Chapter 5 - The Collapse of the House of Cards

"You... you bought the building?" Julien whispered, his voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched squeak. All the bravado, all the swagger, all the polished corporate arrogance had completely evaporated, leaving behind a terrified, small-minded man standing in a ruined living room.
Dubois stood up so fast his scotch glass tipped over, spilling amber liquid across the Persian rug. He looked at Julien with sheer disgust. "You embezzled company funds? And you brought your mistress into your home while your wife—who apparently owns real estate worth millions—bankrolls your entire social circle? You absolute fool, Julien! You're finished. Don't ever call my office again."
Without another word, Dubois grabbed his coat, pushed past Chloé as if she were a ghost, and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the heavy front door behind him.
Chloé stared at Julien in sheer disbelief, her mascara beginning to smudge under her frantic eyes. "Julien... tell me she’s lying! Tell me you didn't steal money! Tell me we still have the apartment!"
Julien didn't answer. He was staring at the corporate termination letter in his hands, his knuckles turning white.
I walked slowly toward the foyer, stopping just before the door. I turned back to look at them one last time—the man who had mocked my profession, sheared my hair, and treated me like a domestic servant, and the arrogant young woman who thought she could step into my life and take my crown.
"You called me a maid, Julien," I said softly, my voice carrying the weight of twenty years of hard-earned success, resilience, and unyielding dignity. "You said my salons were just a cute little hobby. But while you were busy playing executive and wasting your salary on expensive suits and side pieces, I was building an empire."
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I tapped the short, razor-sharp locks of my French bob. "Enjoy your packing. The movers arrive on Saturday morning at 8:00 AM sharp."
I stepped out into the hallway, leaving them surrounded by their shattered illusions, their empty glasses, and the lingering scent of cheap perfume and absolute ruin.