4. CHAPTER 3
Léonie
“Maybe we should elope!”
That was the first thing Yves said to me when I told him about the marriage contract with Orion Kade.
At first, I’d held it back. I’d thought telling him would make him pull away from me. But not telling meant deceiving him, and Yves had always been good to me. I couldn’t do that to him.
At first, he was upset that I didn’t trust him enough to mention it.
But he had to understand my situation. No one prepared me for it.
I wasn’t allowed to sit in on these so-called business meetings.
As always, a decision was made on my behalf, and I had to go through with it. For peace. For family and loyalty.
“Have you both gone mad!”
My cousin Isolde exclaimed when I’d mentioned Yves’ suggestion. Her hazel eyes widened like I’d proposed we rob a bank together.
“You wouldn’t only anger your father with this, you’d also be endangering your family by offending the Kades.”
She was right. No one in Paris wanted to make an enemy of the old money families, particularly the Kades. Any sensible person would want to stay in their good graces.
I was done being sensible. That was what got me here in the first place—avoiding conflict, rocking no boats, maintaining the status quo, like a good daughter should.
No more of that.
I’d spent weeks thinking of all the ways my almost non-existence freewill was about to be totally snatched away from me.
We all knew the Kades from society events, blogs, magazines. I’d seen Orion’s mother last month at a fundraiser. She didn't have to speak to inform you of the hierarchy. The way she moved around the room, I could swear I saw people bow as she passed. It was a ridiculous aura.
Orion wasn’t there. He rarely makes an appearance in social gatherings. Rumors were that he was always busy with work, or travelling. But even with that, I caught his GQ spread last month, looking like a problem nobody should attempt solving.
Handsome, sharp jawline, dark and sleek wavy hair. His face in that pensive gaze he always has on, like he’s constantly in deep thought.
I stared at the cover for a while, searching his still face for something—anything—that could tell me who the man my family wanted me to marry really was.
I got nothing.
If there was one thing I understood about the men in this world, it was their total lack of genuine feeling. Everything was transactional: business deals, social battles over who was besting whom, and the disturbingly normalized crude strategy of keeping a mistress or two alongside a wife.
Orion sure looked like the type who’d keep a mistress. With a face and ego like that, I could imagine the flock of women at his disposal.
Isolde studied my face. “You do care about Yves. Don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then kill this fantasy before it becomes a thing.”
It was a thing. A real thing. I didn’t say that to her.
Isolde was always the voice of reasoning. She was always logical about everything. Some days I wish I could see things with her clarity, without my feelings getting in the way.
“I hadn’t even considered it,” That part was true.
“But your eyes tell a different story,” she interjected like she needed to stop me before I spilled an abomination. “You’ve just known him for three months.”
“Four months,” I corrected her.
“So far she’s happy, what does it matter?” Céleste walked past us with heaps of colourful linen fabric in her hands.
She placed the fabrics on a work table and exhaled like she had just run a hundred meter race. It almost made me chuckle.
“We both love Léonie but you can’t support this.”
“Yes we can and we will… if that’ll make her happy.” Céleste said, making her way to the island to heat up the pot of coffee.
I tried not to smile watching them bicker about my future and my happiness. I know they both mean the best for me and I couldn’t have wished for better friends, but I needed a solution fast.
“You can always work remote, you know.”
The comment was framed as a choice, though coming from Céleste, it was a decision already made. Her aura of protective warmth constantly surrounded Isolde and me like younger sisters, and she made a habit of mindlessly and thoroughly indulging us.
I’d met Céleste at fashion school, while working on a project I was struggling with as a sophomore. She stepped in and helped me through it, and we’ve been friends ever since.
I introduced Isolde to Céleste at one of my family’s annual christmas parties, six years ago, and the three of us have been inseparable since.
We did everything together, from shopping to partying to girls’ night out where we find ourselves emptying bottles of wine, laughing about nothing and everything.
They both indulged my need to liberate small, unimportant things from the places we went.
It was a habit I picked up just for the fun of it.
A way to prove I’d been somewhere, or maybe just to see if I could get away with it.
Whether it was a fancy cloth napkin from a five-star bistro or a branded pen from a stuffy gallery opening, they became my lookouts.
Céleste would fake a coughing fit to distract the waiter, while Isolde would lean in to whisper a secret, shielding me while I slid a silver teaspoon into my clutch.
We called it ‘The Collection,’ a box of trophies that proved life was meant to be a little bit messy, fun, and that perfection was overrated.
It felt good to have people who would always look out for you. People who knew that under the designer dresses and the family expectations, I was still just a girl who liked the thrill of a harmless heist.
I didn’t have much of that growing up—support, I mean.
For my family, it was always image first. We were constantly forced to give society exactly what it wanted, all feelings aside.
My parents didn’t care what kind of day I was having; the moment the camera lights flashed, I had to put my best foot forward.
I always had to maintain a front of perfection—back straight, head held high, and a constant smile, regardless of the chaos happening behind the scenes.
My father favored my brothers. So did my mother. I was always an afterthought. Only remembered when I was needed to make the family look good.
There were always instructions to follow. A manual for how to be the perfect Fernández daughter.
A princess needs to wear color, my mother would always remind me. So, I chose a path of defiance and wore neutral colors everywhere, everyday. It was a tough stance at first, considering I loved a vast wardrobe. But seeing the anguish on her face gave me the armor I needed to see it through.
She hated it, but I loved it.
Small victories right?
Céleste’s House of Vassier was the only place I found peace during the day.
We’d spend the day discussing designs, trends, and styling concepts before inevitably falling into debates about draping, proportions, and whether a neckline could change the mood of an entire collection.
Things we both enjoyed. So when she asked me to come in as a consultant for HOV, I immediately said yes.
My father had thought that after chasing my ridiculous fashion dream, I’d end up at Equinox Continental. The perfect princess with the corner office, doing daddy’s bidding.
I didn’t want any of that.
I wanted my freedom during the day. To live as I chose, without my brothers in my business or my parents policing me. I’d had enough of the scrutiny whenever we were together. Why subject myself to it twenty-four seven?
I took every opportunity to be anywhere but where my parents were.
“Has she even met this Orion Kade?” Céleste’s voice pulled me back into the room. “I mean, outside of seeing him in magazines or blogs.”
Her question was directed at Isolde. They were still going back and forth like I wasn’t here.
“That’s where she should be focusing her energy, instead of thinking of eloping with Yves.” Isolde emphasized, now looking at me to say something. Céleste’s eyes scanned me from her mug as she lifted it to take a sip of her coffee.
I didn’t know how to answer that question. I didn’t want to marry the man in question.
“According to the internet and gossip blogs,” I quipped. “The great Orion Kade is a mysterious, elusive unicorn; every woman in Paris can’t wait to get their hands on…”
“You’re unserious,” Isolde chuckled.
“But that’s all I know about him. That he’s a Kade, he’s this world wonder worth more than gold. The tabloid basically worships the man.” I demonstrated worship with my fingers flapping up and down.
Isolde doubled over.
“Does that scare you?” Céleste asked, setting her mug down and folding her hands.
That was the Céleste motherly stance. The position she assumed when she tried to get into my head and solve my problems.
“A little.” I confessed.
It wasn’t being in the spotlight that frightened me but the exposure of it all.
It was one thing to move through Paris knowing people recognized your name.
It was another to have your every move dissected, your choices weighed against a legacy you had no part in building.
That was what being a Kade meant. And I'd always wanted a simple life.
Married life for me was supposed to be an eventual escape from this flamboyant socialite circle.
A life with a simple man like Yves and beautiful kids. A house by the sea. Pure undiluted joy.
I imagined mornings spent sketching, listening to music, laughing—being myself. None of it involved being a Kade.
“You shouldn’t do something you don’t want to do,” Céleste finally said, with a casual smile on her face, like this was a simple matter.
A weird silence engulfed the space. I watched Isolde open her mouth, but no words formed.
I had no words either.
“Or maybe you could try to get to know him, “ she added, and I could hear a deep sigh leave Isolde.
The room felt almost normal again.
“How?” I asked. Not because I was willing. I needed survival options.
“You could request an audience,” Céleste offered.
“An audience with Orion Kade?”