Page 64 of It Happened In Paris

Adrien appeared, striding into the garden with the air of someone overcompensating for what he lacked. Slate suit, sunglasses, hair slicked back in a way that screamed “too much effort to pretend he wasn’t a cheap nightclub owner” among these guests.

He stopped mid-step at the sight of Jeanne.

Then he noticed Miriam.

Then me and Vivian.

His jaw tightened.

“Adrien,” I called, raising my hand before he could spin around and escape. “So glad you could join us.”

“Adrien?” His mother could hardly believe he was here, aghast and clutching her pearls.

He hesitated, then had no choice but to approach.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Jeanne said with a tight smile, and I was sure she whispered a reproach in French as Vivian stifled a snicker, being able to understand the language.

“Well, I, er... received an invitation from Richard,” Adrien mumbled before shifting his gaze to Vivian, his eyes trailing down her form. My fists clenched, and I fought to restrain myself from hitting him. I growled in frustration, while he merely smirked with no real warmth reaching his eyes.

“Jeanne, if you wouldn’t mind... I fear I’ve invited you here for more than just a social visit,” Miriam explained, gesturing to the interior. “Why don’t we all move into the conservatory? We can speak more freely there, and I’d love to show you the progress my gardeners have made with propagating lavender.”

We all followed her inside. I took up the rear, just in case Adrien decided to bolt. I couldn’t help but smile at my brilliance at how this plan all came together.

A while back, when I had asked Vivian for more details about our first time in Paris, she mentioned her history with Adrien. She had indicated meeting his parents. It reminded me of something Miriam had shared about how embarrassed Jeanne had been when authorities raided Adrien’s club. Her Christian friends were particularly disappointed to learn of his involvement. That memory was the seed that had set this entire plan in motion.

I knew that if we met with him on his terms, he would manipulate us, teasing us with what we wanted—his renouncement of rights—until he got whathedesired, potentially millions more from me. Although I would gladly sacrifice everything for Paris to be mine, there had to be a way to circumvent his threats. I hoped today would be a success.

As soon as we entered the conservatory, Vivian didn’t hesitate. She reached into her clutch and pulled out the paternity document—undeniable proof that Paris was my daughter.

Vivian took a deep breath and explained our situation to Jeanne. She recounted how we met. Detailed Paris’ urgent need for a kidney, and how I was proven as her father. How I stepped in to save her while Adrien hesitated and avoided her calls for days. Vivian also mentioned that Adrien often neglected to provide financial support after the divorce and had rarely contacted Paris.

The most shocking revelation to Jeanne came when Vivian told her that upon learning the paternity results, Adrien demanded that she repay all the money he’d sent and more or he would sue.

Vivian played her part in this confrontation perfectly. Miriam, too, was on board with the plan the moment I had called and told her of it.

Jeanne took the document, scanned it quickly, and brought a hand to her mouth, while Adrien seethed with anger. She conceded, “She is not yours, Adrien. Never was.”

Adrien hesitated. “I only found out recently.”

I interjected, “There’s more. I’d like to give Paris my name. She’s a Buchanan, blood and bone and kidney. But to do that, we need Adrien to renounce his parental rights.” I clarified the entire reason for our gathering here today.

Jeanne, a tireless advocate for children’s causes, agreed. “Bien sur, of course. As sad as it is not to have Paris in our family, I would never want to keep her from her rightful one.”

“Perfect. I happen to have the papers here.” I gestured to the stack that Miriam had received via courier from my lawyers. On the garden table in front of us, I spread them out. When I extended the pen to Adrien, he scoffed and stepped back.

“What are you doing, Adrien? Sign your name. Do the honorable thing.” Jeanne demanded, gesturing sharply toward the pen.

Vivian turned to her. “He threatened to stall the name change. I believe he wanted money.”

“What? Extortion? How could you?” she seethed. “That wretched club of yours does not make enough?”

Adrien snapped back, “You know how my business interests suffered since the raid, and you do nothing to support me.”

“I would never support that filth that you call a business. First you divorce a wonderful woman, then let them move to the states, leaving her as a single mother to take care of herself and her child. And now, when that girl can become a part of a well-respected family, you dishonor us like this? But why am I not surprised? You have been a disgrace ever since you opened that vile club.” A stream of French words followed.

Adrien flinched under her anger—a reaction I recalled now. How none of those Bardeaux boys ever dared defy their strict,formidable mother. Sadly, she might be the reason he abused Vivian, having grown up with a strict mother like her.

Jeanne fixed her fury on her son. “You bring shame upon me. You always have—from your dirty club to this…”

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