5. The Shock
Alexander
When I open my eyes, it takes me a moment to remember where I am.
Daylight filters through drawn curtains. The ceiling isn’t mine. Too low. Exposed beams.
For a second, my mind is blank. Then the memories of last night crash back in like an icy wave. My stomach clenches. My chest tightens.
I’m at the Lacroix sisters’ place. In their small apartment in the Marais, on their couch.
I remember Sam letting me collapse into her arms, her arms holding me together. Then she helped me unfold the sofa without asking a single question. I remember her voice, whispering:
“Sleep, Alexander. I’m here. You’re not alone.”
Those words kept me from drowning last night.
The pain returns in waves. First dull, then unbearable.
I sway between grief and anger, unable to tell which hurts more.
Sometimes it’s rage that takes over—the urge to scream, to smash everything, to confront them both.
Then sadness engulfs me, that gaping void, the feeling of having been stripped of something I’ll never get back.
What tears me apart the most? Knowing that every moment we shared was tainted by betrayal. Or realizing that the woman I loved never really existed. The caring, loyal Kristel—the one who laughed at my jokes, who rested her head on my shoulder—who was she? An illusion? A performance?
She never loved me. You don’t betray someone you love like that.
How many signs did I ignore? The question tortures me.
The image of their entwined bodies forces itself back into my mind. I try to push it away, but it persists, burned into my eyelids. Cruel. Precise. Their moans still echo in my head. A physical, visceral pain that twists my gut.
And to think I wanted to marry her. God, I’m such a fucking idiot.
Another wave of anger surges through me. All she ever cared about—I see it now—was MatchMapping. The money. The success. The prestige. Being with the CEO of a company about to go public.
I shake myself mentally, refusing to sink into self-pity. I won’t give her that power. But it’s easier said than done. How do you not feel sorry for yourself when your life has just exploded?
I stare at the ceiling beams and try to regain control of my emotions. It’s all I can do right now.
What time is it? I reach for my phone. The screen lights up, assaulting my eyes.
Saturday morning. Eight o’clock.
Saturday. The day I was supposed to propose…
Stop.
Another thought pushes its way into my mind. In two days, there’s the shareholders’ meeting, the second-to-last before our IPO. A dull pressure settles in my chest, as if the air has grown too thick. I was supposed to officially announce my engagement there.
My fingers tighten around my phone.
I had no doubt Kristel would say yes. She was the one who encouraged it, saying that “a married, happy CEO sends a strong signal.” I’d thought the idea brilliant. We’d even let rumors circulate on social media, preparing the ground.
Now I see it for what it was: manipulation.
How am I going to get out of this mess? Up until now, everything has been flawless. MatchMapping hasn’t been a startup in a long time. It’s a well-oiled machine, already profitable, ready to scale.
The IPO is scheduled for mid-January. Millions of euros at stake.
My jaw clenches.
Investors want stability. Reassurance. A confident CEO, well supported. Not a thirty-year-old man discovering, on the eve of a crucial meeting, that his private life was a lie.
Fuck.
I check my messages. Thirty-two notifications. Fifteen from Kristel since last night. Two from Oliver, my brother. One from David, my best friend and business partner. The rest are missed calls.
I don’t even read Kristel’s messages. I see them scroll by—walls of text, exclamation points, broken-heart emojis. Pathetic.
I open David’s message first.
David: Hey Alexander, are you okay? Kristel just called me, completely hysterical. She wanted to know if you were with me but wouldn’t explain why. If you need anything, I’m here.
David. The one who believed in MatchMapping when it was just an idea scribbled on a napkin.
I type a quick reply.
Alexander: I’m fine. Don’t worry. Don’t give Kristel any information. We’ve broken up. See you Monday for the meeting. I’ll explain everything.
Then I read Oliver’s messages.
Oliver: Kristel tried to reach you. I don’t know why she thought you might be with us… I’m guessing if you’re not answering her, you have good reasons. If you want to talk, my couch is yours.
Another message, three minutes later.
Oliver: Jokes aside, if you need a place to sleep, the guest room is ready.
I keep it simple.
Alexander: I’m fine. We broke up. I’ll come by for lunch. Thanks.
When I finish typing, Sam comes out of her bedroom. Still in pajamas. Hair tousled, eyes slightly puffy with sleep.
She smiles softly before stepping forward and wrapping me in her arms, offering her comfort.
That simple gesture—those arms around me without hesitation, without questions—does more for me than all the words in the world.
She gives without expecting anything in return, and right now, I need her tenderness to keep from falling apart. She smells like citrus, probably her shampoo. The knot in my chest loosens a little, and I can finally breathe.
“Good morning,” she murmurs against my shoulder.
“Morning.”
“Did you sleep?”
“A bit.”
And it’s true. Despite the disaster my life has become. As if my body knew it was safe.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says, pulling back slightly to meet my eyes. “I know it doesn’t seem possible right now, but it will be okay.”
Her dark eyes are so sincere, so full of compassion, that something breaks inside me. Last night, after I’d cried myself empty, I told her everything. She didn’t comment, just listened.
Mara and Emelyne join us soon after, and with a simple nod, the eldest Lacroix suggests,
“What if you two went to get croissants while we make breakfast?”
A strategic outing. An excuse to get me outside, to change my thoughts. I know it. Sam knows it too. But we play along.
The streets of the Marais are slowly waking up. A woman waters the plants on her balcony. A man walks his dog.
There’s a line at the bakery, but it doesn’t matter. Sam devours the pastries with her eyes, and I can’t help smiling. I know few people who love sweets as much as she does.
She leans closer to the display, eyes shining like a child’s in front of a toy.
“The Paris-Brest look amazing,” she murmurs.
“Do you want one?”
“No, no. We came for croissants.”
“And who said we can’t get both?”
She looks at me, surprised.
“Alexander…”
“What? I need sugar to get through today. And so do you.”
When it’s our turn, I place the order.
“Two baguettes, four croissants, and four Paris-Brest, please.”
“You know I adore you,” Sam whispers with an affectionate look that makes me chuckle.
But I’m not mistaken. I know her light tone has only one goal: to distract me. And it works.
Breakfast is strangely calm and pleasant. Sam’s friends don’t ask questions; the conversation stays light, relaxed.
Mara pours freshly squeezed orange juice. Emelyne pours the coffee. Sam nibbles on a Paris-Brest, closing her eyes in pleasure. And I watch them—these three women who welcomed me without judgment—and despite everything, I feel good here.
“Thank you,” I say suddenly.
All three look up at me.
“For last night. For this morning. For… everything.”
They simply smile, and in that quiet acceptance, I feel understood. Accepted.
I leave their apartment around eleven. Not wanting to go home and risk finding Kristel at my door, I head straight to my brother’s place.
As the taxi takes me toward Le Vésinet, where my brother lives in a beautiful villa with his wife and two children, I receive another voicemail from Kristel.
I listen to it—not out of weakness. She and I are over, definitively. But because I don’t trust her reactions. She’s proud, controlling, used to getting what she wants. Except this time. She won’t accept defeat without a fight.
Then I read the other texts she sent during the night. The first ones are predictable. Tearful apologies. Pathetic justifications.
Then the tone changes.
Kristel: You’re not really going to throw away three years of relationship over a small mistake, are you? Be reasonable. Think about your company. Think about the IPO.
She dares.
She continues:
Kristel: Investors like stability. What will you look like if you break up with me now when we’ve already started announcing our engagement? You need me, Alexander. We need each other.
Then the final blow:
Kristel: I’m warning you, Alexander—if you break up with me, I’ll talk to the media and everyone will know that the CEO of MatchMapping can’t even manage his own love life!
Fuck. That bitch.
My first reaction is pure, burning rage. How dare she? How dare she cheat on me and then threaten me?
For a moment, I consider striking back—publicly exposing her infidelity.
You want to play that game? Fine. Let’s see who the media crucifies when they find out you were sleeping with one of my friends while I was choosing your engagement ring.
But that kind of petty cruelty isn’t me. I refuse to sink to her level.
That said, the threat to the IPO is very real. On one point, Kristel is right: investors hate instability. And a thirty-year-old CEO publicly dumped right before an IPO? That’s death for MatchMapping.
It’s a public relations nightmare and I can already see the headlines.
My heart speeds up at the thought. Every possible scenario ends in brutal headlines and a free fall.
The taxi stops in front of Oliver’s gate—a beautiful bourgeois property, immaculate garden, white facade. The symbol of quiet success.
My brother waits on the porch, hands in his pockets, worry etched on his face. He studies me, assessing the damage.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks. Exactly what I needed to hear.”
He smiles, then grabs my shoulder and pulls me inside.
Oliver Delaunay. Lawyer. Social media specialist. A man capable of making giants tremble.
Exactly the man I need.
Kristel wants a war?
She’s going to get one.
But on my terms.