13. Surprise Visit
Alexander
The night before.
Arthur Chevalier.
The last person I wanted to see—right after Kristel and Grégoire.
Damn it. The evening had started so well.
“Good evening, Alexander,” he says gravely. “We need to talk.”
I simply nod. That’s all I’m capable of right now.
Mental note for later: remove Kristel and her father from the list of people authorized to enter my building.
I open the door, let him in, then close it behind him.
Arthur walks through my penthouse as if it were his own, stopping in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows to admire the view over Paris. Slowly, he loosens his tie and sets his coat down on the couch.
I drop my backpack, cross the living room, and retreat behind the counter of the open kitchen.
I pour myself a large glass of water.
My hands are trembling slightly, but I force myself to appear calm.
“Would you like some?” I offer, without any real warmth.
“No, thank you,” he replies. “But a whisky… I wouldn’t say no to that.”
Of course.
I drain my glass of water in one go, then head to the bar. I pour him a drink and hand it to him without a word.
He takes it immediately and swallows a long sip that makes his eyelids flutter shut. When he opens them again, he stares into the amber liquid as if searching for words at the bottom of the glass.
I don’t help him. I have no intention of making this easier.
“Listen…” he finally begins. “I’ve heard what happened. It’s… regrettable. But you know, youthful mistakes happen.”
I slowly raise an eyebrow.
— Are you talking about the fact that I caught Kristel fucking another man?
He jumps. The vulgarity of my words hits him.
The irony. As if the real obscenity wasn’t what I saw in that bedroom.
“It’s… well… it was a lapse in judgment,” he stammers. “It won’t happen again.”
I let the silence stretch. Long. Heavy.
Then I ask quietly,
“And how can you be so sure? What tells me she won’t do it again in three months? Or in a year?”
He inhales deeply, as if preparing to reveal some great truth.
“You have to understand one thing,” he tries to explain. “Kristel was only seven years old when her mother died. Even though my second wife treats her like her own daughter, her insecurity grew when Samantha was born. Since then, she’s constantly felt she had to prove more than everyone else.”
He pauses.
“Having a lover means nothing to her. It’s just a way to reassure herself, to feel desired.”
So that’s how he wants to play it.
By disguising betrayal as fragility, pulling at my heartstrings.
“Instead of making excuses for her,” I snap back, “you’d be better off finding her a good therapist.”
He clenches his fists, visibly offended.
“Listen… if this is a matter of pride, nothing is stopping you from… seeing other women yourself. One or two conquests, and the issue is settled. But don’t throw your relationship away over so little.”
I freeze.
He’s just managed to shock me more than his daughter ever did.
I’ve never liked Arthur. His condescension toward Sam has always disgusted me. I’ve hated the way he constantly belittles her, dismisses her opinions with a wave of his hand.
But this—
This makes me two seconds away from punching him in the face.
I straighten slowly.
“Listen, Arthur. It’s time for you to leave. What happens between your daughter and me is none of your business. And certainly not the business of someone who confuses love, betrayal, and bargaining.”
“You’re throwing me out?” he asks, outraged.
“The weekend was particularly long and exhausting,” I say, jaw tight. “And it’s late.”
His eyes narrow.
He presses on.
“You have no interest in breaking things off now. Think about MatchMapping’s reputation. Imagine what people will say: ‘the CEO of a dating app incapable of maintaining a stable romantic relationship?’”
It’s like hearing Kristel all over again. My patience snaps.
“I’ve heard enough. Get out.”
My voice cuts through the air—cold, final.
Arthur understands he won’t get anything from me. He’s intelligent enough not to push further. Pushing me now would be dangerous.
“Very well,” he finally says. “But don’t make an irreversible mistake, Alexander.”
I hold the door open.
He takes his coat and leaves without looking back.
When the door closes, the apartment sinks into a heavy silence.
I stand there for a few seconds, then inhale deeply.
It’s time to put an end to all of this.
For good.
*
When I finish telling Sam about my conversation with Arthur, she stays still for a moment, as if trying to grasp the full weight of my words.
“I… I don’t understand,” she finally whispers. “How can he say that to you? How can he condone—encourage—behavior like that?”
Her voice trembles with anger and indignation.
And all the tension I’ve been carrying since the night before dissolves in an instant.
She’s not like them.
“I threw him out,” I say simply. “But I wanted you to know.”
I hesitate, then add more quietly,
“And if you decide this is too much… I’d understand. I’m only realizing now what all this could mean for you. Your relationship with them is already complicated. I’m afraid it might become even more so. So…”
My throat tightens. I want to give her a choice.
Sam slowly shakes her head and looks up at me.
There’s a strength in her gaze I’ve never seen before. A calm, resolute strength—almost luminous.
“Thank you for warning me,” she says softly. “And thank you for giving me the choice.”
A shadow crosses her eyes.
“But their reaction… only reinforces my determination. I refuse to condone blackmail or infidelity as a way of life. It’s a matter of personal values.”
She takes a deep breath.
“I know everything will explode once the announcement is public. I know it will be hard—but I won’t back down.”
She turns her head slightly, as if recalling something distant.
“You know… family isn’t just about blood.”
She smiles—a sad, almost tender smile.
“Despite how rarely we’ve seen each other, you’ve given me more recognition than my parents have in twenty-three years. Did you know you gave me my first canvas?”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting that.
“It was for my sixteenth birthday,” she continues. “I left it blank for months. I was afraid of ruining it.”
She lets out a small, fragile laugh that hits me straight in the chest.
“No one had ever encouraged me like that. Not even Andrew.”
Something shifts inside me. A lock clicks open without a sound. A crack forms in a wall I didn’t even know existed.
Then she looks back at me, and this time, she doesn’t look away.
“So if I have to choose between my family and you…”
She lets the silence settle.
A charged, vibrating silence, resonating between us like an invisible thread.
“…the choice is already made.”
I can’t breathe.
She’s choosing me.
My heart has just imploded.
And in that exact moment, a certainty crashes down on me—brutal, destabilizing, undeniable:
I don’t deserve her.