “Theo’s dad, the children are going to love the new playground you donated to the school!”
A third message quickly followed: “And the team has prepared a little surprise for you and Ms. Camille. You may arrive early.”
Theo. That was the name of my husband’s secretary’s son.
My heart rate slowed, as if my body recognized the reality before my mind could fully process that my life had just fractured. Placing the phone back down in its exact spot, I texted my assistant: “Pick me up tomorrow morning. We’re going to Rising Sun Nursery School.”
Minutes later, Julien Moreau emerged from the bathroom with a towel draped around his waist. He picked up his phone, a subtle smirk touching his lips. When it vibrated again, he refrained from answering in front of me, quickly getting dressed and adjusting his white shirt.
“My love, an emergency came up at the office,” he said in a forced, hurried tone. “Don’t wait up for me tonight.”
I nodded calmly, walking him to the door. The second he left, I opened the GPS tracking application for his car. I had gifted him that limited-edition Rolls-Royce Phantom just a week ago for our fifth anniversary, never imagining he would immediately use it to visit his mistress.
Thirty minutes later, the tracker led me to a private property in Neuilly-sur-Seine, near the Bois de Boulogne. Beyond the black security gates, surveillance cameras, and manicured hedges stood a massive villa, glowing like something from an architecture magazine. Julien’s car pulled down the driveway without hesitation, as if he were arriving at his true home.
The front door opened and Camille Lefèvre, his secretary, stepped out. Dressed in a simple light dress with her hair down, she wore the glowing smile of a woman expecting her lover. She rushed to Julien and wrapped her arms around him.
“Julien… I sent Theo to my mother’s for the night,” she murmured. “Why did you take so long?”
All the air vanished from my lungs. It was true. Behind me, two women walking their dogs passed by. One whispered that they looked like a movie couple, while the other chuckled, mentioning they could hear the pair all the way from the garden the other night. The first woman added that the home was worth over twenty-five million euros, reportedly purchased under his wife’s name. A bitter smile crept onto my face.
Six months ago, I had stumbled upon the deed for this exact villa in Julien’s briefcase. I had been thrilled, convinced he was preparing a grand surprise for me—a milestone to reaffirm our future together. But it wasn’t meant for me. It was for Camille.
“Didn’t you get enough of me at the office earlier?” Julien’s low voice drifted over.
Camille tapped his chest playfully. “I feel like Madame Élise keeps far too close an eye on you.”
Julien scooped her up in his arms. “Madame Élise? You’re the only Madame Moreau here. Besides, she doesn’t even hold a candle to you.”
I closed my eyes. Even expecting betrayal, those words cut deep. When I first met Julien, he had nothing—no fortune, no stature, no connections. My father had warned me that Julien was too hungry, and that men who are overly ambitious often bite the hand that feeds them.
Yet I had loved him. I defended him against my family, putting my name, wealth, and influence behind his ambitions. I convinced my father to invest fifty million euros into his first business venture, opening doors he could never have unlocked on his own. I transformed him into a respected CEO—Mr. Moreau. In return, he gave me a secret mistress, a hidden child, and a villa purchased with my family’s fortune.
I took photographs of everything: the villa, the car, Julien, and Camille. I immediately forwarded the files to my private investigator and my attorney. If I had built Julien Moreau up, I was equally capable of tearing him down.
Then I called his phone. He took his time answering, his voice laced with annoyance. “Élise, I told you I had an emergency at work. Why are you calling?”
“Oh, the office, of course,” I replied smoothly. “I almost forgot. I just wanted to let you know that my father is on his way to see you right now. He said he’s going straight to headquarters.”
A heavy silence followed before his tone shifted to panic. “Your father is coming now?”
“That’s what he told me.”
He hung up instantly. Minutes later, Julien rushed out of the villa with his shirt unevenly buttoned and his hair disheveled. Camille remained by the entrance, glaring in frustration. I chuckled softly; my father wasn’t going to his office, but I had no intention of letting them enjoy their evening.
Once Julien drove away, I walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell. Camille opened it quickly, assuming he had turned around. “Julien! I knew you couldn’t stay away—”
She cut herself off when she saw me. “Mrs. Moreau…” Her face lost all color. “No… you misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood what?” I asked coldly. “That he’s your lover? My husband? The house he bought you? Or your son, whom the school refers to as Theo Moreau?”
She looked terrified for a moment, but then her posture shifted. Straightening her back and raising her chin, the soft secretary vanished, replaced by the mistress eager to step into the wife’s shoes.
“Since you know everything, Madame Moreau, why play the victim?” she scoffed. “Julien doesn’t love you anymore. You only hold onto him because of your money. Do you really believe a title is enough to keep a man?”
I stayed silent as she grew bolder, claiming Julien was exhausted by my family and how I treated him like an investment project.
Then she smirked. “Didn’t you ever wonder why you never got pregnant over these five years?”
My blood ran cold.
Camille stepped closer. “He made sure you took those daily pills, telling you they were for stress, migraines, and sleep. While you swallowed them dutifully, I bore his son.”
I stared at her in silence. No screaming, no trembling. Looking past her at the grand estate paid for by my compliance, I raised my hand and delivered a sharp slap across her face.
She gasped, clutching her cheek. “You hit me?”
“You had the audacity to sleep with a married man,” I said quietly. “You should have the courage to take a slap.”
Unfastening my diamond wedding ring, I tossed it directly into the drainage grate in front of the villa. “Congratulations, Camille. You can have what I no longer want.”
She paled but tried to maintain her composure, claiming Julien was a powerful CEO now, respected across Paris, and that one word from her would make him file for divorce tomorrow.
“Perfect,” I replied coldly. “Tomorrow, we’ll see who he chooses.”
