#[ chiara fiore || narrative 02 ]

[chiara-fiore]

"Mon amour..."

Chiara looked at her husband, Sebastien, from one end of the marble hallway of their once-shared Paris penthouse, her face void of the same sweet sentiment found in his voice.

"There you are," Sebastien crooned, walking in a somewhat disheveled suit and smelling strongly of liquor. "You look..." In his inebriated state, he struggled to come up with a compliment he has not yet used in his countless emails, texts and voicemails asking for her back.

"Don't bother rubbing your last two brain cells together," she said, deadpan. "You're going to need it later." Chiara then stood up to her full height, her black Valentino gown rustling ever so softly as she moved. "I'm here to make sure I leave with that," she said, pointing at the large manila envelope sitting atop the ornate table next to him. "Signed."

Sebastien's eyebrows furrowed, reaching for the envelope. But he did not open it. Instead, he continued to protest as if she'd eventually break if he did it long enough.

"Baby, you're overreacting," he implored, trying to sway Chiara with his charm. Though it may have worked before in previous fights, Sebastien had crossed the line. There was no going back from stealing all her hard-earned money, the money she'd worked days and nights for since she was eighteen years old. "How about we just open our favourite win, get you out of that, and talk things through, eh? I mean, as stunning as you look, you look even better without," he smirked.

Chiara remained unfazed.

"Sign. It." Each word was spoken in his mother tongue with each syllable enunciated to ensure there was no room for misunderstandings.

"I'm not going to sign it." Sebastien stood his ground. "This is our house, this is where we live," he proclaimed, steadily getting more and more irritated. "Actually, you know what? This is my house!" he had the audacity to say. "This whole fuckin' place has been in my family for almost a century!"

"Until I bought it from you ten years ago," Chiara countered simply. "Remember? To save your parents from ruin?"

Sebastien gritted his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Besides, that's not what the envelope is for."

A change flickered in his bright blue eyes. "What?"

"The papers," Chiara mentioned, gesturing to the envelope in his hand. "They're divorce papers. And I need you to sign them. Preferably in..." She checked her phone for the time, "two minutes."

Sebastien looked more confused than ever.

"I have a gala to go to, and you know I don't like to be late," Chiara said in response to a question he was probably about to ask, to which Sebastien just stared at his wife before smirking.

"No." Shaking his head, he ripped the papers in his hands and threw them in the air. "No, Chiara. No!"

Chiara took a deep breath and calmly exhaled through her nose. Then, without another word, she closed the gap between them, unafraid to look him in the eye.

"Have your tantrum," she warned him, "but I'm not giving up. I'm not going to let you charm me back into your life so you can suck me dry of everything I've worked so hard for." Taking her purse, she stepped around him but stopped by the door. "I will get those papers signed, Sebastien, even if it's the last thing I do."

* All conversations are in French.