My husband forced me to play the maid at his graduation party, and he even showed off his mistress… but everyone was stunned when the big boss bowed to me and called me “Madam President”.
My name is Éléonore Morel. In the eyes of my husband, Laurent Dubois, I am just a simple housewife: without work, without ambition and, according to him, without value.
What Laurent doesn’t know is that I am the secret owner of the Horizon Global Holdings group, an empire valued at five billion euros, with shipping lines on the French Mediterranean coast, luxury hotels in Nice and Cannes, and technology companies based in Paris, Lyon and other major European cities.
Why did I hide it? Because I wanted Laurent to love me for who I am, not for my money. When we met in Lyon, he was friendly, hard-working and full of dreams. But when he was promoted at the company where he worked — not knowing that it was also one of my subsidiaries — he changed. He became arrogant, contemptuous, and I lost the man I had fallen in love with.
The night of his graduation party has arrived. He had just been appointed Vice President of Sales for France.
I was getting ready, holding my evening dress, when Laurent entered the room with a hanger in his hand.
“What are you doing, Eleanor?” he asked coldly. Why do you have this dress?
“I’m getting ready for your birthday,” I replied with a forced smile.
He laughs contemptuously. He tore off the dress and threw it to the ground.
“You’re not a guest,” he said harshly. At this feast, I need people to serve. We are short of staff.
He then threw me the coat hanger wearing a black servant’s uniform: white apron and headband included.
“Put this on.” You will serve the drinks. That’s the only thing you know how to do, isn’t it? And something else… Don’t tell anyone you’re my wife. You make me ashamed. Say that you are employed by the hour.
I felt something break inside me. I wanted to shout at him that I could buy the company where he worked. That I could fire him with a simple call. But I remained silent.
It was the last test.
“Very well,” I replied in a low voice.
As I went down to the living room of our house in the 16th arrondissement of Paris, I saw a woman sitting comfortably on the sofa. It was Camille, her secretary: young, beautiful and sure of herself.
But what took my breath away was what she was wearing.
