She knew who had written it.
She folded the note and slipped it into her pocket.
That evening, she nearly told him everything.
She stood outside his office for several minutes.
Then she heard him speaking on the telephone.
His voice was controlled, impatient.
“No, Father. I am not discussing an engagement.”
A pause.
“I don’t care what the board thinks.”
Another pause.
“Because marriage is not a succession strategy.”
Célestine quietly stepped away.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, the conversation unsettled her more than she expected.
Alaric’s family owned a substantial minority interest in Maison Vesper.
His father, Konrad von Eltz, had spent decades expanding the company through carefully negotiated acquisitions.
Now he wanted Alaric to become chief executive.
There were conditions.
Some professional.
Some personal.
Konrad had long believed that the company would benefit from a closer relationship with the wealthy de Villiers family, whose investment firm controlled several historic properties in Belgium.
Their daughter, Séraphine de Villiers, was elegant, accomplished, and entirely uninterested in being offered as a corporate solution.
She and Alaric had known each other since adolescence.
Their families assumed they would eventually marry.
Neither of them agreed.
At a dinner in Brussels, Konrad raised the subject again.
“Séraphine would make an excellent wife.”
Alaric put down his fork.
“Then I suggest you find her an excellent husband.”
Séraphine nearly choked on her wine.
Her father frowned.
“Alaric.”
“What?”
“This is not amusing.”
Séraphine set down her glass.
“Actually, I thought it was.”
Alaric smiled at her.
After dinner, they walked onto the terrace.
Séraphine looked toward the gardens.
“Your father is becoming quite determined.”
“He’s always determined.”
“Is there someone else?”
Alaric looked at her.
She smiled faintly.
“That answers that.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Of course it is.”
He leaned against the railing.
“She’s married.”
Séraphine turned.
“Oh.”
“At least, I think she is.”
“Alaric.”
“I know.”
She studied him for a moment.
“Then whatever you feel, be careful not to make her life more difficult.”
He looked away.
He knew Séraphine was right.
But knowing had become increasingly unhelpful.
The truth came out in October.
Not through a dramatic confession.
Not through a jealous confrontation.
Through a missing consent form.
Maison Vesper’s legal department required proof of parental or guardianship authority before Léonie could participate in a new children’s research program.
Célestine tried to withdraw her from the project.
Human resources asked for clarification.
Bastien, unwilling to sign a false declaration, contacted the department directly.
He explained that he was Léonie’s father and sole legal guardian.
Célestine was a close family friend.
Nothing more.
The next morning, Alaric received the report.
He read it twice.
Then asked Célestine to come to his office.
She entered carrying a notebook.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Close the door, please.”
She did.
Alaric stood beside the window.
On his desk lay the original application.
Célestine looked at it.
Her stomach dropped.
“Are you married?” he asked.
She stared at the paper.
“No.”
“Are you Léonie’s mother?”
“No.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then why did you tell us you were?”
She swallowed.
“My mother was ill. I needed the job. The position required…”
“I know what the position required.”
She lowered her eyes.
Alaric walked around the desk.
“Do you understand that I defended your hiring?”
Célestine looked up.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No. You simply allowed me to do it without knowing the truth.”
She flinched slightly.
He noticed.
His voice softened.
“I’m not asking why you needed money. I’m asking why you kept lying after you knew the consequences.”
Célestine’s eyes filled, though no tears fell.
“Because every day I waited, it became harder to tell you.”
Alaric was silent.
Then he said, “And in Menton?”
She looked at him.
“What about Menton?”
“Was that real?”
Her expression changed.
“Yes.”
He looked away.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Alaric returned to his desk.
“The matter has to go through an independent review. I can’t make this disappear.”
“I know.”
She nodded.
“I’ll cooperate.”
