Chapter 3 The Shut out
Vivienne's POV
Midnight had long since bled into the early hours when I finally slipped through the gate of the old Laurent villa in the Panier district.
The slap came before I even crossed the threshold.
My father, stepfather, Étienne Laurent, loomed in the doorway, hand still raised.
“The nerve of you! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
I dodged the second swing with practiced ease.
Étienne’s face was purple. “You humiliated us! Dressed like a street rat, kissing some stranger in public, Margot is ruined! Every matchmaker in Provence will laugh us out of existence. On your knees. Apologise to your mother right now.”
My voice was ice. “She’s not my mother.”
“She’s the only mother you’ve got, and she’s trying to secure your future before I cut you out of the will completely. You think your real mother’s family money will save you? It’s mine now.”
I met his eyes, unflinching. “Keep it. I don’t want a single euro soaked in Margot’s perfume and your cowardice.”
I turned toward the stairs.
My voice cut through the courtyard like a blade. “She’s just a stepmother who can’t wait to sell me off so she can keep every cent that should have been mine.”
Margot appeared in the doorway behind Étienne, eyes already brimming with perfectly timed tears. “Étienne, darling, don’t be angry with her. She’s young. She doesn’t understand. Her little tantrums… they’re my failure as a mother.”
Étienne’s fury wavered. He hated seeing his beautiful wife upset. “Ungrateful brat! Margot treats you like her own blood and you spit in her face!”
Margot dabbed at her cheeks with a silk handkerchief. “It’s all right, chéri. She can call me whatever she likes. I don’t mind if she calls me Aunt Margot. Really.”
I had seen this performance a hundred times. Margot could cry on cue, play the wounded saint, and have every man in the room eating out of her hand in seconds. Étienne, like all the others, was blind to the venom underneath the perfume.
I pulled out a thick folder from my jacket and slapped it into Étienne’s chest.
“Since you’re so concerned about my future, why don’t you read what your loving wife has been arranging for me? Every ‘gentleman’ on that list is older than you, twice as rich, and three times as disgusting. If any of them actually interested me, I’d happily walk down the aisle tomorrow.”
Étienne tore open the folder. Photos, bank transfers, medical reports men with criminal records, men with wives already, men who collected teenage mistresses like watches. His face drained of colour with every page.
Margot’s tears dried instantly.
Étienne’s hand trembled. The folder slipped from his fingers and scattered across the courtyard stones.
The papers proved every suitor Margot had lined up was a walking disaster; average age forty-two, bankruptcies, mistresses, one even had an outstanding arrest warrant for tax fraud.
Étienne’s face twisted as he flipped through the pages.
“Some of these men are older than me. How could you parade my daughter in front of them?”
Margot’s mask slipped for only a second before the tears welled up again.
“Etienne, I swear I had no idea! The agency gave me glowing references. Someone must have switched the files!”
I laughed, cold and sharp.
“Right. Because the matchmaker accidentally sent you a dossier of criminals and creeps instead of the ‘cream of the crop.’ Funny how every single one of them offered you a generous finder’s fee the moment I said yes.”
Étienne’s hand tightened on the folder until the paper crumpled.
Margot clutched his arm, voice trembling.
“It’s a misunderstanding…”
“No,” Étienne cut in, voice suddenly quiet and terrible. “Enough. You will not arrange another date for Vivienne. Ever. You’re grounded until further notice. Stay in this house and think about what you’ve done.”
Margot went white.
“Étienne…”
He turned his back on her and looked at me, guilt and exhaustion in his eyes.
“I’m sorry you had to meet those men. No more blind dates. Promise.”
I gave him a small, careful smile.
“Thank you, Papa.”
Étienne trudged upstairs, shoulders slumped.
The moment his door shut, Margot’s tears vanished. She rounded on me with pure venom like she always does.
“You little snake,” she hissed. “By the way, I forgot to mention, those ‘perfect gentlemen’ asked for your private number. I gave them Sherlyn Voss’s contact instead.”
That washed-up influencer is desperate enough to take any rich fossil who calls. Let’s see how long her career lasts after this.
Sherlyn Voss, former child star, current tabloid punchline. Margot knew exactly how to ruin a reputation with one phone call.
My smile didn’t waver.
“Oops. Hope Sherlyn enjoys yachts and dentures.”
Margot’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“You think you’ve won? Watch your back.”
I yawned theatrically.
“I’m going to bed. Try not to poison my coffee in the morning.”
I ignored her and climbed the stairs without looking back. But I hid somewhere and watched what her next plans are, Margot doesn't back down from a fight just like that. She has got so many plans and plan B strategy up her sleeves.
Margot yanked out her phone, fingers already flying across the screen, then the doorbell rang, three sharp chimes cutting through the silent house.
Margot froze.
At two in the morning, visitors only meant one thing in the Panier.
She crept to the security monitor.
On the front steps stood Raphael Moreau, immaculate in a midnight coat, flanked by two bodyguards and a van idling behind him.
He looked straight into the camera and smiled, like a wolf who had already counted the sheep.
Margot’s hand flew to her throat.
My bedroom door clicked shut overhead. But I quietly watched everything that was happening downstairs.
Margot yanked the door open, ready to unleash hell.
Instead she found herself staring up at Lucien Valois in a charcoal suit and mirror-polished shoes, flanked by six silent men in black. Behind them, crates and velvet boxes were stacked higher than the garden wall.
They found me!
Margot’s hand flew to her throat. “Who the devil are you people?”
Lucien offered a polite, icy smile. “Good evening, madame. Our employer instructed us to deliver betrothal gifts to your daughter.”
“Betrothal gifts?” Margot’s voice cracked. “From whom?”
“Raphael Moreau.”
The name hit like a cannon shot.
“Raphael… Moreau?” Margot’s knees nearly buckled. “The Moreau?”
“Precisely.”
Lucien gestured to the mountain of luxury behind him. “Shall we bring them inside?”
Margot’s brain scrambled. Sherlyn Voss, her useless, fame-hungry decoy, had been receiving calls meant for Vivienne all evening. If Raphael Moreau believed Sherlyn was the girl from the café…
She recovered quickly, plastering on her sweetest smile. “You must be mistaken. My daughter is… well, she’s already accepted a proposal tonight. From another gentleman.”
Lucien didn’t blink. “Monsieur Moreau is aware your daughter accepted his ring in front of four hundred witnesses. He simply wishes to begin the formal courtship.”
Margot opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. “But the news…”
“Is tomorrow’s headline,” Lucien finished smoothly. “Tonight, we deliver gifts. May we proceed?”
He didn’t wait for permission. Two men lifted a velvet case the size of a small coffin. Another carried a sapphire necklace that caught the moonlight like a captured sea.
Margot’s greed warred with panic. She thinks If I married Raphael Moreau, the Laurent family would be untouchable. If Sherlyn somehow ended up with him… Margot would be the mother-in-law of the most powerful man in the Mediterranean.
She stepped aside, gesturing grandly. “Of course, of course. Bring everything in.”
Lucien’s smile never reached his eyes. “Monsieur Moreau will pay a formal visit in three days to claim his fiancée’s hand. He trusts you’ll have her ready.”
“Three days?” Margot squeaked.
“The finest things take time,” Lucien said, bowing slightly. “But not too much time.”
The men filed past her like a funeral procession made of money.
Upstairs, I leaned against my bedroom door, listening to the chaos below. I pressed a hand to my racing heart and whispered to the empty room: “What the hell have I done?”
Margot’s pulse raced with pure, giddy triumph.
Three days. Three days to turn the mix-up into destiny.
She waved Lucien off with a dazzling smile. “Tell Monsieur Moreau we are honoured. We’ll be ready.”
Lucien inclined his head and disappeared into the night.
Étienne appeared at the top of the stairs, bleary-eyed. “Who was that? What’s all this?”
Margot spun, clutching a velvet box the size of a small dog. “Darling! The most wonderful news! Raphael Moreau, the Raphael Moreau, has fallen for our Sherlyn! These are betrothal gifts. Look at the quality!”
Étienne’s jaw dropped. “Raphael Moreau? The one who controls half the Mediterranean ports?”
“The very same!” Margot crowed. “Our little girl is going to be a Moreau!”
Étienne clutched his chest, half joy, half terror. “I thought you said I suspended your credit card for the month!”
Margot waved the accusation away. “I was upset! You know how Vivienne behaves. A mother can’t let her only daughter marry some nobody. I only wanted the best for Sherlyn.”
Étienne softened instantly. “You’re too good to us, chérie.”
Margot preened. A naïve little thing like Vivienne could never handle a man like Raphael. Sherlyn, on the other hand, beautiful, famous, desperate for relevance, was perfect.
Early the next morning, Margot called her darling daughter, Sherlyn Voss and insisted she come immediately.
Sherlyn arrived in oversized sunglasses and yesterday’s makeup, clearly hung-over. “What is it, Mum? Why drag me here before noon? I still have a scene to shoot…”
“It’s about your engagement to Raphael Moreau!”
Sherlyn blinked. “My what now? I don’t even know the guy.”
Margot beamed, shoving a velvet box into her hands. “He sent these last night! The sapphire necklace alone is worth three million. He’s madly in love with you. You’ve already accepted the ring in public, he announced it to the entire city!”
I stood in the corner and watched how my gifts were being passed to Sherlyn.
Sherlyn stared at the jewels, then at the mountain of gifts filling the foyer.
“But… I’ve never met him.”
Margot’s smile turned razor-sharp. “Details, darling. You’re an actress. Act.”