THE HEIR VS FEMALE CEO

Rain drizzled over the city like a veil, blurring neon lights into smeared streaks of color across the wet streets. The Moreau residence, perched in the wealthy quarter of the city, was an intimidating blend of cold glass and sharp steel, all angles and silence.

Sébastien stood in the driveway with an umbrella in one hand and the groceries in the other, the chill in the air nothing compared to the frost waiting for him inside

The gate slid open soundlessly at his approach. He had lived here for years now, yet it had never felt like home. As soon as he stepped through the heavy oak doors, the sound hit him: Jenna’s laughter. Bright, musical… but never for him.

It came from the living room, where she sat curled on the white leather sofa, scrolling her phone. Her sister, Clarisse, lounged beside her, sipping wine like she owned the place. The television was on, muted, a glossy lifestyle show about millionaires and their summer estates.

“You’re late,” Jenna said without looking up.

Sébastien placed the grocery bags on the marble countertop in the kitchen. He kept his voice even. “I stopped by the market for fresh salmon, like you asked.”

Clarisse gave a delicate snort. “Fresh salmon? We could’ve just ordered in, Jenna. Why send him out like some” She caught herself with a smirk. “errand boy.”

Sébastien didn’t answer. He’d learned long ago that reacting only fed them. Jenna’s eyes flicked up briefly, scanning him the way one might appraise a dull piece of furniture. “Did you remember the champagne?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, satisfied, as though he’d passed some trivial test. “Good. My parents are coming over tomorrow, and you know how they are about appearances.”

Appearances. Always appearances. Sébastien swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. She didn’t care that he worked long hours, that he’d quietly shouldered her debts when her investments had gone bad, or that he had passed up promotions to keep his schedule flexible for her family’s endless social events.

All she cared about was the image: perfect wife, perfect house, perfect props. And in her mind, he was just that, a prop.

Dinner was served late that evening. The salmon was perfectly cooked, seasoned just the way Jenna liked, with a delicate lemon-butter glaze. She didn’t comment on it.

Instead, she kept glancing at her phone, smiling at messages she didn’t share. Sébastien’s eyes lingered on the curve of her lips as they twitched upward, on the faint blush in her cheeks when the screen lit again.

Once, years ago, that smile had been his, Now, it was like watching a stranger hold a piece of his heart and twist it in her hands.

Later, as Jenna and Clarisse disappeared into the living room to watch some reality show, Sébastien stayed behind, quietly cleaning up. The clink of silverware against porcelain echoed in the empty kitchen.

He had just placed the last dish in the rack when his phone buzzed, The name on the screen made him still: Matthieu Moreau. His father’s name, Or rather, the man who had walked away from him eighteen years ago.

The air seemed to thicken around him as he answered. “Yes?”

A voice that carried authority even through static replied, “It’s time we talked.”

Sébastien’s grip on the phone tightened. He kept his voice flat. “We haven’t talked in nearly two decades. Why now?”

“Because,” Matthieu said, “your life is about to change, whether you like it or not.”

The call ended, For a moment, Sébastien stood there, the hum of the refrigerator loud in the silence. Then Jenna’s voice floated from the living room: “Seb! Can you pour us more wine?”

He looked toward the doorway, the words sitting on his tongue, heavy and unsaid, Instead, he walked to the cellar.

That night, sleep didn’t come easily. He lay in bed beside Jenna, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing. The faint scent of unfamiliar cologne clung to her hair. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

He turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Matthieu’s voice replayed in his mind. Your life is about to change.

For years, Sébastien had built walls around himself, hiding the truth, from Jenna, from her family, from this entire city. He had played the role of the quiet, unremarkable husband because it was easier that way. Safer.

But something in Matthieu’s tone told him the days of hiding were over, The next evening, Jenna claimed she had a “late business meeting.” She dressed with unusual care, silk blouse, tight skirt, high heels and left with a smile she didn’t bother to aim at him.

Sébastien waited until her taillights disappeared, then left the house himself, He didn’t follow her at first. He walked, letting the cold night air sharpen his thoughts. But as he reached the corner, something made him turn back toward the parking garage.

He drove without thinking, without planning. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles pale in the dashboard glow. It didn’t take long to find her car parked outside an upscale hotel.

He sat there for a long moment, engine idling, heart thudding against his ribs, Then he stepped out, rain slicking his hair, and walked into the lobby.

The receptionist didn’t stop him. People in suits moved around him, busy with their own lives, none knowing that his was about to split open.

He found her on the mezzanine level, in the dim light of a private lounge, laughing, leaning in close to a man whose hand rested on her thigh.

The man was no stranger. Luc Tremblay. Jenna’s so-called “business partner.”

Sébastien stood there for a heartbeat too long. She turned her head, eyes widening when she saw him, For the first time in years, her perfect composure cracked. “Séb” she began.

He didn’t wait for her excuses. Didn’t wait for her to spin her lies, He simply turned and walked away, the blood roaring in his ears, Outside, the rain had turned into a downpour. His phone buzzed again. Matthieu Moreau. He answered, his voice like ice. “I’m listening.”

Matthieu’s reply was calm, almost expectant. “Good. Because tomorrow, you stop being invisible.”