Élodie Marchand woke up to the shrill scream of her alarm, already twenty minutes late. Her blonde hair stuck out in every possible direction, glasses slightly crooked on her nose, and her white cotton dress was rumpled from sleep. She groaned dramatically:
"Shit! Late again!"
From the kitchen came Camille's voice, sharp and amused:
"Do you want to eat, or do you want to sprint to work looking like a tornado hit you?"
Élodie waved vaguely, grabbing her bag.
"I'll survive… just… leave the food!" she called, already half out of the apartment.
"Survive?" Camille shouted after her. "You look like a disaster in motion!"
Élodie muttered under her breath as she brushed a stubborn strand of hair:
"Better late than looking like a zombie…"
By the time she reached Moreau & Partners, the streets of Paris were bustling with their usual energy: trams rattling by, cafés opening, tourists taking pictures. Élodie hurried through it all, trying not to bump into anyone—or anything—and felt her heartbeat accelerate not just from the run but from the pressure of the day ahead.
The office lobby was pristine, white walls gleaming, polished marble floors reflecting the sunlight streaming in from the massive windows. She gave a quick glance at the nameplate on the corner office: Lucien Moreau – CEO. Élodie had heard the name whispered by her co-workers—Lucien Moreau was not just influential; he was intimidating.
She adjusted her glasses, trying to steady her nerves, and made her way toward the meeting room, clutching her bag like a lifeline. Inside, the room was already filled with executives, business partners, and assistants. Papers were neatly stacked, laptops open, and the low murmur of quiet conversation filled the space.
Élodie took a seat near the back, quietly trying to make herself as small as possible. She noticed the polished wood of the table, the sunlight glinting off silver pens and coffee cups, and the quiet tension that seemed to linger in the air. This was not a room for mistakes.
After a few moments of waiting, the door opened. Silence fell. Lucien Moreau entered, tall and commanding, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, but eyes sharp as knives.
"Good morning, everyone," he said, voice deep and smooth, carrying authority effortlessly.
"I trust you all are ready. We have an important partnership meeting today. I'll begin by introducing the key people in this room."
He started systematically, gesturing as he spoke:
"First, our legal advisor, Mr. Dumas. Next, finance lead, Ms. Lefevre. Marketing team, please introduce yourselves briefly…"
The introductions continued, names, titles, and small nods exchanged, the murmur of polite greetings filling the room. Élodie scribbled notes, her mind partly on the documents in front of her, partly on trying not to stare at the man her father—or rather her company partner—had spoken of: Lucien Moreau's son, Adrien Moreau.
Finally, Lucien paused at the far end of the room, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"And now," he said, voice firm, "I'd like to introduce my son. Adrien Moreau."
The room shifted slightly. Chairs scraped, eyes turned toward the door. Adrien entered slowly, deliberately, exuding confidence with every step. Tailored suit, immaculate hair, eyes scanning the room with a calm intensity that somehow made the air feel heavier.
He walked to the front of the room but did not look directly at anyone yet, simply standing tall, silent, surveying the room like a predator analyzing territory. Murmurs quieted; even seasoned executives seemed a little tense under his gaze.
"Adrien will be joining us today," Lucien continued. "He'll be observing, learning the process, and eventually, taking an active role in our partnership dealings. I expect you all to work with him professionally."
Adrien gave a brief nod, serious, controlled, no smile, and then leaned slightly against the edge of the table, hands folded in front of him. His presence was magnetic and intimidating all at once.
Élodie felt a tiny shiver run down her spine. She didn't even know him, yet something about the way he commanded attention made her heart skip. She busied herself with her notes, telling herself:
Focus on the work, Élodie. Don't look. Don't stare. He's just… someone else in the room.
Lucien continued introducing other minor players, but all Élodie could do was glance discreetly at Adrien, noticing the small things: the way he adjusted his cufflinks, the faint smirk when someone nervously answered a question, the sharp intelligence behind his calm gaze. He was clearly dangerous, in more ways than one.
The meeting began formally after the introductions, discussions flowing, contracts reviewed, and presentations made. Élodie kept her attention on the work, but her thoughts kept drifting to the blonde, impossibly confident man leaning at the front of the room.
She didn't know it yet, but today would mark the start of something complicated, thrilling, and completely unpredictable.
And she wasn't ready for it