Seven years after their divorce, Damien barely recognized her.
Apolline was cleaning the floor of the shopping mall, her gaze fixed on a dress displayed behind a shop window—a rare piece, outrageously expensive… A cruel smile stretched across Damien’s lips.
“You can stare all you want,” he sneered. “You’ll never have the presence to wear that.”
Apolline didn’t answer. She simply bent down to pick up the bills he had just tossed onto the floor. Not out of need, but out of respect for the place. She calmly placed them on the edge of a trash bin.
“Keep them. You’ll need them more than I will.”
Her calm unsettled him. No anger. No humiliation. Just quiet dignity.
Candice snickered at his side.
“Poor, but proud… as always.”
At that very moment, the shopping mall froze. Men in dark suits entered, followed by a team of journalists. The director bowed deeply to Apolline.
“Madam, everything is ready. The presentation begins in three minutes.”
The entire hall fell into an unreal silence.
Damien went pale.
“Madam… Apolline?” he stammered, his throat tight.
She simply nodded.
And, for the first time in seven years, he realized he had never truly known who she was…
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Without a word, she set down her cloth and removed her gloves. An assistant approached and draped an immaculate white blazer over her shoulders.
In a matter of seconds, the cleaning lady no longer existed.
Standing before him was a poised, elegant woman, her gaze calm and unyielding.
The gray-haired man stepped forward.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor of introducing Madame Apolline Rousseau, founder of the Phénix Rouge fashion house and principal investor of the collection unveiled this evening.”
Damien staggered.
Behind her, the red dress set with rubies—the one he had mocked—discreetly bore her name.
Apolline smiled.
“Seven years ago, you said I wasn’t worthy of you. A few minutes ago, that I would never even touch this dress.”
The display case opened. Beneath the spotlights, she brushed her fingers over the scarlet fabric.
“Such a shame…” she murmured. “Because here, the one who no longer belongs… is you.”
Damien’s phone vibrated nonstop.
Contract canceled. Investment withdrawn. Exclusivity signed with Madame Apolline Rousseau.
Candice released his arm, deathly pale, and walked away without a glance.
Apolline passed by him. She did not stop.
“Thank you… for letting me go.”
Damien was left alone, a prisoner of a luxury that no longer belonged to him.
