Chapter 44 La Seine
The sex worker came down the staircase first, heels clicking softly against the marble floor, her posture relaxed as though nothing extraordinary had just occurred. Caleb followed a few steps behind her, already composed, already wearing that unreadable calm that came so easily to him. As they reached the foyer, he leaned in just enough for his words to brush her ear.
“I’ll call you,” he murmured.
She smiled, a practiced curve of lips that held no promise and no regret, then turned and walked out without looking back. The door closed quietly behind her, sealing the night away like a secret folded into the walls of the house.
Caleb stood there for a moment, listening to the silence return. Then, without hurry, he loosened his shoulders and made his way toward the swimming pool arena.
The pool area was illuminated with soft ambient lighting, reflections dancing lazily across the water’s surface. The faint scent of chlorine mixed with the night air, cool and crisp. That was when he saw her. His mother.
Donna stood by the edge of the pool, elegant as ever, a champagne glass balanced effortlessly in her hand. She wore a silk robe the color of dark wine, her blonde hair pulled back loosely, strands catching the light. She looked entirely at ease, as though she had always belonged there—waiting.
Caleb approached her, his footsteps deliberate.
“Mom,” he said, his voice smooth, controlled.
“How was your trip back here?”
Donna took a slow sip before answering, her gaze fixed on the water. “It was good,” she replied coolly. “That’s all I’ll say.”
She placed the empty glass on a small side stool, the faint clink echoing in the open space, then turned to face him fully. Her eyes assessed him in the same way they always did—not with affection, but with calculation.
“Well, that’s good,” Caleb said, offering a faint smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Yes,” Donna replied, reaching for the champagne bottle and refilling her glass. “Me too.” She paused, swirling the liquid gently. “So… how did it go?”
Caleb leaned against one of the lounge chairs, folding his arms loosely. “I invested the third billion dollars,” he said calmly. “I’m officially one of the shareholders now.”
Donna’s lips curved into something resembling approval. “That’s good,” she said. “Very good.” She raised her glass slightly. “We have to make sure nothing goes wrong with our plans.”
“Sure?” Caleb echoed, his tone curious rather than doubtful.
Donna took another sip, then let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Richard won’t know what hit him,” she said with a smirk.
Caleb watched her closely. He had always known his mother was dangerous—not because she raised her voice or demanded attention, but because she never did. Donna Donovan operated quietly, precisely, and without remorse. Everything she touched eventually bent to her will.
“You’re certain this is the right moment?” Caleb asked. “The Wentworths are riding high right now. Public image, investor confidence, the engagement—it’s all working in their favor.”
Donna turned toward him sharply. “Which is exactly why this is the perfect time,” she said.
“Empires don’t fall when they’re weak. They fall when they think they’re untouchable.”
Caleb smiled faintly. “You always did love timing.”
Donna stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. “Richard built his legacy believing he had erased every trace of his past,” she said. “He thinks money, power, and respectability can rewrite history. But the past has a way of resurfacing—especially when someone knows exactly where to dig.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened just slightly. “And Jaxon?”
Donna’s gaze hardened. “Collateral,” she said flatly. “Unfortunate, but necessary.”
Caleb exhaled slowly. “He doesn’t strike me as weak.”
Donna scoffed. “No, but he’s fractured. He doesn’t even know it yet.” She lifted her glass again. “And fractured men make mistakes.”
Caleb straightened. “Elena complicates things.”
Donna studied him. “Does she?”
“She’s sharper than she looks,” Caleb replied.
“And she’s closer to Jaxon than anyone realizes.”
Donna smiled thinly. “Then she’ll be the first to feel the shift when things start to unravel.”
Caleb looked away briefly, his eyes returning to the water. “You’re confident.”
“I don’t rely on confidence,” Donna said. “I rely on inevitability.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken history.
“Just make sure,” Caleb said finally, “that when this ends, it ends cleanly.”
Donna laughed softly. “Nothing ever ends cleanly, Caleb.” She placed a hand on his arm, her grip firm. “But I promise you this—when the dust settles, we will be standing exactly where we planned to be.”
Caleb nodded once.
The pool lights shimmered, the water undisturbed, betraying nothing of the storm quietly assembling beneath the surface.
Jaxon sat in his office, the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him revealing a skyline bathed in early afternoon light. Stacks of documents lay spread across his desk, reports and contracts demanding his attention, yet his mind was elsewhere. He skimmed lines without absorbing them, his jaw clenched, his thoughts restless.
The knock came suddenly.
“Sir?” Damon’s voice followed almost immediately.
Jaxon didn’t look up. “Damon, I specifically said I do not want to be disturbed,” he snapped, irritation seeping through his carefully maintained composure.
“I know, sir,” Damon replied quickly, urgency evident in his tone. “But she’s here. Maya.”
Jaxon’s head snapped up.
“What?” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “What is she doing here?”
“I tried to send her away,” Damon explained, stepping further into the office. “But she insisted. She was very serious about seeing you.”
Jaxon exhaled sharply, pacing once across the room. “Where is she?”
“At the lobby,” Damon answered.
Jaxon paused, his shoulders rising as he took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Okay,” he said finally. “Send her in.”
Damon nodded and turned to leave. Jaxon returned to his chair, straightened his suit jacket, and forced his expression into something unreadable—cool, distant, in control.
Moments later, the door opened.
Maya walked in with deliberate grace, her heels clinking against the polished floor, her posture confident, almost triumphant. Damon followed behind her, his expression tight.
“You really need to fire those people at the lobby,” Maya said casually, adjusting her bag strap as she glanced around the office. “They’re so rude.”
Jaxon didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her.
Damon met Jaxon’s eyes. Jaxon gave a subtle nod, signaling him to stay by the door.
Damon closed it firmly behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Jaxon asked immediately, his voice low but sharp.
Maya smiled and took a seat without invitation, crossing her legs slowly. “Calm down, baby daddy,” she said lightly, as if the words were nothing more than a joke.
“You are not supposed to be here,” Jaxon said, his tone hardening.
“I just came to collect some money,” Maya replied, reaching forward and picking up a file from his desk. She flipped it open casually, scanning its contents as though she belonged there.
Jaxon’s patience snapped. He stood and snatched the file from her hands. “Money?” he demanded. “Why do you think I should give you even a single dime after everything you’ve put me through?”
Maya tilted her head, unfazed. “Huh,” she said calmly. “This baby didn’t put itself here, you know.”
“We don’t even know if it’s really mine,” Jaxon shot back, his voice rising despite himself.
Maya’s eyes darkened, her smile sharpening.
“Then how about you tell that to the press instead?” she said softly.
The room went still.
Jaxon froze, his chest tightening as the implication sank in. He stared at her, disbelief and fury warring in his expression.
“Okay,” he said finally, holding up a hand. “Wait. How much do you want?”
Maya’s lips curved slowly. “Just five hundred thousand.”
“What?” Jaxon exclaimed. “What do you need that much money for?”
“Pregnant women get cravings,” Maya replied smoothly, shrugging. “And security. And comfort.”
Jaxon turned away, running a hand through his hair. His reflection stared back at him from the glass wall—tired, cornered, furious.
“Okay. Okay,” he said at last, turning back to her. “You have to go. I’ll tell my accountant to send you the money.”
Maya stood, satisfied. “Good.”
“But listen to me,” Jaxon added sharply. “This ends here.”
Maya laughed softly, picking up her bag. “For now,” she said. “But you better hurry with the money… or I might come back again.”
She walked toward the door, her heels echoing with every step, a smile playing on her lips as though she had just won something far more valuable than cash.
The door closed behind her.
Silence flooded the room.
Jaxon sank back into his chair, his hands gripping the armrests as he stared blankly ahead. Slowly, he dragged both hands through his hair and let out a long, frustrated sigh.
This was spiraling out of control.
And for the first time in a long while, Jaxon Wentworth knew—he was no longer the one holding the reins.
Elena sat across the long glass table, her posture composed, her expression professional, even as unease coiled tightly in her chest. The conference room was bright, washed in soft daylight filtering through the tall windows, but the air inside felt heavy—charged with expectation.
The clients seated opposite her represented La Seine, one of the most respected fashion houses in Europe. Their presence alone was a statement. Their interest in her work had been hard-earned, and Elena knew exactly what was at stake.
The conversation had gone smoothly at first—talk of fabrics, themes, venues, and timelines for the upcoming fashion show scheduled to take place in Canada. Elena listened
attentively, nodded at the right moments, and offered thoughtful input. But as the discussion edged closer to final commitments, she knew she could no longer avoid it.
“I don’t think I will be able to attend the show,” Elena said finally, her voice calm but firm.
“Unfortunately, I have a wedding to plan.”
There was a brief pause.
The clients exchanged glances—subtle, measured, unreadable.
“We understand,” one of them said after a moment, folding his hands together. “And we are very happy for you. Truly. However, arrangements for the show have already begun. Invitations have been sent out, venues booked, and a considerable number of people will be traveling to Canada specifically for this event.”
Elena nodded slowly. “I understand. Perhaps I could attend another one—one scheduled later in the year?”
The second client leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful but guarded. “That would be after the upcoming show,” she said. “And while we respect your personal commitments, La Seine pursued this collaboration because we believed it would be mutually beneficial. The visibility, the press, the creative synergy—it all depends on your direct involvement.”
She paused, then continued carefully, “We have looked forward to this for months.”
A knot tightened in Elena’s stomach.
“I truly value this partnership,” Elena said, choosing her words with care. “But my presence at the wedding is not optional.”
Silence followed. It wasn’t awkward—it was deliberate.
Finally, the first client stood, straightening his jacket. “We’re sorry, Ms. Montclair,” he said. “But if you choose to back out at this stage, we may have no choice but to withdraw our investment.”
Elena’s breath caught, though she didn’t let it show on her face.
The others stood as well, gathering their folders and tablets.
“This isn’t personal,” the second client added, her tone neutral. “It’s business.”
They nodded politely—professionally—and walked out of the conference room, the door closing softly behind them.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
Elena remained seated, her hands resting on the table, fingers slowly curling inward as the reality of what had just happened settled over her. The room felt suddenly too large, too empty.
A wedding she hadn’t planned to want.
A partnership she couldn’t afford to lose.
And a choice she was being forced to make far sooner than she was ready for.
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the closed door, her mind already racing ahead—calculating damage, consequences, and the fragile balance between duty and ambition.