With her fair skin.
With his blood.
At Claire's feet, a plastic bag half-filled with crushed cans.
She survived by collecting garbage.
His ex-wife.
The woman to whom he had once sworn to love her until death.
"What a pathetic sight," spat Camille, sticking half her body out the window. "You've always belonged to misery, Claire."Claire did not reply.
She didn't look at Camille.
She only stared at Alexander.
There was no hatred in his eyes.
There was something worse.
A sadness so profound it seemed infinite.
And then the past hit him.
One year earlier.
The white marble vestibule of the Beaumont residence in Neuilly-sur-Seine .
Documents scattered on a glass table: transfers of millions of euros from company accounts.
Blurry photos of her entering a hotel with a man.
Her mother's diamond necklace found in Claire's suitcase.
Camille was next to him, feigning indignation.
— I didn’t want to say anything, Alexandre… but I couldn’t bear to see how she betrayed you anymore.
Claire on her knees.
In tears.
— It's not me… I swear… I'm pregnant…
He didn't let her finish.
Pride blinded him. Humiliation poisoned him.
"Get her out of my house," he ordered the security guard. "Don't let her take a single cent."
She was never able to tell him that she was expecting his children.
