“This,” she said quietly, “is why we didn’t sign anything. Because marriage to us is not a transaction, but commitment. We have survived things together that most couples never face. Loss. Pain. Recovery. The kind of grief that binds you or breaks you.”
Her voice wavered but did not break.
“And he stayed,” she whispered. “Through all of it. Not because he had to. Because he chose to.”
My throat constricted.
I slid my hand to her thigh under the table, thumb brushing gentle circles. She didn’t look at me, but she leaned into my touch until our shoulders touched.
“We did not rush,” she finished, pulling her arm back. “We endured. And we chose an unconditional marriage with clear eyes. Not a contract that states who’s worth more. We are equals.”
Geneviève covered her mouth, shoulders trembling. Augustin heaved a long, shuddering breath—one I recognized too well. The breath of a father realizing his daughter has lived a pain he couldn’t protect her from.
“I see,” he murmured. “I did not know. It does not change my concerns, but it changes my understanding.”
Auri nodded once, accepting that as enough. It dawned on me then. My wife was a brilliant woman, sharp and assessing. Knew contract law and negotiation and business dealings. But she’d also been raised to believe that that also applied to relationships. That it was transactional and conditional. Performative, and if she didn’t live up to a certain standard, she suffered consequences. Less sponsorship funding toward her racing career, more work on the vineyard, more control over her life to keep her in line so her brother could shine.
“You can have your concerns, Papa. And I respect them, but that does not change my—our—decisions.”
And that right there was the moment that Aurélie Camille Fraser stood on her own two feet and faced her first bullies. The first people who’d made her feel less than, who’d belittled her and guilted her into shrinking herself in order to succeed. That if she worked hard enough—sufferedenough—eventually she could reach her goals.
They had made her question her worth, tanked her self-esteem, and made her doubt herself her entire life.
“Very well,” Augustin conceded. “You are aware of what you are losing as well.”
Losing?
Auri smirked wryly.Oh. “Oui, Papa. My shares in the trust drop to twenty-percent, and the remaining thirteen point three percent gets split between my siblings for marrying without a prenup.”
I blinked. Not in shock at the number—though, yeah, it was alot. It was that she said it like it was nothing. No bitterness, just simply stating a fact. As though she’d already made peace with it a long time ago.
She was giving up a piece of her legacy. Her inheritance. The land she loved so much—for me.
And she didn’t even look my way when she said it. She knew I’d never ask for that sacrifice. Knew I’d fight like hell to protect her from having to make it. But she’d done it anyway, unapologetically, because the life we were building meant more than the one she’d come from.
Augustin’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “And?”
Auri didn’t flinch. She leaned forward slightly, her tone shifting from warm to clinical, like flipping a switch. “It means I’ll still receive quarterly distributions, but with a cap. And the properties in Bordeaux won’t pass directly to me anymore unless a new clause is renegotiated. My position on the advisory board remains intact, but my vote won’t carry executive weight unless backed by another trustee.”
She said it like she was reciting lap data. Clean, calm, unbothered. One hand moved slowly as she spoke, two fingers tapping the table to punctuate her points, the same way I’d seen her do in FIA meetings, debriefs, and press conferences. Her shoulders were relaxed and her voice steady. There wasn’t a single crack.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
This was the woman who used to whisper apologies when she asked for space. The woman who used to flinch when she dared to set boundaries.
And now here she was, negotiating her future with the man who’d once held every string.
Across the table, Geneviève leaned in, just slightly, her voice low enough that only I could hear it—soft, but deliberate.
“She gets that from him,” she said with a quiet smile. “The steel underneath.”
I looked at her, surprised.
Her eyes were on Aurélie—warm, glassy, full of something I hadn’t seen until now. Not judgment or calculation.Pride.
For the first time since we’d arrived, I understood what it meant to be let in.
Emilie sniffled loudly. “I can’t believe you two are the main characters of the whole planet.”
