Chapter 17: Family Secrets
The silence in the wake of Reyna’s declaration was absolute, broken only by the distant hum of the city far below. Stephanie felt the blood drain from her face, a cold sweat pricking at the back of her neck. She could still feel the ghost of Veronica’s mouth on her, the sticky evidence of her own release drying on her inner thighs. The scent of sex and sweat was indeed a thick, unmistakable cloud around them.
Veronica didn’t flinch. She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, a lazy, defiant gesture. “We were working on the Brandenburg merger. It ran late. Stephanie’s dedication is commendable.”
Reyna’s laugh was a short, sharp sound. “I’m sure she was dedicated to something.” Her green eyes, mirrors of her daughter’s but infinitely colder, scraped over Stephanie again. “The girl looks like she’s been through a turbine. And you, Veronica, you have that… sated glow. It doesn’t come from corporate law, no matter how lucrative.”
Jace finally spoke, his voice a low, calming rumble. “Reyna, let the girl breathe.” He offered Stephanie a small, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn’t warmth, but it was a sliver of space.
“Please, come in,” Veronica said, her tone shifting to one of polished hostess as she stepped back from the door. “Since you’re here.”
Reyna swept in, her perfume—something with oud and spice—cutting through the intimate air of the penthouse. She made a beeline for the cream-colored sofa, settling into it as if holding court. Jace followed, his movements economical and quiet, taking a seat in a armchair that seemed to frame him perfectly.
Stephanie stood frozen by the bedroom door, a misplaced piece of furniture.
“Sit, Stephanie,” Veronica commanded, her voice casual but leaving no room for argument. She gestured to the far end of the sofa from her mother.
Stephanie moved on unsteady legs, perching on the very edge of the cushion. She kept her knees tightly together, her hands clasped in her lap to stop their trembling. She felt like a specimen under glass.
“So,” Reyna began, folding her hands in her lap. “Stephanie James. From the Paris office. A rather… accelerated transfer.”
“She’s talented,” Veronica said, pouring herself a glass of water from a carafe on the table. She didn’t offer any to her guests. “Her work on the European data privacy statutes was exceptional.”
“I’m sure.” Reyna’s smile was a razor blade. “And how are you finding New York? The pace must be quite a change from… a quieter life.”
There was a weight to the words quieter life that made Stephanie’s stomach clench. She forced a smile, her French accent thickening with her anxiety. “It is… vibrant. Very fast. But I am adapting.”
“I can see that,” Reyna purred. Her eyes dropped to Stephanie’s collar, where a faint, purpling mark was just visible. Stephanie resisted the urge to pull the fabric up.
Veronica took a long sip of water. “What brings you by so early, Mother? You usually call.”
“We were in the neighborhood,” Jace said, his voice even. “Thought we’d surprise you.”
“Consider me surprised.” Veronica’s gaze was locked on her mother. A silent, electric current passed between them.
Reyna leaned forward slightly, her focus returning to Stephanie. “The Moreau de Fonteneau family. An old line. Tainted, of course, by that unfortunate business with the shipping conglomerate. All those lost pensions.” She clicked her tongue in mock sympathy. “A true tragedy.”
The air left Stephanie’s lungs. The room seemed to tilt. She felt Veronica go still beside her.
“I… I do not know this family,” Stephanie managed, the lie brittle and transparent.
“Don’t you?” Reyna’s eyebrows arched. “Océane?”
The name hung in the air, a detonation. It was the key to the vault of her past, the name she had buried under layers of new identity and sheer will. Hearing it in this woman’s mouth, in this room that still smelled of her submission, was a violation worse than any physical act.
Stephanie—Océane—could only stare, her carefully constructed persona crumbling around her.
Veronica set her glass down with a definitive click. “Mother.”
Reyna waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, relax, Veronica. We’ve known since her file hit your desk. Did you think we wouldn’t do our own due diligence on someone you took such a… personal interest in?” She looked back at Océane, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something that wasn’t pure malice. It was curiosity. “Your father’s failures are not your own, child. Though your method of seeking… restitution… is certainly creative.”
Jace shifted in his chair. “The point, Océane, is that we know. And we are not your enemy.”
Océane found her voice, a ragged whisper. “Then why are you here?”
“To see you,” Reyna said simply. “To look the girl who thinks she can destroy my daughter’s life in the eye. And to tell you that you are playing a game you cannot win. But,” she added, tilting her head, “you are far more interesting than I anticipated.”
Veronica stood up, her presence suddenly dominating the room. “That’s enough. The show is over. You’ve seen her. You’ve had your fun.”
Reyna rose gracefully, smoothing her dress. Jace followed suit. “It was a pleasure, Océane,” Reyna said, her tone now blandly polite, as if they’d just discussed the weather. “Do try to get some rest. You look exhausted.”
They moved to the door, Veronica seeing them out. The goodbyes were curt, formal. The door closed, and the lock engaged with a heavy, final thud.
The silence they left behind was deafening.
Océane remained on the sofa, her body numb. She stared at the pattern on the rug, the world reduced to a swirl of cream and beige.
Veronica didn’t move from the door for a long moment. Then, Océane heard the soft whisper of silk as Veronica walked back into the living room. She stopped in front of her.
Océane forced herself to look up. Veronica’s expression was unreadable, a mask of cool composure. But her green eyes were blazing.
“They knew,” Océane whispered, the words ash in her mouth.
Veronica’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Of course they knew.” She reached out, her fingers not quite touching the bite mark on Océane’s neck. “The real question, Océane, is did you really think I didn’t?”