I felt something break inside me. I wanted to shout at him that I could buy the company where he worked. That I could fire him with a simple call. But I remained silent.
It was the last test.
“Very well,” I replied in a low voice.
As I went down to the living room of our house in the 16th arrondissement of Paris, I saw a woman sitting comfortably on the sofa. It was Camille, her secretary: young, beautiful and sure of herself.
But what took my breath away was what she was wearing.
My grandmother’s emerald necklace, a Morel family heirloom that had disappeared from my jewelry box this morning.
“My love, does it suit me well?” asked Camille, stroking the necklace.
“It suits you perfectly,” replied Laurent before kissing her. He makes you look better than my wife, who has no style. Tonight, you’ll be sitting with me at the head table. It is you that I will introduce as my companion.
I turned away in silence. As I adjusted my apron in the kitchen, I felt that my dignity was being torn from me, room by room… and now also a memory of my family.
They had no idea that this night would change everything.
The reception took place in the grand salon of a five-star hotel on Avenue Montaigne in Paris. Huge chandeliers illuminated the room, and a quartet played hushed jazz while executives, investors and executives raised their glasses of champagne.
I entered through the back door, carrying a tray of drinks, the black uniform perfectly ironed. No one paid any attention to me. I was invisible, exactly as Laurent wanted.
I saw him at once.
Standing in the center of the room, sure of himself, shaking hands, beaming with pride. At her side is Camille, dressed in an elegant red suit and wearing my grandmother’s emerald necklace as if it belonged to her.
Every step I took between the tables reminded me how far he had fallen… and how wrong I had been in still hoping that he would change.
“Mademoiselle, another cup,” ordered one of the guests, without even looking at me.
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