The following morning, I stepped into my assistant’s vehicle. She checked my reflection in the mirror. “Madame de Beaumont, are you certain?”
Adjusting my sunglasses, I replied, “Completely. Take us to Rising Sun Nursery School.”
Upon arrival in Neuilly, the school’s perimeter was lined with high-end vehicles, personal drivers, and wealthy parents holding their children’s hands. Rising Sun was an exclusive institution catering to the elite.
Shortly after, Julien’s Rolls-Royce pulled up. He stepped out dressed in a sharp navy suit, sporting a luxury watch and a poised expression. Camille followed, holding hands with Theo, who wore a tailored blazer that made him look like a miniature version of Julien. The sight stung, but I remained composed.
The school director rushed to greet them. “Mr. Moreau! Mrs. Moreau! What a privilege. We have reserved your seats in the front row.”
Mrs. Moreau. The title ignited a cold resolve inside me.
Surrounding parents offered praise to Julien for funding the school’s new playground. Placing a hand on Theo’s shoulder, Julien announced, “Everything I build is for my family.” Camille looked down with manufactured modesty. Julien added, “Without my wife’s unwavering support, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”
I almost laughed. His wife? Camille? Had she built his career? Had she secured the initial capital from my father or spent endless nights saving his business deals? No. Camille had simply enjoyed the luxury that I had funded.
As they turned to walk inside, I stepped out of my car, removing my sunglasses as I began to clap slowly.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Every head turned. Julien froze. Camille turned ghost-white.
I walked toward them, maintaining a steady posture. “What a heartwarming display. A man supported entirely by his wife’s fortune, managing to maintain a mistress, a hidden child, and a multimillion-euro villa in Neuilly. Your generosity is astounding, Julien.”
Gasping erupted across the crowd. Camille gripped Julien’s arm tightly.
I continued calmly, “CEO Moreau certainly takes care of his staff—promotions, real estate, children… even public school donations to earn applause.”
Camille burst into tears. “That’s a lie! I am not a mistress! Julien and I have been together for six years! Theo is five years old!”
Julien tried to regain control, offering a strained laugh to the onlookers. “I apologize for this disruption.” He then placed a hand on Camille’s shoulder and uttered the words that extinguished any remaining trace of leniency I had for him:
“This woman was employed as our housekeeper for several years. Unfortunately, she suffers from severe psychological issues and has developed a delusion that she is my wife.”
A heavy silence descended. I stared at him. A housekeeper. The man I had brought into elite society had just reduced me to a former servant.
Some onlookers began to whisper, assuming I was an unstable ex-employee. I didn’t raise my voice. Instead, I let out a light laugh that quieted the crowd.
“A housekeeper?” I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen once. “You seem to forget one detail, Julien. Even a housekeeper knows who paid for the luxury car you drove here.”
Simultaneously, phones began chiming throughout the crowd. Parents, board members, and the school director all checked their notifications as a press release hit the news:
“OFFICIAL NOTICE: Beaumont Holding has repossessed full controlling interest in the Moreau Group. Julien Moreau has been ousted from his position as Chairman and CEO effective immediately. All assets tied to Beaumont capital have been frozen pending litigation.”
Julien’s face drained of color entirely. Camille’s sobbing stopped instantly. Three black sedans pulled up to the curb, and my lead attorney, Maître Armand Delatour, stepped out accompanied by legal officers and security personnel. He formally announced the legal seizure of all assets acquired through Beaumont family capital—including the Rolls-Royce, the Neuilly estate occupied by Camille Lefèvre, and Julien’s corporate voting rights.
Julien stumbled back. “This isn’t legal.”
My lawyer opened his briefcase. “It is fully executed and filed. The board convened at seven this morning and voted unanimously for your removal.”
In an instant, the celebrated CEO was reduced to what he was before I met him: a man with nothing of his own.
Julien approached me, his demeanor suddenly pleading. “Élise, please. What I said out there was just to handle the publicity.”
I looked at him with detachment. “To handle the publicity? You had no hesitation calling me your housekeeper in front of everyone.”
Camille trembled beside him. I turned my attention to her. “Last night, you claimed a single word from you would make him divorce me. Well, here he is. He’s all yours—along with his mountain of personal debt.”
Part 3
The school director, visibly anxious, stepped forward to ask about the status of the playground donation.
“The funds originated from my personal account,” I informed him smoothly. “Because my assets were used to finance a public lie, I am rescinding the contribution. However, the Beaumont Foundation will submit a formal, transparent donation proposal in due course—without Julien Moreau’s name attached.”
Julien raised his voice. “Élise! You’re being vindictive!”
I stepped closer to him. “Vindictive was giving me medication for five years to prevent me from having children. Vindictive was bringing your secretary into the office my father financed. Vindictive was purchasing her a home using my family’s legacy while I was at home trusting you.”
Taking the Rolls-Royce key from an officer, I held it up. “This isn’t revenge, Julien. It’s simply settling the account.”
Theo shrank behind his mother. I felt no ill will toward the boy; he was innocent in his parents’ scheme. But I was done funding their deception.
“From this moment on, you return to where you started,” I told Julien. “No title, no capital, no backing from my father, and none of the access I provided.” Turning to Camille, I added, “And I hope your love is enough to sustain the three of you, because you won’t see another euro of my family’s money.”
Camille broke down in tears again, but this time, no one offered sympathy. Julien reached out to touch her arm, but she shoved his hand away. Their grand romance instantly crumbled on the pavement outside the school, exposed before the public and the press.
I returned to the vehicle. My assistant met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Where to now, Madame de Beaumont?”
I glanced back one last time. Julien stood on the sidewalk without a vehicle, without authority, and without his shield of wealth. I felt no anger or regret—only absolute clarity.
“To headquarters,” I instructed. “I have a company to run.”
As the driver pulled away, I watched Julien and Camille argue bitterly in the distance—she blaming him for his false promises, and he blaming her for his downfall. Their relationship had thrived only when supported by my fortune. Without it, there was nothing left.
I turned my head forward, leaving them behind. Julien Moreau believed he could replace the foundation of his success. He learned too late that when the rightful owner reclaims her place, the impostors are left with nothing.
