Chapter 39
The sound of the city greeted me as I stepped into the sunlight.
Tugging my coat tighter around me, I lifted my gaze to the sky.
For the first time in weeks, my body felt lighter, my chest unburdened by the constant ache that had shadowed my every step.
The stem cell therapy had done its part—at least for now.
I paused near the courtyard garden, letting the warmth of the sun touch my pale skin. A rare smile tugged at my lips. Just a few months, I whispered to myself. A few months of feeling normal. I'll make them count.
My thoughts drifted, as they always did, to Dione.
She had just begun another year of junior high, settling back into her boarding school.
I could almost hear her laughter, feel the small clutch of her hand around my fingers the last time we parted. The memory pulled at me, bittersweet.
Maybe I should bring her something... a small gift, something sweet. Even though my body wages war against me, my love for her will never falter. I smiled faintly, though Dr. Reinhardt's words echoed in the back of my mind: This isn't a cure.
The truth lingered like a shadow.
My illness could flare at any moment, undoing all these fragile victories.
But instead of fear, I felt resolve. I would use this reprieve to protect my family, to savor the moments that mattered, to reclaim the life I could still touch.
With a sigh, I slipped my hands into my coat pockets and turned toward the parking lot, where my car waited. That was when someone bumped into me.
I looked down, startled, to see a boy staring up at me with wide eyes.
"I'm sorry," he blurted, bowing his head.
I tilted mine, brows knitting. There was something oddly familiar about him—his features stirred a half-buried recognition I couldn't quite place. Before I could ask, a sharp voice rang out:
"Levi, come back here, you little—"
I froze, my stomach knotting as a woman stepped into view. She stopped dead when her eyes landed on me. For a moment, silence stretched between us before she lifted a hand, pointing with an almost playful recognition.
"Oh?" Her lips curved into a smile, her head dipping in a subtle nod. "Ms. Aurora DeLacroix."
Clearing my throat, I gave her a subtle bow and a faint smile. "Ms. Sienna Reed," I greeted softly. That's when I noticed she was holding a young girl's hand.
"Fancy seeing you here," she said with a polite smile, her eyes flicking to the hospital signage around us. "Though I don't suppose this is the kind of place one expects to find a fashion designer?"
My lips parted, a small pause before I managed to respond. "Oh," I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to sound casual. "I've been feeling a little unwell, so I came in for a checkup before flying to Paris to visit my daughter." I added a small shrug for effect.
"Is that so?" she murmured, nodding knowingly. Her gaze shifted down to the boy who still lingered near me, staring with wide eyes. "Levi, did you apologize already? I told you not to run around."
"Yes, Mommy!" the boy piped up, before rushing back to her side.
Sienna offered me an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry for my son, Ms. Aurora."
I waved it off, smiling faintly. "It's fine—he didn't hurt me at all." I glanced at the boy, softening my tone. "Don't run around, alright? You could have hurt yourself. Lucky you didn't fall when you bumped into me."
He nodded quickly, and I straightened my posture again. "Anyway, Ms. Reed, I should get going. It was a pleasure seeing you here."
"The pleasure's mine, Ms. Aurora. Take care on your way," she replied with another smile.
I gave her a brief nod before continuing toward the parking lot where my car waited.
From there, I drove through a few shops, carefully choosing small souvenirs—something thoughtful for Sloane, and something playful for Dione—before heading straight to the airport where my private plane awaited.
After hours of travel, I finally arrived at école Jeannine Manuel in Paris.
A smile crept onto my lips as soon as I stepped inside the familiar grounds.
The polished stone floor of the reception hall echoed with the soft click of my shoes.
In my hand, I clutched a small leather tote, warm under my fingers, inside it a carefully curated selection of gifts for my daughter.
Even after all these months, seeing my daughter filled me with a mixture of excitement and nerves I hadn't felt in decades.
"Bonjour, I'm Aurora DeLacroix," I said softly to the receptionist, offering the faintest smile. "I have a private appointment with my daughter, Dione. Dione DeLacroix."
"Dione DeLacroix," she repeated, typing quickly on her computer. "May I see some identification, madame?"
I hummed in acknowledgment, pulling my wallet from my coat pocket and sliding out my ID.
After a brief verification, she returned it to me with a polite nod.
Soon after, an attendant escorted me up to a bright, sunlit common room on the upper floors—a space clearly designed for study sessions or quiet visits with family.
"Merci," I said softly, setting the tote bag down with a sigh before pushing open the door to Dione's dorm wing.
"Dione?" I called gently, my voice carrying through the stillness.
A figure peeked around the corner, her eyes widening in disbelief. "P-pops?" Dione's voice trembled—half shock, half joy.
I stepped forward, bending slightly to meet her gaze. "Surprise," I whispered, opening my arms.
She ran into me at once, hugging me with all the strength of a girl who'd been counting the days. I wrapped her up tightly, feeling her laughter against my chest as though she could anchor herself there forever.
"Oh my gosh, Pops, you're here!" she squealed, her giggles muffled against my shoulder.
I straightened, lifting her off the ground briefly before setting her down again. "I missed you, sweetie," I murmured, my throat tight with warmth.
Her grin widened as she tugged me inside. I bent down to pick up the tote bag before following her into the room. She guided me toward a small couch, her eyes shining.
"Mommy isn't with you, Pops?" she asked as I settled into the seat.
I hummed, shaking my head.
"I came from a business trip in Switzerland, sweetie.
I thought I'd drop by since I missed you.
And of course..." I pulled out a monogrammed leather backpack embossed with Dione's initials, a soft cashmere scarf, and a small basket of Swiss macarons and artisan chocolates.
"I brought a few things I thought you might like," I said, smiling as Dione gasped at each gift.
Her eyes sparkled as she unpacked them, lingering on the backpack.
"Pops, it's beautiful." She clutched it to her chest. "Thank you.
.. thank you so much." She set it aside before throwing her arms around me, then pulled back to study my face.
"I can't believe you're here... I thought I wouldn't see you until Christmas vacation. "
A smile spread across my face as I brushed a loose strand of hair from my daughter's forehead. "I couldn't wait. I wanted to see you... to spend a little time together." I reached into the tote again, pulling out a small framed family photo, one taken in Monaco.
Dione's hands trembled as she took it, her lips pouting. "I missed you both so much... even if I didn't say it enough."
My heart ached, seeing how much my little girl had grown. I sighed, playfully pinching her cheeks. "I missed you too, sweetie. More than anything."
"Right, Pops, do you want some tea? I can make you some." She grinned, bouncing with excitement.
"Can you?" I raised a brow, folding my arms across my chest as I looked at her.
She nodded quickly. "Wait here, Pops," she said, rushing off.
Smiling, I let my eyes wander around her room. It was neat, private—unmistakably hers. I slipped off my coat, folding it in half, and walked toward her desk. Her shelves brimmed with books, and papers were spread across the surface.
Several certificates were carefully displayed. My fingers traced over them while my other hand clutched my coat. "She isn't just talented—she's brilliant. Just like her mommy." My chest swelled with pride at my daughter's accomplishments.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and quietly snapped pictures of each certificate and award.
"Pops?" Dione's voice made me straighten as I turned to face her.
She carried a tray and set it on the table, carefully placing cups in front of our seats.
After setting the tray aside, she walked over, leaned against her desk, and pointed at one of the certificates.
"I got this during the math competition. I represented our class and won first place." She grinned, slipping her hand into mine and tugging me gently back toward the table.
I laughed as I sat down again.
She moved her chair close beside me, pulling her cup toward her.
I draped an arm along the back of her chair, heaving a small sigh as I set my coat across my lap.
"Well, it looks like your Pops needs to do some serious catching up on all your accomplishments, don't you think? "
She giggled, reaching for the box of macarons. Opening it, she lifted one and held it toward my lips. "If we're going to talk about everything, Pops, you're going to have to stay the night here," she teased with a laugh.
I narrowed my eyes playfully. "I brought those for you, young lady," I said, though I leaned forward and took a bite anyway.
Her grin widened as she bit into the same macaron. "Sweets like these are best enjoyed with company, Pops." She chewed happily, then rested her head against my arm with a soft sigh. "Ah... I really miss our house back in Monaco. I wish it were Christmas already."
I chuckled at her, the sound filling the quiet room. For hours we talked—about her days at boarding school, the funny little adventures she'd had, the secrets she whispered just for me, and the dreams she carried for the future.
At one point, Dione stood up and carefully arranged her gifts in their places: the backpack displayed proudly on her desk, the scarf folded neatly at the foot of her bed, and the chocolate basket tucked into a corner for later indulgence.
When the time came for me to leave, her eyes welled with tears. "Pops... are you coming back?" she asked softly.
I bent down, cupping her face in my hands. "I'll come back soon," I promised. "And remember—no matter where you are, I'm always with you. Me and Mommy will always be with you."
Dione sniffled as she hugged me tightly, her small arms wrapping around me as if she could hold me there forever. "I love you, Pops. Tell Mommy I love her too," she whispered, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.
"I love you too, sweetie," I murmured, returning the embrace and lingering in it a moment longer before gently pulling back. I stood, offering her a final wave. "Now, go enjoy your studies... and your treats."
She waved enthusiastically. "Safe trip, Pops!"
As I walked away, I glanced back one last time, smiling as I raised my hand in farewell. My heart swelled, full to the brim, knowing that no matter the miles between us, the bond we shared was unbreakable.
"Now," I whispered to myself, the corners of my lips tugging upward, "let's get back to my wife." With a renewed lightness in my steps, I headed for the car park, anticipation thrumming through me.
?·???°???°???·?
Touching down on the helipad behind our bungalow mansion, I exhaled and stepped out of the chopper. My heels clicked against the concrete as I made my way to the parked car where my driver stood waiting. Another vehicle would be delivered later from Nice C?te d'Azur Airport.
"Ms. Aurora," he greeted with a bow, opening the car door. I gave him a brief nod and set the bouquet and Cartier gift bag on the seat beside me.
Sliding inside, I pulled out my phone and typed quickly: Just touched down at home. I'll fetch you from your office. Let's have dinner together. I miss you. I hit send, smiling faintly at the thought of seeing her again.
As my driver settled into his seat, a chime pulled my attention back to the phone. A reply from Sloane.
Not at the office. Can you fetch me from H?tel de Paris instead? Suite 415.
My brows knit together. H?tel de Paris? Why would she be there instead of her office? I tapped my finger against my lips, forcing the unease down.
"Change of plans. H?tel de Paris," I instructed.
"Yes, Madame," the driver replied, steering us out of the driveway.
The ride passed in silence. I stayed still, eyes closed, bouquet balanced lightly in my lap, though my mind churned with questions.
When we pulled up to the gilded entrance of H?tel de Paris, my driver stepped out and opened the door. I gathered the bouquet and the Cartier bag—inside, a platinum bracelet I'd chosen for her that afternoon in Paris, meant to be a simple, thoughtful surprise.
"I'll fetch Sloane myself," I told him, crossing into the hotel.
The marble lobby gleamed under the chandeliers, my reflection stretching across the polished floor as I approached the desk.
"Good evening," I said softly. "I'm here for Sloane Duvall—Suite 415."
The receptionist's eyes flicked over me, widening almost imperceptibly before she schooled her expression. Fingers hovered over the keyboard, then she offered a professional smile.
"Yes, Ms. Aurora DeLacroix," she said, her tone smooth, though her hand lingered a beat too long above the phone. "Ms. Duvall is indeed in Suite 415. I'll call to inform her of your arrival."
Her hand hovered just a moment too long over the phone, as if weighing something unspoken.
A polite smile returned to her lips, but her eyes darted once, toward the elevators.
Something in her hesitation tugged at my chest, but I returned her smile, bouquet clutched just a little tighter in my hand.
"Actually," I said with a smile, glancing at the receptionist, "I wanted to surprise my wife. Can I head straight to her suite? I'm here to fetch her."
The receptionist hesitated for a heartbeat, then straightened, returning a polite smile. "This way, Madame," she said, guiding me toward the elevator hallway.
"Thank you," I murmured, stepping inside. The elevator doors closed behind me with a soft chime. I pressed the button for the floor where Suite 415 awaited.
The gentle hum of the machinery seemed to pulse with anticipation. I had rehearsed my words all day—small, ordinary words, yet special, crafted only for Sloane: You look beautiful. I missed you. I thought of you when I saw this.
I smiled to myself as the elevator chimed again, golden doors sliding open. The hallway was hushed, the muffled whispers of the sea drifting through the double-glazed windows.
Stopping in front of the suite, I straightened, clutching the bouquet and gift bag a little tighter. My other hand reached out, knocking firmly on the door.
Almost immediately, it swung open. "Hi, Sloey, sur—" My words froze as my eyes locked on the woman before me. "—prise."
What the hell...?
It wasn't Sloane.
Margot stood there instead, hair tousled, a hotel robe loosely tied at her waist. Her lips curved into a smirk—equal parts challenge and dare.
"Oh, Aurora," Margot said smoothly, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. "What a... surprise."
I froze, a lump tightening in my throat.
My gaze darted past her, my mind scrambling to piece together a hundred possibilities in an instant—and none of them good.
"Where's my wife?" I demanded, voice sharp but restrained, heart hammering as I stepped past her into the suite.
"Margot... is that the room service I—"
As if on cue, Sloane emerged from the bedroom, steam trailing behind her. A robe clung to her damp skin, her hair dripping wet from the shower.
She froze the moment she saw me, eyes wide. My hands gripped the gift bag and bouquet, knuckles white. Our gazes locked across the room, a few meters between us.
"Ro?" she whispered, glancing from me to Margot and back. Her hand rose to her chest, trembling slightly. "It's not what it looks like."
I gave a faint smile, my tone flat, calm, but dangerous. "I thought I'd surprise you," I said, lifting the gifts slightly. "But it seems... I'm the one surprised." A bitter laugh escaped as I rubbed the back of my neck.
Sloane stepped forward, panic clear on her face. "Honey, it's not what it looks like—"
Margot's teasing smile cut her off. "Oh, come on now, Sloane. Your wife's a grown woman. I don't think she could handle what's really going on right now."
"Margot." Sloane shot back.
I laughed—too short, too brittle—my eyes flicking between them: Sloane, hair dripping from the shower, robe clinging to her; Margot, the hotel robe hanging scandalously loose, a smirk that dared me to look away.
The image resolved like a slow?burn film. Everything clicked.
The faint mark on Sloane's sternum came back to me. My throat tightened. I turned to Margot. "You," I said, voice low, hard. "You knew I'd be here."
Margot tilted her head and pretended to consider it.
She sighed and shrugged, the picture of innocence.
"Coincidences happen, darling." Then she looked at Sloane.
"Or maybe, Sloane, your wife's jealous of me—like I'm some leech trying to steal you away from her.
" She ran a hand through her hair, amusement curling at the edge of her mouth.
Sloane reached for me, desperate. "Ro, please. Just listen to me. Margot was—"
I shoved her hand away and let a harsh laugh out.
"Keep your reasons, Sol." My eyes burned; I swallowed it down.
"Do you think I'd believe you right now?
" I thrust the bouquet and the Cartier bag into her hands until her fingers closed around them.
"I came here to remind you that you're my wife.
But maybe... I'm the one who needed reminding. "
Sloane's eyes filled. Her hands trembled on the flowers. "Don't do this. Please. Look at me. You know me better than anyone."
I stepped back as she tried to approach. I licked my lips. The laugh came again, thinner this time. "Do I?" I asked, and the question felt like a challenge to both of us.
Margot lounged at Sloane's side, smug and unreadable. A red heat crawled up my spine—an urge to seize her, to shove her against the wall and wipe that smile off her face.
"Ro." Sloane's voice cut through me. She called my name like a plea. I wanted to answer. I wanted to rage. Instead my hands went cold and my jaw clenched.
I didn't respond.
The silence between us was suffocating, the distant hum of the Riviera nightlife seeping through the windows like a cruel soundtrack.
I lifted my hands in surrender, then let them fall limply to my sides.
Without another word, I turned my back on them, shoulders rigid, and walked out of the suite.
"Ro!" Sloane's voice cracked behind me. I kept going. I didn't dare look back.
I headed for the elevator, pressing the button with more force than necessary.
When the doors slid open, I stepped inside, my reflection fractured in the brass paneling.
As soon as the chime sounded again, I strode out, across the lobby, and out of the hotel, the bouquet's scent still clinging to my hands like a ghost.
Sliding into the back seat, I caught my driver's eyes in the rearview mirror. He glanced past me, puzzled. "Madame? Aren't we fetching Missus?"
I stared out the window, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. "She's busy. She can come home on her own. Let's go back to the house," I said, my voice flat, drained.
He nodded silently and pulled away from the curb.
My chest pounded so hard it hurt. I swallowed against the ache, blinking fast to hold myself together. A tear escaped anyway. I wiped it away roughly with the heel of my hand.
Why... what did I do wrong? I thought we were moving forward. Was it all a fa?ade? A show for the world?
My hands trembled as I curled them into fists. Maybe I could never mend what I broke decades ago. Maybe this was her way of evening the score. But God, it hurt so much I felt sick with it—disgusted with myself.