Chapter 4: The Inheritance War
The Delacroix estate was a palace carved from another century—wrought iron gates, sprawling gardens, and stone angels that wept from the balconies. It sat like a crown above the Seine, untouched by time or ruin.
Elara stood before it, staring at the place that should have been hers all along.
Instead, it had been Adrien's kingdom for years.
A kingdom he wasn't ready to share.
Inside, Adrien Saint-Pierre watched her approach from the window, his fingers curled around a crystal glass of cognac. Beside him stood a woman in a tailored red suit and sharp heels—Isolde Beaumont, the family's long-time legal advisor. And his rumored lover.
"She came," Isolde said, coolly.
Adrien smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"Of course she did. The blood always calls us home."
---
Two Hours Later
The family council chamber was colder than Elara expected—dark wood panels, long velvet curtains, and portraits of dead men who had built empires on secrets.
She sat at the end of a long table, facing a row of solemn eyes.
At the center sat Adrien, flanked by Isolde and three board members—Delacroix blood or those married into it.
"This isn't a trial," Isolde began, her voice clipped. "It's a negotiation."
"I didn't come to negotiate," Elara replied. "I came to claim what's mine."
Adrien laughed softly. "And what exactly is yours, Elara? A name? A few shares? Some dusty letters?"
She reached into her coat and placed her father's sealed will on the table. The notary's seal glinted in the candlelight.
"Everything," she said. "Étienne named me his heir. Sole heir."
Silence fell.
Isolde's expression didn't flicker, but Adrien's jaw twitched.
"This will has not been verified," he said. "Forgery is not beneath the Rousseau line."
"Then verify it."
Elara's eyes locked with his. "But I'm not leaving."
Adrien leaned back, fingers steepled. "You think this is about paperwork and bloodlines. But it's about loyalty. Influence. Power. You don't have any of that, Elara. You are one woman. Alone."
She smiled thinly. "Wrong."
She pulled out her phone and played a recording.
> "My name is Auguste Delacroix. I served Étienne for thirty years. And I testify that Elara is his rightful heir—trained, hidden, and protected until the old guard fell."
The blood drained from Isolde's face.
Adrien's glass cracked in his grip.
The game had changed.
---
Meanwhile, in Paris
Lucien stood in a private terminal, jaw clenched as he stepped onto the tarmac. His jet had barely touched down. He hadn't told her he was coming.
But he wouldn't wait another day.
Not when danger surrounded the woman he loved.
Not when the shadows of a broken dynasty were closing in.
Not when Elara was about to fight a war with teeth bared and belly full.
He would find her.
And God help anyone who tried to keep them apart.
---