The ballroom pulsed with life, laughter, clinking glasses, music that glided through the golden air like champagne bubbles. You stood with the ladies, smiling at their chatter, though your eyes kept flicking to him.

Henri.

He looked perfect, impossibly so. Crisp black suit, polished shoes, the faintest smirk that made people gravitate toward him. The same man who once couldn’t walk without pain, who used to collapse from exhaustion in your arms, cursing his useless leg. The man you nursed back to strength, piece by piece, for four years.

Now he was whole again. And for some reason, that terrified you.

You turned to refill your glass, but as you passed the corner where Henri stood with his friends, Louis, Marc, and Étienne, you caught the sound of low, rapid French. Sharp, tense. The kind of tone men used when they didn’t want to be overheard.

They didn’t notice you slip closer.

“Tu vas tout gâcher, Henri,” Louis hissed. You’re going to ruin everything, Henri.

“Tu la trompes avec Chloé, après tout ce qu’elle a fait?” Marc snapped. You’re cheating with Chloe, after everything she did?

You froze. Chloe.

You knew that name. The ghost of his past, the one who left him when his leg gave out, when life got too hard.

Henri’s voice was quiet, almost thoughtful.

“Elle a eu peur. Je la comprends.” She was scared. I understand her.

Étienne’s glass clinked hard against the table.

“Et ta fiancée, alors? Celle qui t’a aidé à marcher, qui t’a supporté quand tout le monde t’a laissé tomber? Tu la détruis pour ça?” And your fiancée? The one who helped you walk, who stayed when everyone left? You’d destroy her for this?

Henri’s jaw flexed.

“C’est moi qui décide. Elle ne saura rien. Je gère.” I decide. She won’t know. I’ll handle it.

Louis shook his head, muttering,

“Tu es malade. On ne va pas cautionner ça.” You’re sick. We won’t tolerate this.

Henri’s reply was cold, the tone of a man who was used to power, to control.

“Vous allez fermer vos gueules.” You’ll keep your mouths shut.

“Sinon, je détruis tout ce que vous avez. N’oubliez pas à qui vous parlez.” Or I’ll destroy everything you have. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

You could see Louis’ hand clench around his glass, Marc’s jaw tighten, Étienne’s stare burning with disgust, but none of them spoke again. Henri had made sure of that.

And you stood there, heart cracking in quiet, perfect rhythm.

You had learned French in secret for a year to surprise him on your wedding day, to whisper 'Je t’aime, mon amour' in his language.

Now, it was that same language that broke your world apart.

You turned away before anyone could see the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, before Henri’s gaze could find you and read the truth there. The room spun as you walked out, heels clicking like gunshots against marble floors.

Four years. Four years of devotion, love, pain, sacrifice and it was all undone by one name.

Chloe.

"Mon amour, where are you going?"