Chapter 4 - The Unwelcome Arrival
The morning mist was still clearing over Montreux when the heavy crunch of gravel echoed through the villa's gated driveway.
I was sitting in the glass-enclosed conservatory, slicing fresh green apples onto a porcelain plate, when the sharp double knock rattled the front door.
My heart seized in my chest with an instinctual jolt of panic. Julian wasn't scheduled to return until tomorrow afternoon with supplies from Geneva.
I set the silver paring knife down and walked into the foyer, my pulse thumping against my throat like a trapped bird.
Through the narrow leaded glass window beside the front entrance, I saw him.
Vincent stood on the stone threshold, wearing an unbuttoned black wool coat over a charcoal suit, with no tie and his collar open to the crisp alpine wind. He looked hollowed out—his cheekbones sharper, his eyes shadowed with deep purple bruises of exhaustion.
He looked like a man who had walked through hell just to reach this wooden door.
I took a deep, steadying breath, placed one hand over my stomach to calm the sudden flutter inside, and turned the heavy brass key in the lock.
I pulled the door open six inches, keeping the heavy security chain firmly engaged.
"You shouldn't have come here, Vincent," I said, my voice flat, calm, and completely devoid of emotion.
Vincent stopped breathing the moment he saw my face. His eyes dropped instantly to my midsection, searching with a raw, desperate reverence that almost made my knees tremble.
"Claire," he choked out, his voice cracking on the single syllable. He reached out a trembling hand, resting his fingertips against the wood of the door frame as if needing support to stay upright. "Please. Just let me see you. Let me talk to you for five minutes."
"There is nothing left to talk about," I replied, meeting his bloodshot gaze without flinching. "The divorce petition was delivered to your legal team in Chicago forty-eight hours ago. My Swiss attorneys will handle all future communication."
"I don't care about the divorce petition!" Vincent cried, taking a frantic step forward until his chest pressed against the cracked door. "Tear it up! Burn it! I don't give a damn about the lawyers, Claire!"
"I do," I answered coldly. "Now please leave my grandmother's property before I call the local gendarmes."
"Claire, I know about the baby," he whispered, tears finally spilling over his lashes and running down his pale cheeks. "I know about our child. The doctor at the clinic... he recognized me. I know you're carrying our baby."
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could suppress it.
"Our baby?" I asked, raising an eyebrow with icy contempt. "Three days ago, you told me there was no reason for us to rush into having children. You told me things were fine the way they were."
Vincent flinched as if I had struck him across the face with an iron bar.
"I was a fool, Claire," he begged, his voice breaking into ragged sobs. "I was an arrogant, blind, stupid fool. I thought we had forever. I didn't know you were hurting... I didn't see what was right in front of me."
"You saw Sophia perfectly well," I whispered, letting the poison of that truth hang between us in the cold alpine air. "You saw Noah every single weekend. You just never had time to see your own wife."
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With one swift, deliberate motion, I pushed the heavy oak door closed and turned the deadbolt.
Through the thick wood, I could hear Vincent’s forehead thudding against the panels, followed by the muffled, agonizing sound of a powerful man breaking down into pieces on the cold stone porch.
