Whenever anyone referred to Célestine’s marriage, she became tense.
Alaric could have asked directly.
Instead, he waited.
Partly because he wanted evidence.
Partly because he was afraid of what he might learn.
And partly because his feelings had become deeply inconvenient.
He began noticing whether Célestine had eaten lunch.
He remembered when she had meetings she dreaded.
He listened more carefully when she spoke during presentations.
When she developed a terrible cold, he left tea and medicine outside the office where she was working.
Célestine found the paper bag after lunch.
Inside was a note.
You sound terrible. Go home.
There was no signature.
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.”
