The next day, Lucien moved to work thinking about Sophie and Amelie altogether.
Lucien's meeting had been swift but unmemorable. The words spoken around the conference table barely registered in his mind, overshadowed by the weight of his past. As soon as he was free, he headed straight for his car, his thoughts pulling him to a place he hadn't visited in years.
The small pond in the park came into view, its surface shimmering under the afternoon sun. Lucien parked and walked toward it with purposeful strides, his polished shoes crunching against the gravel path. Standing at the water's edge, he stared into the rippling reflections, his expression darkening with every passing second.
This was where Amélie had died.
He clenched his fists at his sides, the memory of her final moments slicing through him like a blade. Her car sinking into the water, the frantic efforts to save her, the cold, lifeless body they had pulled out—the images were burned into his mind.
"It wasn't an accident," he muttered to himself, his voice low and venomous.
His mother and younger sister's voices echoed in his head, their words from that fateful night haunting him. They had confessed, thinking he wouldn't hear, that their actions had been for his benefit.
"She wasn't right for him," his mother had said, her tone icy.
"We had to protect the family's name," his sister had added smugly.
Lucien's chest heaved with barely contained rage. They had tampered with Amélie's car, ensuring it would fail. They had planned her death as though she were nothing more than an obstacle to their ambitions.
And they had succeeded.
For years, Lucien had played the dutiful son and brother, keeping their dark secret buried. But now, standing here, the place where Amélie had lost her life, the fury he had suppressed boiled over.
"They took you from me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "They thought they could decide my life, my happiness."
His gaze hardened, his jaw tightening.
"They will pay."
Lucien's thoughts churned with plans for vengeance. He would unravel their carefully constructed lives piece by piece. Every lie, every betrayal, every drop of blood they had spilled for their so-called family honor would come back to haunt them.
Revenge wasn't just a desire—it was a need. A fire that burned in his soul, driving him forward.
He turned away from the pond, his mind already calculating his next steps. Time was precious, and he wouldn't waste another second pretending to be the son and brother they thought they could control.
As he walked back to his car, his steps were lighter, his heart darker. Lucien Marchand was no longer their puppet. He was a man on a mission, and the first move in his game of revenge was about to begin.