“Have you tried yourself as I suggested, Nadine?” my lover’s voice was a low, seductive hum, laced with a playful challenge.

We were alone in his room on the second floor, while the ground floor buzzed with the chaotic energy of his usual house party.

The laughter and music below felt like a distant world, one I had no desire to return to.

I nodded, the heat already creeping up my cheeks.

He smiled, a proud gleam in his eyes as he rose from the bed, his gaze never leaving mine. “Can you show me?”

A knot of hesitation twisted in my stomach, but his expectant eyes were hard to refuse.

There was something about the way he looked at me—like I was his entire world. And for that reason alone, I could not disappoint him.

I nodded again, my fingers trembling as I lay back on the bed.

The sheets were cool against my skin, but the chill was quickly overtaken by the fire Raphael had lit within me.

Slowly, my fingers trailed over my body, starting from the delicate curve of my neck down to my core. I shut my eyes, imagining his touch instead of mine, just as he had suggested.

“Good girl,” Raphael whispered, his voice thick with approval. His eyes drank in every move I made, his breathing heavy. “You’re perfect, Nadine. Absolutely perfect.”

I did it because I loved him. I loved this man who watched me with such raw hunger—Raphael Moreau, the son of my family’s bitter rival in Europe.

His family’s influence stretched across the UK like a shadow, while mine ruled over France with prestige and power.

We were not supposed to be together. We were two pieces of different puzzles forced to fit.

But for him, I had given everything. Because he gave me everything, too—just like Romeo to Juliet.

I was the only spare in my family, the one with the freedom to choose her own path.

And I had chosen to study in London, far away from the high expectations and endless scrutiny of my family’s world. I majored in literature because books were my escape.

So, London was where I met Raphael. The man who shattered my quiet world and rebuilt it with the warmth of his smile.

His charm was undeniable, his brilliance well-known across campus. And that handsome man—impossibly perfect—had fallen for me.

“You’re so beautiful, Nadine,” he murmured, his fingers brushing gently against my flushed cheeks. His touch was both tender and possessive. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead before slowly unbuttoning his shirt, letting the fabric slide from his shoulders. I could only watch, breathless, as he discarded the last barrier between us.

“That was amazing,” he said, his voice a mix of praise and anticipation. “But now... let me show you how much I love you.”

He tore off the plastic with his teeth and swiftly slipped the safety on before his lips claiming mine with urgency and passion.

I gave myself to him. My voice tangled with his as pleasure built between us.

“Raphael...” I gasped as he thrust into me, his name slipping from my lips like a prayer.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, his gaze locking onto mine. “Don’t worry.”

The party continued downstairs, a dull roar of music and laughter that masked our tangled cries and shuddered breaths.

The world beyond this room did not matter. Nothing did, except him.

When our passion finally ebbed, we lay tangled in each other’s arms, our bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. I had never felt so alive, so completely consumed by someone.

Raphael had prepared the best for me—every touch, every kiss, was a testament to how much he desired me.

“You look messy,” he chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from my face.

His expression had softened, but there was still that gleam of pride and possession in his eyes. “Go clean yourself up and fix your makeup before you go downstairs. We don’t want anyone to suspect anything, do we?”

“Of course.” I nodded, forcing a smile. But something tightened in my chest at his words.

Was he ashamed of me? Or was he only worried about his reputation?

Raphael leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Good girl. You did so well. Thank you for this precious graduation gift, my love.”

I watched him put his clothes back on, his movements graceful and unbothered.

And as he left the room with that same easy confidence, the door closing softly behind him, I felt something unsettling swirl within me.

Maybe it was just the afterglow. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

But before I could linger on it, I got up to clean myself, telling myself over and over that Raphael loved me. That he truly cared.

The alternative was something I was not ready to face.

As I stepped out of the room after showering, I made my way toward the room where Raphael and his friends were gathered.

Just before I could push the door open fully, their laughter spilled into the hallway—casual, mocking, and all too familiar.

“Imagine if tonight’s intimate videos were spread on the internet. The Delaunay family's reputation would definitely be ruined, right?”

“Right! Their daughter’s body displayed like that—how could they not be embarrassed? Haha.”

“To be honest, when I saw it, I also wanted to try it.”

“Damn you,” someone else chuckled. “Before you even succeed, you’d already feel Raphael’s fist.”

My body froze. My fingers clutched the doorframe, my nails digging into the wood as their words slammed into me like icy blades.

My intimate videos? Raphael had... recorded us?

No. No, it could not be true.

But then, Raphael’s voice cut through their laughter, calm and composed, his tone carrying that infuriating air of superiority. “That’s why you shouldn’t make the Moreau family a rival.”

“Right,” one of them agreed. “At least, every time Victor makes your family have a hard time, you have a way to silence them.”

“No, I won’t wait that long. In just a week, at the Moreau Group’s Anniversary, I’ll reveal to the world that their beloved daughter is nothing more than a slave to desire,” Raphael sneered, a smirk curling on his lips.

“Damn you,” one of his friends cursed. “So, this is a gift for your grand debut as the Moreau family’s first successor? You’re ruthless.”

My breath hitched, and I slapped my hand over my mouth, stifling the choked sob that clawed its way up my throat.

It turned out Raphael had been planning to use me to destroy my family’s reputation.

Every smile, every touch, every whispered promise of love had been nothing but a carefully constructed illusion.

I stumbled back into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

How could I have been so stupid and utterly blind all the time?

I had given him my trust, believing that what we had was real. But it was nothing more than a cruel, twisted lie.

Still, I refused to crumble. Swallowing my sorrow, I steadied myself and fought back.

My trembling fingers clutched the phone as I scrolled through my contacts, finding the name that had always been my safety net.

Victor Delaunay, my brother. The only one who had ever truly loved me, even when I made decisions that tore him apart.

Victor had been disappointed when he discovered my relationship with Raphael. His frustration was sharp and his disapproval fierce.

But he had never blamed me. Despite everything, he loved me too much to hold my choices against me. His protectiveness often felt suffocating, but it was born from genuine care.

I remembered his last attempt to pull me away from Raphael’s toxic embrace. His cold, matter-of-fact message felt more like a warning than an invitation.

[Come home. Your fiancé is waiting.]

At the time, I had read those words with resentment, thinking he was trying to control me, to bend my life to his will. I had called him cruel, selfish, and unfeeling.

But that time, I saw his offer for what it truly was—a lifeline.

A chance to leave Raphael forever.

As the call connected, I directly asked first, “Is your offer about the fiancé still valid now, Vic?”

“You finally realized that only your family is good to you?”

Victor’s voice was smooth, unreadable, but I knew him well enough to catch the sharp edge hidden beneath his words.

He had read through my silence, or perhaps, he had always known that I was merely trapped in Raphael’s web of sweet lies.

My fingers tightened around the phone, my throat dry as I finally admitted, “I’m ending it with Raphael. I’ll be returning to Paris.”

A pause. Then, the sound of a slow exhale, deliberate and measured.

“Good,” Victor replied, his tone betraying no emotion except for the faintest trace of vindication. “You should’ve never been with him.”

A surge of frustration flared inside me, a mix of residual heartbreak and the exhaustion of always being told what I should and should not do. “I don’t need a lecture, Vic. I just need you to keep your word.”

Victor hummed, a low, considering sound. “You’ll be taken care of the moment you arrive. Your fiancé is expecting you.”

My stomach twisted.

A fiancé. A stranger. Another man whose presence in my life was dictated by obligation rather than choice.

But anything was better than staying in London, drowning in Raphael’s deceit.

Victor’s voice softened, though it still carried the weight of finality. “Take care of everything for a week. I expect you back then.”

And just like that, the call ended before I could say anything more.

I lowered the phone, staring blankly at the dimly lit bedroom around me. The silence felt heavier, oppressive, as if the walls themselves were closing in.

That was Victor. The older brother I once knew—sweet, protective, always teasing me with his rare but affectionate smiles—had disappeared years ago.

By the time he turned twenty, he had abandoned the warmth of the Delaunay estate, choosing solitude over family.

Our parents had asked why, and his response had been curt, “It’s only right that I struggle alone. I’ll return only for important occasions.”

And he had meant it. Even though he still met our father at the office, Victor had become a ghost in our family—present in name, but absent in all else.

I was fifteen at that time, so I had longed for my brother’s presence, missed the way he used to ruffle my hair, missed the way he once doted on me with quiet affection.

But at twenty-four, I felt nothing.

I had convinced myself I could live without his shadow. That I did not need him anymore.

But I was wrong.

Victor had calculated everything. And I had walked straight into his plan.

I sighed, the weight of my decision pressing down on my chest like an unbearable burden.

Without a word, I quietly packed my belongings—the clothes I had once folded neatly into Raphael’s drawers, the make up lined up beside his, the scent of his cologne lingering on the fabrics.

I did not belong there anymore. It never had been.

I did not need to stay in his space, where every wall whispered lies and every memory was tainted by betrayal. I would return to my own apartment, where at least the silence was not filled with deception.

As I reached for my makeup bag, my phone vibrated against the wooden nightstand. I hesitated before picking it up, expecting a call from Victor or perhaps another unwanted message from Raphael.

Instead, my screen lit up with an unexpected name.

Colette Birkin, my classmate, the girl who had lingered on the periphery of my relationship, always watching, always prying.

I tapped the message open, my fingers tightening around the phone.

[Nadine, you know if Raphael’s parents would never approve of a Delaunay, right? So, you better prepare, since they have arranged our engagement. They’ve wanted this for years.]

The air in the room seemed to vanish.

I re-read the message, disbelief twisting into something sharp and bitter in my chest. My classmate who had pretended to be nothing more than an amused onlooker, watching my love story unfold like a passing drama.

Only then did I realize—she had been part of the script all along.

My hands trembled. I knew Colette and Raphael had known each other since childhood, had attended the same prestigious schools, and had walked the same privileged paths.

Unlike me, the stranger who had barged into his world uninvited, she had always been there.

Yet, I had never imagined the betrayal would be this close.

A horrible thought struck me. "Could it be that she was there too?"

My voice came out in a whisper, my mind racing back to the cruel laughter of Raphael’s friends, the way they had mocked me, discussed my body as if I were nothing more than a scandal to be exploited.

Before I could process it, my phone buzzed again.

The words sliced through me like a blade, cold and merciless.

[You didn't really think you were special, did you? Raphael and I have known each other since childhood. Our parents already decided our future. You were nothing more than a doll, something Raphael used to bring down your family for his own gain.]

A hollow laugh escaped me, void of humor and emotion.

I had been a fool.

To think Colette was just another student. To think she was just a friend in Raphael’s circle.

It turned out, she was part of everything, even Raphael’s plan.

My chest ached, and for a fleeting moment, I felt the sting of tears burning behind my eyes. But I refused to let them fall.

Raphael had already stolen enough from me—my trust, my first love, my dignity. But they would not take my pride.

With newfound resolve, I zipped up my bag, squared my shoulders, and stepped out of the room.

As I walked past the room, the door suddenly swung open.

The sharp click of stiletto heels echoed against the marble floor, sending a chill down my spine.

And then I saw her.

Colette.

My intuition had been right all along. She had been among them—laughing, indulging in the cruel spectacle of my downfall.

With effortless grace, Colette stepped forward, a delicate crystal glass of wine in her hand, her expression a picture of practiced innocence.

She smiled at me, her lips curling with an unreadable amusement, then glided closer, her eyes feigning warmth.

“Nadine,” she sang sweetly, slipping her arm through mine as if we were old friends, as if she had not just stabbed me in the back. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Apparently, you were here all along.”

Her voice was a melody of deception, gentle enough to fool the onlookers but sharp enough to make my stomach twist.

I jerked my arm away. “Stop pretending, Colette.”

But she only gripped me tighter, her nails digging into my skin in warning.

I could see the eyes of the other guests lingering on us, watching, curious—why was Colette Birkin, the golden child of the elite, treating me, the outsider, with such familiarity?

They did not know that every touch, every word from Colette was an act.

“What do you want now?” I asked her in a low but piercing tone.

Her smile never wavered as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear.

“Are you asking because you’re stupid or pretending to be stupid, Nadine?” she whispered, her tone dripping with venom masked beneath honeyed sweetness. “I told you, our parents are still discussing the engagement. You, an insignificant nobody, should know when to step aside.

A cold fury spread through me. So, I tilted my head slightly, mirroring her closeness, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

If she wanted to play this game, I would give her something to choke on.

“Tell me, Colette,” I whispered, my voice as soft as silk. “Have you ever slept with Raphael?”

Her body tensed, so I continued, “If not, then you’re one level beneath me. Oh wait—let me correct myself. Ten levels beneath, because I doubt Raphael even considers you a friend.”

Colette’s entire demeanor snapped. Her grip on my arm faltered, and for the first time, the composed mask cracked. The rage behind her gaze was raw, burning.

I did not see it coming until it was too late.

Splash.

The rich red wine soaked into my dress, staining the fabric like blood. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Before I could react, Colette shoved me—hard.

The world tilted. My back collided against the cold, unforgiving wall, pain exploding along my spine. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as the impact sent a ringing through my ears.

The room fell into stunned silence before the whispers began.

“What do you mean, Nadine?!” Colette’s voice rang out, feigning shock, twisting the narrative in her favor.

Her eyes darted around, taking in the growing audience, her mind already crafting a new scene—one where she was the victim, and I was the villain.

She placed a trembling hand over her chest, her voice dropping into something delicate, almost wounded.

“Why are you showing off your intimate relationship with Raphael? I know we’re friends, but isn’t that something you should keep private?”

Oh, she was good.

I was still catching my breath, still reeling from the force of her shove, when the murmurs spread like wildfire.

“Intimate? Wait… does that mean Nadine just slept with Raphael?”

“No wonder she was missing all night.”

“But isn’t that a bit much? Flaunting it in front of Colette? Poor girl.”

“Colette and Raphael are basically destined for each other. Their families have known each other forever.”

“Did Nadine do it on purpose? To challenge Colette?”

“I mean, I’ve had fun with my boyfriend, but I wouldn’t go around announcing it to the world.”

“Maybe Parisians think differently.”

At that moment, the cold sensation of wine also clinging to my skin sent a sharp shiver through me.

The deep red liquid seeped into my white blouse, darkening the fabric and making it translucent, exposing the lace outline of my black bra beneath.

Gasps and hushed whispers rippled through the crowd as people drew closer, their amusement turning into fascination, their mockery shifting into something more sinister.

"What a scene," someone murmured.

"Does she have no shame?"

"I bet she did it on purpose to seduce Raphael."

I gritted my teeth, the humiliation clawing at me like a beast, but I refused to let it consume me.

I slowly tried to push myself up, ignoring the way my legs trembled, the sharp ache in my back from the impact against the wall.

And then, a sharp, ugly expression flickered across Colette’s face.

For someone who had just staged a spectacle, she did not seem pleased by how it had turned out.

Still, she played her part flawlessly. Large, crocodile tears welled in her eyes as she let her voice break in feigned betrayal.

"Nadine, you know my feelings for Raphael, but why...?"

She sniffled, her delicate hands clenching over her chest as though she were the true victim in this scene.

The murmurs grew louder.

"Poor Colette… how could Nadine do this to her?"

"She was already humiliated, and yet she still flaunts that she had Raphael?"

"Disgusting. So shameless."

Just as I forced myself onto my feet, ready to end this ridiculous performance, a voice cut through the noise like a whip.

“What the hell are you all looking at? Focus on your own damn business!”

The authority in his tone silenced the crowd instantly.

I turned my head just in time to see Raphael, his sharp jaw clenched in fury, his piercing gaze sweeping over the gathered audience like a predator assessing its prey.

His steps were swift and controlled. Without hesitation, he reached for me, his hands firm yet gentle as he gripped my arms.

“Let me help you.”

Before I could protest, he had already pulled me up, his touch grounding me against the spinning dizziness of my emotions.

Then, in a move that stunned everyone, Raphael peeled off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, shielding my soaked blouse from prying eyes.

The warmth of his body still clung to the fabric, a stark contrast to the icy humiliation I had just endured.

For a brief second, I looked past him—at Colette.

She was not jealous.

No, her expression was something far worse. Satisfaction.

She stepped closer, her voice laced with innocent regret. "Raph, sorry... I only wanted to hold Nadine’s hand and talk to her, but she rejected me, and the wine—accidentally spilled."

Raphael turned to her, his expression darkening like a brewing storm.

"Then can you explain why she fell?" His voice was lethal.

Colette’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

For the first time, she looked small and weak, like a child caught in a lie.