Page 100 of The Substitute Fiancée

My voice breaks.

The silence stretches. Then she looks at me.

“I don’t want you to fix my problems. I want you to be there when I face them.”

My heart tightens.

“The canvases are a beautiful gesture. And I need them. But what I need most is you. Not your money. Not your gifts. You.”

I reach for her face, slowly, giving her time to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, her cheek presses into my palm.

I take it as permission and close the space between us. My arms tighten around her, and her head nestles against my neck.

God, how I’d missed her.

“I’m going to do better,” I murmur against her lips.

“You’re trying,” she replies. “I see it, and for now, that’s enough for me.”

When she kisses me, it’s a real kiss. Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that momentarily erases everything else.

A kiss that tells me we still have a chance. A chance to start again. Even if nothing is guaranteed.

32. December 31

Samantha

The evening of December 31 presents itself as a social trial as much as a celebration among friends. Two weeks before MatchMapping’s IPO, I prepare myself to play my role as a fiancée in public at a private party where more than sixty people have gathered to celebrate the New Year. The event is hosted by one of Alexander’s former classmates.

I’m not particularly fond of this kind of social scene, but I understand what’s at stake.

Wearing a sapphire-blue velvet gown, perfectly fitted and slit at the side with calculated elegance, I enter the reception hall on Alexander’s arm.

The place is stunning. A private mansion in the 8th arrondissement, with ornate ceilings and crystal chandeliers. Dim lighting, laughter, and the low hum of conversations blend with an enchanting lounge soundtrack. Servers in tuxedos circulate with trays of champagne and refined hors d’oeuvres.

Alexander’s presence at my side is reassuring, like a shield against a world that isn’t mine. But I can already feel the weight of curious gazes resting on us. The discreet murmurs. The sideways glances.

So that’s the fiancée.

I tighten my grip on his arm without realizing it. He looks at me, senses my tension, and places his hand over mine. A simple gesture. Grounding.

Oliver and Marion are already there, near the large fireplace, surrounded by a group of people I don’t know. Men in impeccably tailored suits. Women in designer gowns.

David and Florence join us soon after, flawless as always. Florence is wearing a silver sheath dress that catches the light with every movement, and David sports a perfectly cut three-piece suit. They greet me warmly, and I feel a sincerity in their embrace that contrasts with the overall atmosphere.

“Sam, you look stunning,” Florence says, stepping back to admire me. “That color suits you beautifully.”

“Thank you. You look gorgeous too.”

We exchange a few words, then Alexander guides me through the crowd, his hand resting at the small of my back, introducing me to a steady stream of smiling faces and firm handshakes.

I meet Alexander’s circle of friends and connections.

“Nathanaël,” Alexander says, stopping in front of a man in his thirties, tall and elegant, wearing thin-framed glasses. “Our host. CEO of NeuraCore Tech, an AI company.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Samantha,” Nathanaël says warmly as he shakes my hand. “Alexander has told me a lot about you. An artist, right?”

“Yes. I’m finishing my studies at the Fine Arts School.”