Esther's POV
I wake up with my mind foggy, heavy, as if my thoughts are still floating between two dreams. The light gently filters through the curtains, brushing the walls with a pale glow. I slowly open my eyes and everything comes back to me at once. I let out a sigh. I am married. I am a married woman.
I am no longer Esther Besson, Alex Besson's daughter. But Esther Arrison. Tony Arrison's wife.
Who would have believed it?
In other circumstances, I would have burst out laughing, convinced it was the slightly too dramatic scenario of a romantic movie. I would have said it was beautiful. Intense, almost unreal.
But now… I no longer know what I am supposed to feel. Or what I am supposed to do.
My heart is strangely calm, and yet heavy. As if it carries an invisible weight.
I stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, trying to get used to this new name, to this new life that is imposing itself on me.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand and squint to check the time.
Already so late… ten o'clock.
I sit up slightly, still wrapped in that blurry feeling between dream and reality. Notifications catch my attention. Several missed calls from an unknown number.
I frown. Who could insist so much?
I slowly get up, run a hand over my face, then leave the bed. The floor is cold under my bare feet. I head to the bathroom and let the hot water run over my skin. The steam fills the space, soothing a little of the turmoil in my head.
When I step out of the shower, I put on a simple dress: a light beige dress, flowy, that stops just above the knees. The fabric is light, almost airy, and gently hugs my waist before falling freely along my hips. The sleeves are short, the neckline slightly rounded, simple but elegant. Nothing extravagant. Just enough to look presentable without overdoing it.
My phone rings again.
I flinch slightly. That unknown number again. I stare at the screen for a few seconds without moving. I don't answer. I let it ring… again… and again… until silence finally returns.
I let out a sigh. I never answer unknown numbers even though I have this feeling of already knowing who it is.
I head toward the landline to order food. My stomach reminds me that I've barely eaten anything since yesterday. A breakfast would do me good. Something simple and warm.
I dial room service. But before anyone answers, a vibration interrupts me. My phone sends a notification. I slowly put the receiver down and grab my phone.
That unknown number again. I stare at it for a second. I don't want to read it. I don't want to know.
But my curiosity, or maybe my intuition, takes over. My fingers hesitate over the screen but I finally unlock it and the message appears:
"You have twenty minutes to come down. After that, I leave. And this time, no one will come to get you."
No need to be a genius to understand who it is. Even through a message, his coldness is palpable. Every word is sharp, authoritative. I grip the phone between my fingers, then walk toward my suitcase. My movements are quick, almost mechanical. I fold my clothes that were not really taken out of my suitcase and close the zipper and grab the handle.
I take a deep breath before leaving the room.
I go downstairs almost running.
In front of the hotel, I see him immediately. Leaning against his car, dark sunglasses hiding his gaze, a white shirt slightly open at the collar, revealing the firm line of his chest, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, perfectly fitted black pants highlighting his tall and confident silhouette. He gives off that cold and controlled aura, as if he controls every detail around him.
His bodyguard steps forward and takes my suitcase without a word. I let him and walk toward Tony. I want to follow Leila's advice and apologize to him.
— Tony, I…
He doesn't even let me finish. He opens the passenger door and gets into the car without looking at me. His bodyguard comes to open the door for me. I sigh, frustrated, then get in and sit down as well. It's his bodyguard driving us.
The ride goes by in a heavy silence. No words, no looks, just the sound of the engine and my thoughts colliding.
We had finally landed in France after ten long hours of flight. The fatigue weighed on my whole body, every muscle felt numb. Yet, when the airport doors opened, the soft warmth of July and the slightly scented summer air wrapped around me. It wasn't cold air, but a mild, pleasant breeze, typical of French summer evenings. The days are long in July, the sun sets late, and that golden light almost gave the impression that everything could still turn out well.
Feeling that summer atmosphere reminded me how good it felt to finally be home.
Since our arrival, Tony hasn't wanted to exchange a single word with me. Every time I try to talk to him, he acts as if I don't exist. I feel like I will have to face my in-laws almost alone. The only positive side is that my father-in-law already seems to appreciate me, which reassures me a little.
We walked out of the airport, followed by his bodyguard, Jule, that's what Tony calls him when we were in the car. I stop for a moment, breathing deeply that air slightly scented by spring, croissants, and coffee drifting through the airport. It's magical… every breath makes me forget a little of the tension and Tony's coldness, and reminds me that, despite everything, I am good here.
At the same moment, a car just parked in front of us. It was a black sedan, elegant but discreet, with slightly tinted windows. The engine stops with a soft purr, and I notice the precision of its driver, impeccable, calm, confident.
An older man got out. He didn't seem very old, but his imposing presence revealed his experience. He wore a well-fitted dark suit, a perfectly ironed white shirt, and polished shoes. A small dark tie completed his look, classic but elegant. Everything about him screams: "I am professional," but with a natural class that inspires respect.
I looked at him, curious to know who he might be.
Without waiting, he walked toward Tony, who gave him a wide smile. It's the first time in hours that I see him smile.
— Sir, finally you are here, it's been a long time since you left, the man says while taking him in a warm hug.
— Yes, but not that long, Tony replies with a smile, three weeks, not three years either.
— Ah… for the family it is, we really missed you, especially your grandmother. She hasn't stopped asking for you, the man continues, shaking his head with amusement.
— Now that I'm here, she won't need to ask for me anymore. We're going to spend the holidays there.
The man simply smiled in response, then turned his head toward me and gave me a warm smile. I returned it with a mix of shyness and pleasure. He slowly stepped toward me and looked straight into my eyes.
— Hello… you must be Mrs. Arrison, he asked in a calm and steady voice.
I glanced at Tony. He looked at me for a moment, then quickly looked away, as if memories of last night were still haunting him. I turned my attention back to the man in front of me and answered, a little hesitant but polite:
— Yes… Esther Arrison, I said with a hesitant smile.
He slightly nodded, his smile never leaving his face. There was something reassuring in his gaze, almost protective, that made me feel a slight relief.
Tony stared at me for a moment, as if he was expecting me to say something else. I think he is confused; barely twenty-four hours ago, I was refusing to be his wife, and now… I'm saying his last name. The contrast must have shaken him as much as it did me.
The man extends his hand to me with a polite and warm smile.
— Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Isa, loyal driver of the Arrison family.
I take his hand in return, sketching the same smile… but mine is softer, almost fragile.
My fingers brush his for a second before resting in his palm. His hand is warm, firm. Mine trembles slightly, even though I try not to show it.
— I…
I don't have time to finish my sentence because Tony interrupts me in a dry, almost authoritarian tone.
— We can go now, Isa.
He says it while going around the car and getting in.
Puff… what a grump, you can't even get to know people peacefully.
Isa opens the door for me, and I step in gently, sitting beside Tony. It's just the two of us inside while Isa helps Jule put the luggage in the car. I try to use this moment to apologize, but he is absorbed in his phone, brow furrowed. He looks angry or frustrated, I don't know, but I take a deep breath and lean slightly toward him.
— Tony…
No reaction.
His eyes stay fixed on his phone. As if I don't exist. As if I'm just background noise. I swallow. But I don't give up.
— Tony…
Still nothing.
I press my fingers against my knees to stop them from trembling.
— Tony.
He finally lets out an annoyed sigh, without even lifting his eyes.
— For God's sake, Esther… what do you want?
His voice is cold… not loud. Just distant.
I take a breath before speaking.
— You could at least look at me when I'm talking to you.
He replies immediately, still focused on his screen:
— It's the ears that listen. Not the eyes.
Okay, this is starting badly. I sigh then continue.
— I wanted to… apologize for what happened last night. I admit I acted without thinking.
The words cost me. Every syllable burns my throat a little. It's not easy to swallow your pride. Even less in front of him.
Silence.
Then he finally lifts his head. His gaze lands on me, hard to read, neither anger nor softness, just closed. Impassive. As if he had turned something off inside.
— Ok.
Just that. Ok.
The word falls between us, dry. I blink. I prepared myself to apologize and swallow my pride and he tells me "ok."
— Ok? That's all? I murmur despite myself.
I don't know what I expected. An argument. A reproach. Even sarcasm. But not that. Not this indifference.
— You apologized. I heard. We move on.
We move on.
As if I hadn't spent hours replaying the scene in my head.
— But… you
— What do you want me to do? he cuts in sharply. Dramatize like you? Congratulate you for apologizing?
His voice is calm… but tense.
— No, I… I just wanted you to know that I recognize my mistake.
He looks at me for a few seconds, then turns his gaze toward the windshield. The light slides over his closed profile.
— Recognizing a mistake doesn't erase it, Esther.
— I… I didn't think, that's all…
My voice is weaker than I would have liked.
His jaw tightens slightly, I see the muscle move under his skin.
— "I didn't think"… he repeats coldly, looking straight into my eyes. Has that become your favorite excuse?
I grip my fingers on my knees.
— Do you have any idea what it feels like to hear your wife tell my men that she doesn't know me?
Your wife.
The word echoes in my head.
So… he considers me his wife? Me, who thought he didn't really see me, that he didn't consider me… And suddenly, I understand. I feel the full weight of what I did. My hands tremble slightly. Every thought loops: what I said, what I did… and how I put him in that position.
— Do you have any idea what that represents for me? What it reflects? he continues, harsher. In front of my employees. In front of men who respect me.
He leans slightly toward me.
— You didn't just hurt me, Esther. You humiliated me.
— I…
— If you wanted to make me look like an idiot chasing after a stranger, congratulations. It was perfect.
His voice remains controlled, not a shout, not an outburst, just that cutting coldness.
Silence falls again. Heavier. More fragile. I lower my eyes; I can't stand his gaze anymore.
— I can handle a lot of things. Your anger. Your sarcasm. Your silence. But not that. Not the fact that my own wife denies me.
I feel my throat tighten. I slightly lift my eyes toward him. His gaze darkens suddenly.
— That wasn't what I wanted… you
— What you wanted doesn't matter, he cuts me off. What you did is what matters.
His words are sharp, precise, final. Silence returns, heavier, more suffocating than ever. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. My heart is beating so hard I'm afraid he can hear my thoughts.
At the same moment, Isa and Jule get into the front seats, the door slams behind them, the sound echoing coldly inside the car. The engine starts, and the car moves gently.
The ride happens in an almost suffocating silence. He doesn't even look at me. Not a word. Not a sigh. Nothing. He keeps his eyes fixed on his phone, face closed, impassive. As if I don't exist. As if I'm just… another piece of luggage.
I slightly turn my head toward the window, watching the streets pass by. My reflection shows me an image I don't really recognize. A woman married barely twenty-four hours… and already a stranger to herself.
Fine. If he decides to ignore me, I can do the same.
I take out my phone. My fingers tremble slightly, but I pretend everything is fine.
I text Leila:
_ Hi, did you arrive safely?
Her message comes almost immediately after mine. I roll my eyes despite myself. It's like she was waiting behind her phone.
_ Yes, I had already arrived. Tell me… and you? Are you okay? Did you talk to Tony?
I press my lips together before answering.
_ Yes.
Three dots appear immediately.
_ And?
_ He doesn't want to talk to me. He acts like I'm not there. He doesn't even acknowledge me.
_ I know I shouldn't say this… but you deserved it.
I frown.
_ Are you serious right now? You should encourage me not make me feel even more guilty than I already do.
_ I know. But it's the truth. You deserve him ignoring you a little. If I were in his place, I would have done the same.
I lift my eyes toward him.
Still nothing. Not a look. Not a sigh. Not even a hint of annoyance. And strangely… it hurts more than if he had yelled at me.
A lump forms in my throat. For a second, I want to cry really cry but I swallow it all. I blink quickly. I refuse to cry over this. I refuse.
_ It's not funny, Leila…
_ Okay, I'll stop. Tell me… did you apologize? Did you try to make things better?
I sigh softly.
_ Yes… I tried to talk to him. But he doesn't even want to listen to me. The moment I open my mouth he cuts me off. Like I annoy him.
I think I prefer when he's arrogant than when he's indifferent…
— Esther… men like him, they don't always shout when they're hurt. Sometimes, they shut down. And that hurts more than words.
I rest my phone against my thigh.
Hurt?
I slightly turn my head toward the window so he doesn't see the emotion on my face. Did I really hurt him? I thought it wouldn't affect him. I thought he didn't care. But if he's punishing me with silence… maybe somewhere… it touched him more than I imagined. And it tightens my heart in a way I don't yet understand.
I take the phone and keep reading.
— It's not easy for him, you know… You hurt his ego. And a man's ego is… fragile.
I sigh softly.
_ Do you think he'll be mad at me for long?
— Don't worry. I'm sure you'll reconcile. And soon, you'll fall in love, she says with that smile I can almost see through the phone.
I shake my head, even though she can't see me.
— You know very well that I can't fall in love with someone else. My heart is broken into a thousand pieces, Leila… and I doubt it can ever be repaired…
— You need to stop letting Malik live in your head like this. What he did to you is in the past. You deserve better. You should try to turn the page. Focus on your new life. On your husband. On your in-laws. Maybe it's not the story you imagined… but it can become something beautiful.
— Speaking of that… we're going to Tony's grandmother's house. We're going to spend three months there… And honestly, I'm really stressed. I only know my father-in-law… not the others. What if they don't like me?
— Calm down. Stop stressing. Everything will be fine. They will love you. And honestly, it's impossible not to love you.
I smile despite myself. That girl… she always has the right words. Always that simple way of putting my thoughts back in order when they go everywhere.
_ Thank you, really.
I slightly turn my head toward the window. The buildings slowly disappear, the traffic becomes smoother. We gradually leave the main road to take a quieter lane lined with tall trees. The houses become rarer… but bigger too. Elegant gates, perfectly trimmed hedges, long and discreet driveways.
I sit up slightly in my seat.
— Well… I have to go. I think we've arrived.
— You tell me everything, okay!
— Promise.
I put my phone in my bag and take a deep breath.
I'm not as stressed anymore. She has that gift to calm me, to make things less heavy than they are in my head.
The car slows down again and slowly passes through a huge black wrought-iron gate.
And then…
I hold my breath.
In front of me stands a magnificent villa I don't know if I should call it that because it looks like a mansion. A white mansion, immense, perfectly symmetrical. An elegant Mediterranean style, almost unreal. The light-colored façade catches the light of the setting sun, tinted pink and purple, as if the sky itself decided to make the moment more solemn.
The dark gray roofs contrast with the bright whiteness of the walls. Large luminous windows dress the façade, giving an impression of interior warmth… almost deceptive.
At the center of the building, majestic arches support a balcony overlooking the entire courtyard. Two lateral wings extend on each side, connected by a natural stone structure, solid, imposing.
It's big.
I admit my parents' villa is magnificent. Spacious, elegant, bright… I've always been proud of it.
But compared to this… it's nothing.
Here, everything is different. Bigger. More impressive. The property seems endless, the façades immense, the details perfectly crafted. Even the air feels calmer, heavier with prestige.
The car moves forward and I discover the central courtyard.
It is perfectly symmetrical, organized with almost intimidating precision. In the middle stands a huge circular white marble fountain, with several levels. Water flows down in cascades, softly, producing a soothing sound… almost ironic compared to the turmoil in my chest.
The light paving around the fountain is decorated with elegant geometric patterns.
Double staircases rise on each side toward the upper terrace.
Carefully aligned palm trees and sculpted hedges frame the space as if they had been trimmed to the millimeter.
Discreet lighting is integrated into the ground, ready to illuminate the fountain once night falls.
The semi-circular pool is slightly set back, surrounded by light beige stone flooring. Two elegant armchairs are placed facing the water, like an invitation to contemplation… or conversation.
The car stops.
The engine goes silent, leaving a solemn silence.
The guard immediately steps out to open my door. Tony gets out from the other side, phone to his ear. He is already in the middle of a conversation, voice low, confident. His sunglasses still cover his eyes despite the daylight beginning to fade.
I step out as well. The air is cooler here. Isa comes near me.
— It's… magnificent, I let out without really realizing.
He gives a slight smile.
— Yes. It's the family house.
He pauses, his gaze lingering for a moment on the imposing façade. I notice a small flash of sadness crossing his eyes. Brief. Almost invisible. Then it disappears, replaced by the professional mask he wears so well. He looks at me again.
— Sir asks you to wait for him so you can enter together.
I nod in response.
He gives me a polite smile before walking away to take out our things.
I remain alone. I slowly turn around, observing everything around me. The elegant columns. The large windows. The details carved into the stone. Everything seems placed with precision, as if nothing was left to chance.
I begin to walk.
Slowly, almost timidly.
My steps guide me without really thinking. I take care to look at everything, every step, every carefully maintained plant. I feel like I'm entering a living painting. Everything here is fascinating. I climb the stairs still looking everywhere around me the pool is just… wow. I don't even know how I ended up in front of the huge solid wooden door, finely crafted. It must be the front door. I should maybe go back near Tony but I want to see what's behind that door.
"You should wait, Tony… stop being so stubborn," my conscience whispers, gentle but insistent.
I close my eyes for a second. Should I maybe listen? Or maybe not. My curiosity overcomes my caution. I reach out my hand and push slightly.
The leash appears before me, a few steps leading down to a hall even bigger than I imagined. The hall is… immense.
Really immense.
The ceiling is so high it seems to touch the sky. A gigantic crystal chandelier hangs from the center, its thousands of facets capturing the golden light and scattering subtle sparkles across the cream and gold walls. The floor is white marble veined with gray, perfectly polished, to the point that I can almost see my reflection on it.
In front of me, two curved staircases rise on each side, joining on the upper floor like in a palace. The railings are finely crafted, a mix of black wrought iron and golden details. The whole is both modern… and deeply ancient. On the right, a first lounge opens without any partition. Large beige velvet sofas, hand-embroidered cushions, a dark carved wood coffee table. Behind, wall panels with traditional Indian patterns revisited in a sleek style.
I take two, three steps forward. Then I stop abruptly. What am I doing? I don't know anyone here and Tony told me to wait, and yet I'm here… Esther, why are you so stubborn? I decide to turn back when I hear footsteps behind me. My heart races. Oh my God… what have I gotten myself into? I turn on my heel to leave when
— Wait. Don't move.
It's a woman's voice, soft yet firm at the same time. I freeze in place.
_Turn around,she orders. I swallow. What have I gotten myself into again… I decide to obey and turn around slowly.
And there I see two young women descending the staircase with confidence. The first has slightly paler skin, fine delicate features. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders. Her gaze is sharp, almost mischievous. The second is taller, more imposing in presence. Same facial structure. Same deep gaze. Same elegant jawline.
And then I understand immediately. They share the same features as Tony. The same defined cheekbones, the same intensity in the eyes, the same way of holding their head slightly high. Beauty clearly runs in the family. They are mixed-race, like him a harmonious blend that gives their faces something unique.
She descends the last steps confidently, then approaches me. Arriving at my height, she examines me for a second… before smiling. A real smile radiant.
_Wow… you're even more beautiful in person than in the photos. You're just gorgeous.
I blink, a little taken aback. I don't know what's happening, but she seems sincere. Her smile is contagious. Without realizing it, I smile in return… then a small nervous laugh escapes me.
_But where are my manners? she continues, raising her eyes slightly to the sky. I'm Samira, Tony's older sister." She steps aside slightly and discreetly points behind her.
_And she, that's Laurène. Our little sister.
I turn my gaze to the second young woman. She has remained slightly in the background. Silent, unlike Samira, she doesn't smile. Her arms are crossed against her chest. Her gaze scrutinizes me with a certain wariness. Her jaw is slightly clenched, as if holding something back. Laurène is a bit paler than Samira, but they both share natural elegance. You can't confuse them, you can only recognize that they share the same blood.
_Nice to meet you, I'm…
— Esther, Samira interrupts me, laughing softly. You are my little brother's woman. Dad told us about you. Actually, he does nothing but talk about you. I blink, surprised.
_Really? I ask, genuinely astonished.
_Yes! I was so eager to meet you. And not just me… the whole family wanted to see you. Especially grandmother. She's been insisting for days.
My heart tightens slightly. They wanted to see me… Really?
_Finally, they're here… my daughter-in-law and my son.
The feminine voice echoes behind us, deep, firm, and gentle at the same time.
One minute… this voice, it sounds familiar, but I don't remember clearly. Samira is turned away from her, so I don't see the person speaking.
_Samira, move aside. I want to see my daughter-in-law.
But the more the voice comes closer… the more it really reminds me of someone.
—Sami, I told you to move.
Samira steps aside, letting appear before me Tony's mother. The same woman I met at the jewelry store in Palestine. The same one I argued with? Oh no. Anything… but this.
So… it's her. Of all women possible… it had to be her. Why her? Why me? I feel a strange weight settle in my chest. As if, from the start, fate had decided to complicate things.
Her gaze lands on me, her smile instantly disappears as if someone had turned off a light. Her features harden, her face darkens, her eyes turn cold… black with contained anger. She steps forward slowly, each step echoing in the immense hall. And I am petrified, unable to move. When she reaches my height, she stops just in front of me. Too close. She looks me straight in the eyes. Without blinking.
_What are you doing here? Who allowed you to enter here?
Her voice is calm, far too calm, the kind of calm that precedes a storm. My heart beats so hard I feel like everyone can hear it. The air becomes heavy all of a sudden.
_Mom… what's going on? You know her? Samira asks, visibly confused.
_Don't get involved, Samira. I'm talking to her. Her tone is so cold I shiver despite myself.
_I… I…
The words get stuck in my throat. My tongue refuses to move. No sound comes out. As if someone had ripped my voice away.
_What? Did you give your tongue to the cat today? You can't speak anymore today? Yet the other day, you spoke with so much pride… so much confidence. Where has it gone?
She steps closer, her heels echoing on the floor.
_Continue. Finish your sentence. Or are you only brave when no one is around to answer you?
The sarcasm in her voice burns me more than shouts. Then she adds, in an icy tone:
_Get out. I need to welcome my daughter-in-law. I don't want her to see you.
She turns her back as if I were nothing. As if I didn't exist at all. I stand there.
Immobile.
I am her daughter-in-law, but no words come out. Should I say it? No… not like this, not without Tony. He's not even here yet. I should have stayed close to him. I should have waited. Why am I so stubborn?
I snap out of my thoughts when I feel my arm suddenly grabbed. I look up and see her hand gripping mine with unexpected force, her fingers digging into my skin as if she wanted to mark me. The pain shoots through me suddenly, and a small sharp cry escapes me involuntarily.
_Mom, let go of her, you're hurting her! Samira says, instinctively stepping toward us.
But her mother gives her a look so harsh, so cutting, that Samira freezes immediately. As if frozen. I feel her nails dig further into my skin. My breathing becomes irregular.
_Yo… you're hurting me…I manage to articulate with difficulty.
_Ah. Now you can speak? I told you to get out. Why are you still here?
_I… I can't…
_Is this your house? You think here is your father's… or your husband's?If only you knew… The pressure increases. Her nails dig further. The pain becomes burning, almost unbearable. I grit my teeth, refusing to scream this time. I will not back down. Even if my legs shake, even if I'm scared.
No way, I will not leave as if I were nothing.
_I told you to get out!
She pushes me violently backward. I lose balance, my heels slipping on the polished marble. I'm about to fall. But at the last moment, someone catches me. A firm hand grabs my arm, and I find myself pressed against a solid chest. My heart pounds against my chest. And I know, without even looking up… He has finally arrived.
I slowly straighten, still trembling. I could never have imagined she would be so aggressive if that's the case I'd rather leave. I try to step away to exit, but his hand closes over mine, his fingers interlocking with mine firmly, as if to anchor me to him. He gently but decisively pulls me toward his mother, who watches us with a mixture of astonishment and anger.
_Mom, what was that? he asks in a calm but firm voice.
_Tony, what are you doing? Let her go immediately! She must leave this house! Her voice snaps like a whip in the air.
_Mom, stop… please. I don't want you to treat her like that. His tone isn't raised, but every word vibrates with tension.
_And why would I treat her differently? she hisses, staring me straight in the eyes. She deserves to be treated this way! She will not stay here another minute, leave immediately!
Her tone rises, piercing the silence. The servants freeze at a distance, restrained by the intensity of the moment. Tony squeezes my hand tighter.
_She's not going anywhere. Because this is also her home.
Another voice rises, deep and authoritative. Everyone turns their head, and I understand immediately: it's my father-in-law. He stands straight at the last step of the staircase, imposing, piercing, and firm gaze. Every movement exudes authority. Slowly, he descends and stands in front of my mother-in-law, blocking her advance like an invisible but powerful barrier. And just seeing him, immense relief washes through my chest. As if someone finally opened a window in a stifling room.
_And why? she asks, turning toward him, eyes blazing with anger. She is not welcome here. I don't want to see her.
I lower my eyes slightly. It seems she still holds a grudge against me for what happened. As if, in her heart, I carry an unforgivable fault.
_And yet, you will have to get used to seeing her here, my father-in-law replies calmly. Because she is… your daughter-in-law.
You can almost hear his heart break in the silence; her face freezes. She didn't expect that.
_What? Is this a joke? What do you mean, my daughter-in-law? No… I refuse. Her voice now trembles, not with weakness, but with rage.
— Élise, listen to me.
— NO! I REFUSE FOR THAT GIRL TO BE MY DAUGHTER-IN-LAW!
Her screams echo throughout the entire manor, vibrating and imperious. The servants startle, frozen in place, and even Laurène can't help but step back slightly, caught off guard by the intensity of the scene.
— ELISABETH! YOU LOWER YOUR TONE RIGHT NOW!
My father-in-law's voice thunders in turn, deeper, louder. I flinch abruptly, my heart pounding wildly, and I press myself a little closer to Tony, clutching his arm as if holding onto him could protect me from everything.
Around me, Samira and Laurène exchange a shocked look. The atmosphere has suddenly become electric; the air feels heavy with an approaching storm.
I feel emotions overwhelming me—fear, shame, guilt. I don't know what hurts me more. Her words or the fact that, despite everything… I wanted her to accept me.
_ NO. I will shout if I want to. All I want is for her to get out of here right now.
— Mom… says Samira, approaching her mother gently. Calm down. You should listen to what dad has to say.
— No, Samira! I don't want to listen to anyone! Anyone!
Her voice is broken by anger and pride. Then she turns to her husband, her eyes shining with rage.
— Jon Abdel Arrison… tell me you did not marry MY son to this girl.
— You are going to calm down right now and watch the way you speak to me, he replies in a low, firm… almost threatening voice.
— Mom, Tony intervenes, stop making a scene. We can discuss this calmly without shouting or raising our voices.
His voice is calm. Steady. Controlled to appear completely serene.
— And you? she insists, staring at him intensely. Do you agree with this? Do you really want to live your life with this girl?
Silence.
He doesn't answer.
And that silence pierces me; a painful tightness grips my chest. I don't dare lift my eyes to him. I'm afraid of seeing doubt there. I stare at the floor, as if the marble could swallow me whole.
Then my father-in-law's authoritative voice cuts through the air.
— This girl, as you call her so well, is your son's wife and this family's daughter-in-law. So respect her.
— Did she respect me when she spoke to me? Did she consider me? No. So why should I do it?
— But what are you talking about? my father-in-law asks, visibly confused.
She points her finger at me.
— Ask her. Ask your dear daughter-in-law what she did. Go ahead.
And suddenly… all eyes turn toward me.
I feel trapped. Exposed. As if the walls are closing in.
— Go on, speak! she says, staring at me. Tell your father-in-law and everyone present here what you did! GO ON!
She shouts so loudly that I flinch despite myself, my heart leaping in my chest. Without thinking, I squeeze Tony's hand tighter, my fingers clenching around his, trembling with emotion and fear. The contact barely reassures me, but it anchors me in this moment where everyone is looking at me, waiting for my answer.
— Fa… fa… fa… I… I…
I stutter. The words mix together, get stuck in my throat. I lose my composure. It's the first time I've stuttered this much. The first time I find myself in the middle of screams, accusations. It's the first time I've ever been in such a situation. I've never experienced this. Never.
— Don't be afraid, my daughter, my father-in-law says gently. You don't owe any explanation if you don't wish to give one.
He pauses, looks at my mother-in-law in the eyes and says,
_ But what is happening to you? Just five minutes ago you were telling me you couldn't wait to see your daughter-in-law, to talk to her, to touch her, and now I don't even recognize you anymore.
— Yes, I was, until I saw her. This girl, she says, pointing at me. She is so insolent, disrespectful and vulgar… and this is the kind of girl you married, my son? she asks, her gaze fixed on my father-in-law, her voice sharp as a blade.
_ THAT'S ENOUGH! NOW, ELIZABETH! my father-in-law thunders, his fists clenching on his armrests, the veins in his neck slightly visible. You have spoken enough! I haven't said anything until now, but I will not allow you to insult and humiliate her in front of me, UNDER MY ROOF!
His voice is deep, each word striking like a hammer. My mother-in-law steps back, visibly surprised by my father-in-law's anger and firmness. I myself remain frozen, my heart pounding wildly, my hands trembling, overwhelmed by the intensity of the scene. I had never seen my father-in-law like this: eyes blazing, torso straight, jaw clenched, radiating authority and anger.
Samira immediately approaches her father, worried. She places a trembling hand on his arm.
— Dad… Mom… calm down, please. We can talk without raising our voices… please…
Her voice breaks slightly. You can feel that she is trying to hold back her tears that threaten to fall at any moment.
I turn my head toward Tony. He is motionless. His features are closed off, jaw tight, eyes dark. A silent storm passes through his gaze. He is trying to keep control… but I can see that he is boiling inside.
I glance at my mother-in-law.
She is red with anger. Her breathing is irregular, almost panting; her shoulders rise with each sharp inhale. And all of this… because of me. Maybe I should speak. Maybe I should try to fix things.
— Mo…
I don't even have time to finish; she shoots me a black look… so black that I shiver from head to toe. I didn't think a simple look could be so frightening. It's as if she wants to silence me without even touching me.
— Do not dare finish your sentence, she says in a tone filled with contained anger. You may have manipulated everyone here… but me, I know you very well. I know your true face.
Her words strike me straight in the heart.
Manipulated?
— And know one thing, she continues, her eyes burning with hatred. I will never accept you as my daughter-in-law. NEVER.
The last word echoes in the immense hall. Then she turns on her heels and walks up the stairs quickly, her back straight, anger still visible in each of her movements.
My father-in-law follows her, visibly torn between frustration and anger.
Silence falls again. A suffocating silence.
I remain there, motionless, my fingers still clinging to Tony's.
Then he lets out a long, restrained sigh of irritation, as if he is still trying to maintain control.
Beside me, Samira approaches gently and places a warm hand on my shoulder. Her gesture is simple, but it keeps me from collapsing. She offers me a reassuring, almost maternal smile, as if to say don't worry, it will be okay.
I cling to it without even realizing it.
Then a small snicker breaks the moment.
— Can we know what's making you laugh? Tony asks, his voice colder than before.
She walks toward us slowly, a stretched smile on her lips.
— You know… I have never seen the parents argue like that. And today, thanks to your wife, they were shouting at each other.
The words your wife sound different in her mouth. Like an accusation.
— Laurène, be quiet and stop saying nonsense, Samira snaps.
But she shrugs, falsely innocent.
— For you, it may be nonsense. But let's face the truth… She has been here for not even an hour and she's already creating tension. Just imagine what it will be like in three months… There will surely be...
— SHUT UP, LAURÈNE!
His voice explodes in the hall.
Laurène flinches and steps back, visibly surprised by the violence in his tone. Silence falls immediately, even heavier than before.
Maybe she's right… I have barely arrived, and already I've triggered a huge argument between my mother-in-law and my father-in-law. I haven't even had time to set down my suitcases, and I already seem to have shaken the fragile balance of this house.
A dull guilt settles inside me, heavy, oppressive. As if my mere presence is enough to crack walls built for years. I feel out of place. A stranger. An intruder. I lower my eyes, my heart tight. This wasn't how I imagined my arrival.