THE HEIR VS FEMALE CEO

Chapter 2 – The Turning Point

The morning after the storm was deceptively calm. Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, painting gold patterns across the hardwood floor. Jenna’s side of the bed was empty, no lipstick-stained coffee cup, no lingering perfume.

Sébastien rose slowly, his body moving on instinct while his mind replayed the image of her hand in Luc Tremblay’s.

He showered, dressed, and brewed coffee. The motions were familiar, almost soothing, but they couldn’t drown out the gnawing ache in his chest. The ache wasn’t just betrayal, It was clarity.

By eight, he was seated at the small oak table in the breakfast nook, scanning the morning’s business news on his phone. His company, or rather, the modest architectural firm he had worked at for years had made a minor acquisition. Nothing that would make headlines beyond the trade circles.

A notification slid across his screen: New Email - From: Matthieu Moreau.

It was short.

10 a.m.- The Blackwood Tower, 42nd Floor. Come alone.

No signature, no further explanation.

Sébastien’s thumb hovered over the delete button. He had no interest in Matthieu’s games. Yet… something in his gut told him to go, Jenna returned just after nine. She breezed through the door in the same outfit from last night, sunglasses hiding her eyes.

“You’re still here?” she said, sounding mildly surprised.

“I work from home today,” Sébastien replied evenly.

She placed her handbag on the counter and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Good. You can be here when my parents arrive. They’re bringing over the final guest list for the charity gala.”

“I can’t,” he said.

Her brows knit. “Excuse me?”

“I have a meeting.”

“With who?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he set his empty coffee mug in the sink and walked past her.

“Seb,” she called after him, irritation sharpening her voice, “don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.”

But he did. And for the first time in years, he felt no guilt in doing so, The Blackwood Tower was a monument to modern wealth, sixty floors of black steel and reflective glass, owned entirely by a holding company so private that even the city’s elite whispered about it.

Sébastien had been here once before, a lifetime ago, At exactly ten, he stepped into the lobby, where a man in a tailored charcoal suit was already waiting.

“Mr. Moreau,” the man said, offering a polite nod. “Please follow me.”

They bypassed the reception desk entirely, moving to a private elevator with a keycard lock. Forty-two floors up, the doors opened into a space that felt more like a penthouse than an office, floor-to-ceiling windows, Persian rugs, leather armchairs, and the faint scent of expensive cigars.

Matthieu Moreau stood by the window, his back to the room, hands clasped behind him, He hadn’t changed much, still tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of presence that commanded attention without a word. His hair, silver now, only made him look more formidable.

“You came,” Matthieu said without turning.

“You didn’t give me much choice.”

Matthieu finally faced him. His gaze was sharp, assessing. “Everything is a choice, Sébastien. Even staying invisible.”

They sat across from each other in armchairs. A decanter of amber liquid sat between them, untouched.

“You’ve kept your distance,” Matthieu began, “but circumstances have changed. The family can no longer afford your absence.”

Sébastien’s jaw tightened. “The family you abandoned me to?”

Matthieu didn’t flinch. “Yes. That family. You may hate me, but you carry our name, and more importantly, you carry the mind and discipline to lead it.”

“I’m not interested.”

Matthieu leaned forward slightly. “You will be. Because the life you’ve been living… it’s about to end. Last night was only the beginning.”

Sébastien frowned. “What do you know about last night?”

“More than you think,” Matthieu said smoothly. “And so does half this city. Luc Tremblay’s little… indiscretion will have consequences. For him. For her. And for you, unless you choose to step into a position where no one would dare humiliate you again.”

The implication hung between them.

“I’m offering you control,” Matthieu continued. “Over your life. Over theirs. Over every person who’s ever looked down on you. But you must be willing to walk away from the man you’ve been pretending to be.”

Sébastien looked out the window at the sprawl of the city, the streets where he had lived quietly for years, the skyline that had never felt like it belonged to him.

“Why now?” he asked finally.

Matthieu’s eyes gleamed. “Because our enemies think we’re weak. And I need my son at my side to remind them they’re wrong.”

The meeting ended with no promises, but as Sébastien stepped out into the elevator, his phone buzzed again, this time with a text from an unknown number: If you want proof, come to the Royal Meridian Hotel. Suite 906.

He didn’t have to guess what, or who  was waiting there. By the time he reached the hotel, his pulse was steady, his expression unreadable. Suite 906’s door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open.

Inside, Jenna sat on the edge of the bed, her hair mussed, her blouse half-buttoned. Luc Tremblay was by the minibar, pouring champagne, Both froze when they saw him.

Luc set down the glass. “Sébastien, this isn’t what it looks like”

But Sébastien didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He pulled a small envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. Jenna stared at it. “What is this?”

“Freedom,” Sébastien said. His voice was calm, almost gentle.

She picked it up, and her face drained of color. Inside were divorce papers, signed, Luc started to speak again, but Sébastien was already at the door. He paused only once, glancing back at Jenna.

“This life you’ve been living,” he said, “is over.”

Outside the suite, he exhaled slowly. For the first time in years, the weight on his chest felt lighter, His phone rang. Matthieu again. “Have you decided?”

Sébastien looked out the hotel window at the city far below. “Yes.”

Matthieu’s voice was low, certain. “Then meet me tonight. We’ll begin.”