The Shut out
1287 Words
The papers proved every suitor Margot had lined up was a walking disaster: average age forty-two, bankruptcies, mistresses, one even had an outstanding arrest warrant for tax fraud.
Étienne’s face twisted as he flipped through the pages.
“Some of these men are older than me. How could you parade my daughter in front of them?”
Margot’s mask slipped for only a second before the tears welled up again.
“Marvin, I swear I had no idea! The agency gave me glowing references. Someone must have switched the files!”
Vivienne laughed, cold and sharp.
“Right. Because the matchmaker accidentally sent you a dossier of criminals and creeps instead of the ‘cream of the crop.’ Funny how every single one of them offered you a generous finder’s fee the moment I said yes.”
Étienne’s hand tightened on the folder until the paper crumpled.
Margot clutched his arm, voice trembling.
“It’s a misunderstanding…”
“No,” Étienne cut in, voice suddenly quiet and terrible. “Enough. You will not arrange another date for Vivienne. Ever. You’re grounded until further notice. Stay in this house and think about what you’ve done.”
Margot went white.
“Étienne…”
He turned his back on her and looked at Vivienne, guilt and exhaustion in his eyes.
“I’m sorry you had to meet those men, ma fille. No more blind dates. Promise.”
Vivienne gave him a small, careful smile.
“Thank you, Papa.”
Étienne trudged upstairs, shoulders slumped.
The moment his door shut, Margot’s tears vanished. She rounded on Vivienne with pure venom.
“You little snake,” she hissed. “By the way, I forgot to mention, those ‘perfect gentlemen’ asked for your private number. I gave them Sherlyn Voss’s contact instead. That washed-up influencer is desperate enough to take any rich fossil who calls. Let’s see how long her career lasts after this.”
Sherlyn Voss, former child star, current tabloid punchline. Margot knew exactly how to ruin a reputation with one phone call.
Vivienne’s smile didn’t waver.
“Oops. Hope Sherlyn enjoys yachts and dentures.”
Margot’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“You think you’ve won? Watch your back.”
Vivienne yawned theatrically.
“I’m going to bed. Try not to poison my coffee in the morning.”
She climbed the stairs without looking back.
Behind her, Margot yanked out her phone, fingers already flying across the screen, then the doorbell rang, three sharp chimes cutting through the silent house.
Margot froze.
At two in the morning, visitors only meant one thing in the Panier.
She crept to the security monitor.
On the front steps stood Raphael Moreau, immaculate in a midnight coat, flanked by two bodyguards and a van idling behind him.
He looked straight into the camera and smiled, like a wolf who had already counted the sheep.
Margot’s hand flew to her throat.
Vivienne’s bedroom door clicked shut overhead.
Margot yanked the door open, ready to unleash hell.
Instead she found herself staring up at Lucien Valois in a charcoal suit and mirror-polished shoes, flanked by six silent men in black. Behind them, crates and velvet boxes were stacked higher than the garden wall.
Margot’s hand flew to her throat. “Who the devil are you people?”
Lucien offered a polite, icy smile. “Good evening, madame. Our employer instructed us to deliver betrothal gifts to your daughter.”
“Betrothal gifts?” Margot’s voice cracked. “From whom?”
“Raphael Moreau.”
The name hit like a cannon shot.
“Raphael… Moreau?” Margot’s knees nearly buckled. “The Moreau?”
“Precisely.”
Lucien gestured to the mountain of luxury behind him. “Shall we bring them inside?”
Margot’s brain scrambled. Sherlyn Voss, her useless, fame-hungry decoy, had been receiving calls meant for Vivienne all evening. If Raphael Moreau believed Sherlyn was the girl from the café…
She recovered quickly, plastering on her sweetest smile. “You must be mistaken. My daughter is… well, she’s already accepted a proposal tonight. From another gentleman.”
Lucien didn’t blink. “Monsieur Moreau is aware that your daughter accepted his ring in front of four hundred witnesses. He simply wishes to begin the formal courtship.”
Margot opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. “But the news…”
“Is tomorrow’s headline,” Lucien finished smoothly. “Tonight, we will deliver gifts. May we proceed?”
He didn’t wait for permission. Two men lifted a velvet case the size of a small coffin. Another carried a sapphire necklace that caught the moonlight like a captured sea.
Margot’s greed warred with panic. If Vivienne married Raphael Moreau, the Laurent family would be untouchable. If Sherlyn somehow ended up with him… Margot would be the mother-in-law of the most powerful man in the Mediterranean.
She stepped aside, gesturing grandly. “Of course, of course. Bring everything in.”
Lucien’s smile never reached his eyes. “Monsieur Moreau will pay a formal visit in three days to claim his fiancée’s hand. He trusts you’ll have her ready.”
“Three days?” Margot squeaked.
“The finest things take time,” Lucien said, bowing slightly. “But not too much time.”
The men filed past her like a funeral procession made of money.
Upstairs, Vivienne leaned against her bedroom door, listening to the chaos below. She pressed a hand to her racing heart and whispered to the empty room: “What the hell have I done?”
Margot’s pulse raced with pure, giddy triumph.
Three days. Three days to turn the mix-up into destiny.
She waved Lucien off with a dazzling smile. “Tell Monsieur Moreau we are honoured. We’ll be ready.”
Lucien inclined his head and disappeared into the night.
Étienne appeared at the top of the stairs, bleary-eyed. “Who was that? What’s all this?”
Margot spun, clutching a velvet box the size of a small dog. “Darling! The most wonderful news! Raphael Moreau, the Raphael Moreau, has fallen for our Sherlyn! These are betrothal gifts. Look at the quality!”
Étienne’s jaw dropped. “Raphael Moreau? The one who controls half the Mediterranean ports?”
“The very same!” Margot crowed. “Our little girl is going to be a Moreau!”
Étienne clutched his chest, half joy, half terror. “I thought you said I suspended your credit card for the month!”
Margot waved the accusation away. “I was upset! You know how Vivienne behaves. A mother can’t let her only daughter marry a nobody. I only wanted the best for Sherlyn.”
Étienne softened instantly. “You’re too good to us, chérie.”
Margot preened. A naïve little thing like Vivienne could never handle a man like Raphael. Sherlyn, on the other hand, beautiful, famous, desperate for relevance, was perfect.
Early the next morning, Margot called her darling daughter,Sherlyn Voss and insisted she come immediately.
Sherlyn arrived in oversized sunglasses and yesterday’s makeup, clearly hung-over. “What is it, Mum? Why drag me here before noon? I still have a scene to shoot…”
“It’s about your engagement to Raphael Moreau!”
Sherlyn blinked. “My what now? I don’t even know the guy.”
Margot beamed, shoving a velvet box into her hands. “He sent these last night! The sapphire necklace alone is worth three million. He’s madly in love with you. You’ve already accepted the ring in public, he announced it to the entire city!”
Sherlyn stared at the jewels, then at the mountain of gifts filling the foyer.
“But… I’ve never met him.”
Margot’s smile turned razor-sharp. “Details, darling. You’re an actress. Act.”
- Writer
