Page 190 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

Soon, I’ll tell him.

49. Progress

Dante

Tuesday, January 10

Bianca took medical leave. I’m not sure she’ll ever set foot in the office again. Not after the public denial. Not after the online lynching she endured. Her image as the loyal woman, the flawless COO, the abandoned mother-to-be—it all collapsed.

I’ve decided to file a fraud complaint.

This isn’t about money. I couldn’t care less about that.

But by trying to secure housing and financial support on the grounds that I’m the father of her child, she gave me an opening.

And I intend to use it.

The objective is simple: force her to defend herself on multiple fronts at once.

People fighting too many battles at the same time always end up making mistakes.

Though she’s already made the biggest one of all: getting herself caught on camera stealing trade secrets.

The only reason she isn’t behind bars yet is that we still have Gaspard and Wald to bring down.

And it’s time I started dealing with Wald seriously.

I’m having lunch with Henri again today. Our strategy is ready. All that’s left is to negotiate the final details of our agreement.

I met Henri de Louvencourt during college. The heir to one of the largest fortunes in France, he lets very few people get close to him. People describe him as cold, distant, emotionally unreachable.

That’s not true. Or rather, it’s only part of the truth.

His parents spent his entire life teaching him that emotions were a weakness, that a man should never burden himself with feelings. So he learned to wear that mask perfectly.

But behind that façade, Henri is fiercely loyal and capable of loving deeply. He simply doesn’t know how to show it.

It took us time to understand each other.

Around me, he occasionally lets his guard down. Sometimes, he even makes jokes.

Coming from him, that already means a lot.

He pockets his phone and walks over to me.

“Thank you for giving me an answer so quickly,” I say, pulling him into a brief embrace.

“I haven’t forgotten our pact.”

The pact.

Graduation night. For the first time since I’d known him, Henri had agreed to drink more than two glasses. Frederik, Yann, Henri, and I spent the night wandering through Paris singing like four drunken idiots fresh out of university, waking entire streets at three in the morning. We ended up in custody for disturbing the peace.

It was sitting on a metal bench inside a holding cell that we made our pact: no matter what, if one of us ever needed help, the others would show up. No conditions.

Life eventually pulled us in different directions. I wasn’t sure he’d even remember.

“We carefully reviewed your proposal,” he continues. “It’s a very attractive offer. My father has given his approval. We can officially announce the partnership at the Pharmaceutical Convention.”