Chapter 10 continued
1240 Words
Lucien remained in his study long after the call ended.
The silence inside the room felt heavier than before.
He rested both hands on the edge of his desk and stared at the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Geneva was beautiful beneath the evening lights, yet he barely noticed it.
One sentence echoed through his mind.
"I need to know if you betrayed me... or if someone betrayed us both."
It was Clara's voice.
Not Claire's.
Not the woman who now carried his surname.
The real Clara.
He closed his eyes.
The emotion in her voice had not sounded rehearsed. It had sounded raw, confused, and heartbroken.
If someone had staged the call, they had done it perfectly.
But Lucien trusted his instincts.
And every instinct he possessed told him that the woman on the phone believed every word she had spoken.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in."
His assistant, Adrian, stepped inside.
"You asked me to postpone tomorrow's meetings."
"I did."
"They've all been rescheduled."
Lucien nodded distractedly.
Adrian hesitated.
"Is everything all right?"
Lucien looked at him.
"I don't know."
That answer surprised Adrian.
For years, he had worked beside Lucien Devereaux.
Lucien always knew.
He always had answers.
Tonight, he looked like a man questioning everything.
"If you need anything..."
"I do."
Adrian waited.
"I need every photograph and video taken during the wedding."
Adrian frowned.
"Every one?"
"Every one."
"May I ask why?"
Lucien looked toward the window again.
"Because I think I missed something."
---
Meanwhile, Claire stood alone in the master bedroom of the Devereaux estate.
The room was magnificent.
Elegant furniture.
Fresh flowers.
A breathtaking view of the gardens.
Everything a newly married woman could dream of.
Yet she had never felt more uncomfortable.
She removed the diamond earrings and placed them carefully on the dressing table.
Then she looked into the mirror.
For the first time in years, she struggled to recognize herself.
She looked exactly like Clara.
That had always been true.
But now the resemblance no longer felt like a coincidence.
It felt like a prison.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come in."
Margaux entered quietly.
"You should be resting."
Claire smiled faintly.
"I don't think I can."
Margaux studied her daughter.
"You've done well."
Claire looked away.
"Have I?"
"You are Mrs. Devereaux now."
Claire's expression remained unchanged.
"I thought that would make me happy."
"It will."
"No."
She shook her head.
"I thought it would."
Margaux walked closer.
"You've wanted this for years."
Claire laughed bitterly.
"No."
Her mother frowned.
"I wanted to be chosen."
The words hung heavily between them.
"I didn't want to steal someone else's place."
Margaux remained silent.
Claire turned to face her.
"Tell me honestly."
"What?"
"If Lucien discovers the truth..."
Margaux answered without hesitation.
"He won't."
Claire wished she shared that confidence.
---
Across the estate, Lucien sat before a large screen while Adrian connected the files collected from photographers and videographers.
"There are more than four thousand images."
"Start from the beginning."
The first photographs appeared.
Guests arriving.
The cathedral.
Family members greeting one another.
Everything looked exactly as Lucien remembered.
Then came the ceremony.
Claire—presented to everyone as Clara—walking toward him.
Lucien watched carefully.
Frame after frame.
Minute after minute.
At first, everything appeared normal.
Then...
"Stop."
Adrian froze the image.
"What is it?"
Lucien leaned closer.
"The bouquet."
Adrian blinked.
"The flowers?"
Lucien nodded slowly.
"Clara always carried flowers in her left hand."
Adrian looked confused.
"Is that unusual?"
"Very."
He remembered asking her once why.
She had laughed.
"I'm left-handed."
Yet the bride in the photograph held the bouquet comfortably in her right hand.
Lucien frowned.
"Next image."
Another photograph appeared.
Claire signing the marriage register.
Again.
The pen rested naturally in her right hand.
Lucien felt a chill.
"No..."
He whispered.
"Show me the video."
Adrian immediately opened the ceremony recording.
Lucien watched every movement.
Every smile.
Every gesture.
Suddenly, another detail appeared.
During the exchange of vows, the bride hesitated for the briefest moment before repeating a sentence Clara herself had written months earlier.
Only half a second.
Almost invisible.
But Lucien noticed.
Because he had helped Clara write those vows.
She knew every word by heart.
She would never hesitate.
His heartbeat quickened.
"What if..."
He stopped himself.
No.
It sounded impossible.
Yet every minute made the impossible seem slightly more believable.
---
At the Beaumont estate, Henri Beaumont stood alone inside his office.
He had not slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Clara walking away with nothing but a suitcase.
His daughter had not shouted.
She had not cursed him.
She had simply left.
That silence hurt far more than anger ever could.
A knock came.
"Come in."
Mrs. Evelyn entered.
"Sir."
Henri looked exhausted.
"What is it?"
"There has been another call."
His expression changed.
"From Clara?"
"No."
She hesitated.
"Mr. Devereaux."
Henri slowly stood.
"What did he say?"
"He wishes to visit tomorrow."
Henri felt his stomach tighten.
"Did he explain why?"
Mrs. Evelyn shook her head.
"No, sir."
Henri understood immediately.
Lucien was beginning to ask questions.
And once Lucien started searching for answers...
The truth would become much harder to hide.
---
Far from both families, Clara sat inside a small countryside inn several hours outside Geneva.
The owner had asked no questions.
She had paid in cash.
She had used only her first name.
For the first time in her adult life, nobody recognized her.
Nobody knew she was a Beaumont.
Nobody believed she was Mrs. Devereaux.
She was simply...
Clara.
The room was modest.
Nothing like the luxurious homes she had always known.
Yet somehow, it felt more peaceful than the Beaumont estate ever had.
She sat beside the window holding the wedding journal she had packed before leaving.
She opened to the final page.
The words she had written only two nights earlier stared back at her.
"Tomorrow I begin the life I have always dreamed of."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Slowly, she turned the page.
The next page was blank.
She picked up a pen.
For several moments she could not write.
Then, finally...
"Today I lost everything I thought defined me."
She paused.
"But perhaps that is the only way to discover who I really am."
She read the sentence twice.
For the first time since waking up, she felt something unexpected.
Not happiness.
Not hope.
Only determination.
If her old life had truly ended...
Then she would decide what came next.
Not her mother.
Not Claire.
Not the Beaumont name.
Her.
She closed the journal gently.
Outside, snow continued falling across the quiet countryside.
Somewhere in Geneva, another woman slept in her home.
Another woman wore her wedding ring.
Another woman answered to her name.
But lies, no matter how carefully constructed, always carried one weakness.
They required everyone to remember the same story.
The truth needed no rehearsal.
As Lucien continued examining every memory of the woman he believed he had married, and Clara quietly began rebuilding the life stolen from her, the distance between deception and discovery grew smaller with every passing hour.
Neither of them knew exactly when the truth would surface.
But it had already begun.
And once it did, no one—not the Beaumont family, not Claire, and not even Lucien himself—would be able to return to the lives they had before the wedding.
- Writer
