Chapter 2 Shadows on the Seine

The morning light filtered through the Marais district's cobblestone streets, casting golden flecks on the Seine's surface. Ariane stood on the balcony of their new apartment, a fifth-floor haven Olivier's father had gifted to the couple. In the charming neighbourhood, chic cafés buzzed with laughter, their red awnings fluttering like invitations. She inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh croissants mingling with her dreams. Paris, the city of lights, love, and fashion, was hers to conquer.

Inside, the apartment gleamed with luxury: parquet floors, a chandelier dripping crystals, and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city's rooftops. Ariane ran her fingers over a silk scarf on the counter, its gold wax print a piece of Abidjan she'd brought along. She tied it around her neck, the swirls reminding her of Cocody's markets, and smiled. This was the life she'd imagined with Olivier, a canvas for their love and her career as a stylist.

"Stop fussing with that," Olivier's voice cut through her thoughts. He emerged from the bedroom, his tailored blazer accentuating his sharp jawline. His eyes raked over her, lingering on the scarf. "You're not in Abidjan anymore. That looks... out of place."

Ariane's smile faltered, her hand dropping to her side. "It's just a scarf," she said softly, but his words stung. She'd paired it with a cream blouse and fitted trousers, hoping to blend her Ivorian flair with Parisian chic. "I thought it'd be fun to mix styles."

Olivier snorted, adjusting his cufflinks. "You're in Paris now. Dress like it." He crossed the room, his tone softening as he kissed her forehead. "I have a dinner tonight with some colleagues. Be ready by six, don't be late."

She nodded, brushing off the critique. Olivier was under pressure, she told herself, his new role at a Parisian finance firm demanding perfection. She'd seen the way he gazed at her with a possessive adoration at their wedding, his eyes shining with pride. This was just a rough patch.

The day slipped by in a haze of exploration. Ariane wandered the Marais, sketching designs inspired by the city's elegance: a gown with the Seine's shimmer, a jacket echoing the ironwork of a nearby bridge. She imagined her creations on Paris Fashion Week runways, her name whispered among the elite. She thought of exploring the city more to understand its fashion life, observing the daily looks of Parisians on the streets, their effortless scarves and tailored coats guiding her sketches. She needed inspiration to draw her closer to the Paris fashion scene, a sense of its pulse before she made her big move to enrol in fashion school.

Before six, she was ready, her hair swept into an elegant updo, the scarf replaced with a simple gold chain. She arrived at a sleek restaurant in Saint-Germain, its glass walls reflecting the city's glow. Olivier was already there, having arrived on time after work; seated with his colleagues, all sharp suits and sharper smiles.

They greeted her with handshakes as she joined them, but her stomach knotted when she realized she was ten minutes late, her metro had been delayed.

"You couldn't manage to be on time?" Olivier hissed as she sat, his voice low but venomous. "You embarrassed me in front of them."

"I'm sorry," Ariane whispered, her cheeks burning. "The train..."

"No excuses," he snapped, his hand gripping her wrist under the table. The pressure sent a jolt through her, but he released her quickly, smiling at a colleague as if nothing had happened. Ariane forced a laugh at a joke she hadn't heard, her heart racing. He's stressed, she told herself, clinging to the memory of his vows under Abidjan's stars.

That night, back in the apartment, Ariane sat on the velvet sofa, sketching to calm her nerves. Her pencil traced a dress with wax-print accents, a tribute to her roots. She longed for Abidjan's warmth, the zouglou beats, Yasmine's laughter, Awa's steady embrace. Paris was a dream, but it felt hollow without them.

Her phone buzzed, Yasmine's face lighting up the screen. Ariane answered the video call, forcing a smile. "Hey, sis!"

Yasmine's grin was instant, her sapphire earrings catching the light. "Ariane! Few months in Paris and you already blending in, Paris looks good on you, show me around!" Ariane panned the camera across the apartment, the Seine glittering beyond the window. But Yasmine's smile faded. "You look... off. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ariane said quickly, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Just adjusting. It's a big change."

Yasmine's eyes narrowed, her influencer instincts sharp. "You were glowing at the wedding. Now you look like you're carrying the world. Is it Olivier?" Her voice softened. "You can tell me."

Ariane's throat tightened. She wanted to spill everything: Olivier's coldness, the way he'd gripped her wrist, the isolation creeping in. But she couldn't. Not yet. "He's just busy with work," she said, her voice hollow. "We're fine."

Yasmine didn't look convinced. "I'm keeping an eye on you, Ari. You're my queen, you deserve to shine, not shrink." She paused, then added, "Maman's asking about you too. She's proud, but worried 'cos you're far away and we've never lived apart before. She'll be used to it, though it's all just new."

The call ended, leaving Ariane with a pang of homesickness. She curled up on the sofa, her sketchbook resting on her lap, the weight of Yasmine's words lingering. The next day, wanting to bring a bit of Abidjan to Olivier, she crossed to the kitchen to cook something familiar, jollof rice, the way Awa had taught her. The scent of tomatoes and spices filled the apartment, a piece of Abidjan in Paris's sterile elegance. But when Olivier returned, his nose wrinkled.

"What's that smell?" he asked, loosening his tie. "We're not in a market stall, Ariane. This is Paris, cook something... refined."

Her heart sank, the ladle trembling in her hand. "I thought you'd like it," she murmured. "It's a taste of home."

"I didn't bring you here for home," he said, his voice sharp. He turned away, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzed. Ariane glimpsed the screen, a message from someone named Julien: Gear up, we have a big week ahead of us, let's prepare for lift-off, lets nail it!

Olivier's jaw tightened as he pocketed the phone, his eyes flicking to Ariane. "I have a big week ahead," he said, his tone icy. "You're not going anywhere, stay home, no little explores, don't go anywhere, I need you available."

Ariane's breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down. Stay home? She'd dreamed of exploring Paris, building her career, living their fairy tale. But as Olivier's shadow loomed, the city of lights felt like a gilded cage, and the dream she'd woven in Abidjan began to unravel.