Chapter 3 A Fragile Hope

On the edge of a velvet sofa, Ariane sat, her hands trembling as she stared at the pregnancy test on the coffee table. Two pink lines stared back, a quiet promise amid the storm of her life. She was pregnant. A wave of hope surged through her, mingling with fear. A child, the family she and Olivier had dreamed of in Abidjan, could this be the light to mend their unravelling fairy tale?

She touched her stomach, imagining a future where Paris's streets echoed with a child's laughter, where her designs graced runways, and Olivier's coldness turned into the warmth she'd once known.

But his words from last night "stay home, no little explores" echoed in her mind, a cage tightening around her dreams. Still, she clung to hope. Maybe this news would soften him, remind him of their love under Abidjan's stars.

Ariane stood, slipping on a gold bangle carveded with Ivorian patterns, a gift from Awa. It grounded her, a piece of Cocody's warmth against Paris's sterile elegance. She moved to the kitchen, brewing coffee, the scent a small comfort as she rehearsed her words. Olivier, we're going to have a baby. Her heart raced, torn between joy and dread.

Olivier emerged from the bedroom, his tie half-knotted, his jaw set. "You're up early," he said, his tone clipped. He glanced at the coffee. "I don't have time for that. I'm meeting Julien, big investors today."

Ariane swallowed, stepping closer. "Olivier, I need to tell you something." Her voice trembled, but she pressed on. "I'm pregnant."

His eyes flicked to her, narrowing. For a moment, silence stretched, heavy as the Parisian fog outside. Then he laughed, a sharp bitter sound that made her flinch. "Pregnant? Now?" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "You think this is the time for that? I'm building a career here, Ariane. I told you to stay home, not complicate things."

Her heart sank, the hope in her chest fracturing. "I thought... we wanted this," she whispered, her voice cracking. "A family..."

"A family?" he snapped, turning on her. His voice rose, echoing off the chandelier. "You can't even manage yourself! You're late to dinners, cooking that market food, acting like we're still in Abidjan. I need a wife who fits Paris, not a burden!"

Ariane recoiled, her hands instinctively shielding her stomach. His words cut deeper than ever, each one a shard of her broken dream. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let him see her crumble. "I'm trying," she said, her voice barely audible. "I just wanted to share this with you."

Olivier's gaze darkened, his fists tightening. "Share? You don't get it, do you? I'm under pressure, and you're making it worse." He grabbed his briefcase, slamming it on the counter with a force that made her jump. "Don't bother me with this today. I need to focus."

He stormed out, the door slamming behind him, leaving Ariane trembling in the silence. She sank onto the sofa, her bangle clinking softly, a reminder of Awa's strength. She needed that strength now. Pulling her sketchbook from the drawer, she flipped to a new page, her pencil tracing a dress with soft curves; a gown for a mother, inspired by the Seine's gentle flow. She searched online for Parisian fashion schools, her fingers hesitant but determined. Olivier might cage her body, but her dreams were hers to nurture, even in secret.

Needing a lifeline, Ariane picked up her phone and sent a quick message to Yasmine: Are you up? Almost instantly, her phone buzzed with an incoming video call, Yasmine's face lighting up the screen. Ariane answered, forcing a smile. "Hey, Yasmine."

Yasmine's eyes narrowed instantly. "Ariane, you look worse than yesterday. What's going on?" Her voice was firm, her charm giving way to sisterly concern. " You know I care, Ariane. You can share with me. What's bothering you?"

Ariane's throat tightened. She wanted to tell Yasmine about the pregnancy, Olivier's outburst, the fear gnawing at her. But the words wouldn't come. "It's just... hard adjusting," she said, her voice hollow. "I miss you and Maman."

Yasmine's frown deepened. "You're not yourself, Ari. I'm worried and I'm not the only one. I will speak to Maman about this." She softened, adding, "You're my sister, I love you, and I won't let you fade."

The call ended, leaving Ariane with a flicker of warmth amid her fear. In Abidjan, Yasmine hung up, her heart heavy. She stepped out of her room and walked down the hall to their mother's room, where Awa sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. "Maman, it's Ariane," Yasmine said, her voice urgent. "She's not okay; I can see it in her eyes. She's trying to hide it, but something's wrong. I think its Olivier."

Awa's voice was steady but laced with worry as she turned to face her daughter. "I've been feeling it too, Yasmine. She's far away, and we've never lived apart before. But this... this sounds deeper. We need to help her."

Back in Paris, the day dragged on, Ariane's sketches piling up, each one a silent rebellion against Olivier's control. She longed for Abidjan's zouglou beats, the laughter of Cocody's markets, and the safety of Awa's embrace. Paris was a dream turned nightmare, and her unborn child deserved better.

That evening, Olivier returned, his face a storm cloud. "Julien's investors backed out," he growled, tossing his briefcase onto the sofa. His eyes locked on Ariane, who stood near the kitchen, her sketchbook clutched to her chest. "What are you doing? Daydreaming again?"

"I was just finishing my" she started, but his voice cut her off, sharp as a blade.

"Enough!" he roared, grabbing a glass from the counter and flinging it against the wall. It shattered, shards glittering on the floor like her broken hopes. Ariane gasped, stepping back, her hands shielding her stomach as fear gripped her. Olivier's chest heaved, his eyes wild, and for the first time, she saw not just anger, but danger.