“Célestine?”
She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice.
“I received a letter.”
“I know.”
“Did you believe it?”
He was silent for a moment.
“No.”
Her grip tightened around the phone.
“Why not?”
“Because the dates don’t match.”
She almost laughed.
That was Alaric.
Even now, he trusted a timestamp more than an emotional appeal.
“I didn’t take anything.”
“I believe you.”
She looked down.
“Thank you.”
“Célestine, don’t contact anyone from the company about this yet. The audit committee has opened a formal investigation. Your solicitor should respond to the letter.”
She listened.
Then said, “Why are you helping me?”
Alaric looked out of his office window.
“Because you deserve to be judged for what you actually did. Not for something someone invented.”
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then Célestine asked quietly, “And what about the other things?”
He knew what she meant.
Their kiss.
The months of difficult conversations.
The possibility neither had been brave enough to name.
Alaric closed his eyes.
“I don’t know yet.”
It was the most honest answer he had.
The investigation lasted four months.
During that time, Célestine found work at a small independent arts foundation in Rouen.
The salary was lower.
The office was cramped.
But she was good at the work.
She organised community exhibitions, developed educational workshops, and discovered that starting again was not nearly as humiliating as she’d feared.
Alaric, meanwhile, spent increasingly long evenings reviewing financial records.
With the audit committee’s support, he uncovered evidence that Matthias had approved inflated contracts through businesses connected to his associates.
The confidential file attributed to Célestine had been copied from a shared archive after her departure.
An employee in Matthias’s office eventually admitted that he had been instructed to create the misleading report.
The audit committee referred the financial irregularities for further investigation.
Matthias was suspended.
The false accusations against Célestine were formally withdrawn.
Maison Vesper issued her a written acknowledgement clearing her of the alleged data misuse.
Alaric attended the board meeting where the findings were presented.
His father sat at the head of the table.
For years, Konrad had believed that loyalty to family meant protecting the family name.
Now the company was facing the consequences of precisely that belief.
After the meeting, Konrad stopped his son near the door.
“You could have handled this privately.”
Alaric looked at him.
“I tried.”
“You’ve humiliated your cousin.”
“Matthias did that himself.”
Konrad’s face tightened.
“And what do you intend to do now?”
Alaric considered.
“Build a company that doesn’t require people to lie about who they are just to be heard.”
Then he walked away.
Célestine saw Alaric again in April.
The trees along the Seine were beginning to turn green.
She had come to Paris for an exhibition opening and was standing outside a small bookshop when she heard someone say her name.
“Célestine.”
She turned.
Alaric stood a few steps away.
He wore a dark coat over a pale blue shirt, his hair slightly longer than she remembered.
He looked tired.
But he smiled when he saw her.
“Hello.”
She smiled back.
“Hello.”
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Alaric glanced at the book in her hand.
“Historic gardens?”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“Still criticising other people’s restoration work?”
“Only when they deserve it.”
He laughed.
It was a small sound.
But it made something in her chest loosen.
They walked to a nearby café.
This time, there were no lies about spouses or children.
No professional hierarchy.
No company retreat.
They were simply two people sitting across from each other with coffee.
Alaric told her about the investigation.
Célestine told him about her new work.
They spoke about Odette’s recovery, Bastien’s latest architectural project, and Léonie’s sudden ambition to become a marine biologist.
Eventually, silence settled between them.
Alaric looked at her.
