Returning Home
1124 Words
Returning Home
The taxi driver froze for a moment as he stole a glance through the mirror. He could hardly believe his eyes.
“Um… aren’t you — you’re Élise Moreau, aren’t you?” he asked, voice equal parts astonished and hesitant.
Élise looked out the window and offered a small smile. The smile masked the tired make-up and the nights behind it; it was gentle, not burdened. “Yes,” she answered softly — as if the name no longer owned her.
She gave the driver her address. The taxi eased into familiar city streets; from his rearview the driver watched her profile. There was something almost intimate in the way he watched — curious, respectful, a little embarrassed, not like a tabloid photographer but like a neighbor who recognizes someone they once admired.
When the cab stopped, Élise stepped out. For a moment she paused, then turned to the driver. “Wait,” she said. “I’ll send the fare.” She brought up her phone and tapped the screen; a quiet notification confirmed the transfer. The driver, surprised to see the payment pop up, smiled and gave a small nod.
Elise walked into the building quickly. As the door opened, a few heads in the lobby caught sight of her, but she ignored them and went straight to her assistant’s office. Nina looked up from a phone call, stunned.
A flicker of panic crossed Nina’s face. “Madam—” she began, but Élise raised a hand to stop her and spoke calmly, with quiet authority:
“Pay the taxi. Now. I’m going to shower. Call my lawyer — urgently. Tell him to come.”
Before Nina could assemble her thoughts, Élise swept past, her bag slung over her shoulder. There was still that faint echo of lavender in her, a fragile light in her eyes, but her voice carried the clinch of command. Nina, switching into action, grabbed the phone and dialed.
At the top of the stairwell, Élise paused for a beat and looked back. Through the window she saw the taxi driver in his cab, watching his phone. She allowed herself a brief, tiny smile — private and almost secretive — then turned and climbed the stairs to the apartment.
Urgent Calls
Nina’s hands were still trembling. Élise’s last words echoed sharply in her ears:
“Pay the taxi. Call my lawyer. Now.”
She grabbed the phone on her desk, her fingers moving on instinct, dialing the number she had memorized long ago.
On the screen: “Mr. Lemaire – Attorney.”
The first ring went unanswered. On the second, a calm but sleepy voice came through.
— “Nina? At this hour…?”
— “Mr. Lemaire, you need to come immediately. Élise is back. Yes, she’s here, right now. She looks fine, but she says it’s urgent. She wants to see you in person — right away.”
She hung up, exhaling shakily.
But before she could even catch her breath, another thought hit her like a jolt.
The manager.
He’d been calling for three days, furious, demanding answers. She had lied, made excuses — “Élise is ill,” she had said. “She’s resting.”
But now there was no hiding.
Nina hesitated for only a second before dialing again.
After several rings, a harsh, angry voice filled her ear:
— “Nina?! Finally! Where is she? Where is Élise? It’s been three days! The producers are losing their minds, the press is everywhere—”
Nina closed her eyes, keeping her voice calm and controlled.
— “Please, calm down, Mr. Reed. Élise is back.”
— “Back? What do you mean back? Where the hell was she—”
— “She’s here now. But she asked that no one be informed.
Not yet. She’ll make a statement when she’s ready.”
There was a pause — the kind that hums with barely contained fury.
When the man spoke again, his tone had softened slightly, but his impatience was palpable.
— “Fine. Then tell her I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes.”
Nina bit her lip.
— “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said quietly.
— “She doesn’t want to see anyone right now. Especially you.”
The silence that followed was sharp as glass.
Then, just before the line went dead, came the cold voice:
— “This game won’t last, Nina. You’re all going to burn with her.”
The click of disconnection echoed in the office.
Nina exhaled slowly, pressing her forehead into her palm for a moment before straightening.
Her professional composure slipped back into place like armor.
She noted the expected arrival time of the lawyer and picked up the phone again to call building security.
“When Mr. Lemaire arrives, send him straight up.
And don’t let anyone else in — especially the manager.”
She hung up and leaned back in her chair, the city lights glimmering through the office glass.
Then she whispered to herself, half in fear, half in admiration:
“Welcome back, Élise. The storm begins.”
The Lawyer
Rain tapped softly against the office windows.
Nina stood quietly near the door; she had just escorted the lawyer upstairs.
Mr. Lemaire entered in his gray suit, composed as always, a briefcase in hand.
— “Madame Moreau, finally. It’s good to see you.
Nina had me quite worried.”
Élise turned from the window. Her hair was still damp, a thin robe wrapped around her.
She took a slow sip of coffee and sat down, her gaze steady, her posture poised.
— “You don’t need to worry,” she said coolly.
— “I’m fine. But someone else isn’t.”
The lawyer frowned slightly.
— “Someone else?”
She hesitated, then lowered her eyes.
— “Yes. Emir.”
Mr. Lemaire tilted his head.
— “And who is Emir?”
Élise’s fingers tightened around the cup.
Her voice, when it came, was sharp, commanding.
— “I don’t owe you explanations, Mr. Lemaire.”
The air in the room grew still.
— “I pay you to fix my problems, not to question my personal life.
So please, focus on what you’re paid for.”
The lawyer froze, then slowly nodded.
His tone softened.
— “You’re right, Madame Moreau. My apologies.”
Élise exhaled, setting the cup down on the glass table.
Her eyes gleamed with quiet determination.
— “Good,” she said. “Because I need you to do something for me.”
Lemaire leaned forward slightly, sensing a shift in her tone.
The fragile actress was gone — in her place sat a woman with a plan.
- Writer
