Chapter 3: A Shattered Truth

Étienne had been in Paris for two weeks, but it felt like a lifetime.

Every day had been a blur of etiquette lessons, introductions to Lucien's inner circle, and grueling hours spent under the watchful eyes of ballet instructors. He tried to remain distant, to keep himself apart from this world that had been thrust upon him, but the weight of expectation hung over him like a dark cloud. His mother and Lucien treated him with a strange mixture of kindness and pressure, constantly reminding him of his role in the D'Arcy family while showering him with luxury and opportunities.

He couldn't escape it. Everywhere he turned, there were reminders that he was no longer Ji-hoon from Seoul, but Étienne D'Arcy, heir to one of the most prestigious ballet legacies in the world. But it didn't feel like his legacy. It felt like a cage.

Late one night, unable to sleep, Étienne wandered through the darkened hallways of the mansion. The house had always felt too big for him, its sprawling rooms and endless corridors swallowing him whole. He felt small here—smaller than he had ever felt in Seoul, even in his father's neglected, empty apartment.

His feet carried him to the grand staircase that led down to the main hall. He paused, leaning against the banister, looking out at the opulent surroundings. The house was beautiful, no doubt. But it was suffocating.

As he stood there, lost in thought, the muffled sound of voices drifted up from below. He froze, listening intently.

His mother. She was arguing with someone—no, she was arguing with Lucien.

Curiosity tugged at him, and without thinking, Étienne crept down the stairs. The voices grew louder as he approached the source, coming from Lucien's study. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to hear clearly.

"You promised me, Lucien!" His mother's voice was sharp, filled with frustration and pain. Étienne had never heard her sound like that before.

"I know, Yuna. I know," Lucien replied, his voice much lower, filled with a weariness Étienne hadn't seen in him before. "But what else could I do?"

"You could have told him the truth!" she snapped. "You could have been honest with him instead of pretending this is some noble gesture. He's not just a pawn in your legacy, Lucien. He's my son."

Étienne's heart raced. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned closer, pressing himself against the wall, trying to make sense of their words. The truth? What were they talking about?

"I didn't have a choice," Lucien said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "You know that. We can't have children, Yuna. I'll never have a son of my own."

Étienne felt the blood drain from his face. Lucien's words echoed in his mind like a thunderclap.

"We can't have children."

He wasn't here because they saw potential in him. He wasn't here because of some shared love or connection. He was here because Lucien couldn't have children of his own.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest as the reality of his situation hit him like a tidal wave. They had chosen him because Lucien was infertile. He wasn't being groomed to be the heir out of love or duty. He was a replacement. A substitute for the child Lucien could never have.

"How long are we going to keep this charade up?" Yuna's voice broke through his thoughts. "He's going to find out eventually, Lucien. He's not a fool."

Lucien sighed heavily. "We'll tell him when the time is right. For now, we need him to accept his place here. If he doesn't... the D'Arcy legacy dies with me. Everything I've built, everything I've worked for, will disappear."

Étienne felt a lump rise in his throat, threatening to choke him. He had known, deep down, that there was something off about his sudden adoption into this elite world. But hearing it confirmed like this—overhearing his mother and Lucien argue about it like he was nothing more than a contingency plan—was worse than he had imagined.

They didn't want him. They wanted an heir.

He wasn't a person to them. He was a solution.

Suddenly, Étienne couldn't stand to be in the house any longer. His chest felt tight, his breathing shallow. He backed away from the door, careful not to make a sound, and quickly made his way through the house, out into the cool Parisian night.

The sprawling garden spread out before him, beautifully manicured and perfectly lit, but it felt more like a prison than ever before. The stars above twinkled in the clear night sky, indifferent to his turmoil.

Étienne sat on the cold stone steps leading down to the garden, his mind racing with a mixture of anger, betrayal, and sadness. He had been lied to. Not just by Lucien, but by his mother, too. The woman who had abandoned him for a life on the stage had now welcomed him back into her world—not out of guilt or love, but because she needed him to fill a role. A role that wasn't his.

He had hated ballet before. Now, he hated it more than ever. It wasn't just an art form that had taken his mother from him. It was the very thing that had made Lucien choose him. He wasn't here to be a son. He was here to be the next Lucien D'Arcy.

The legacy didn't need Ji-hoon from Seoul. It needed Étienne D'Arcy, heir to the world's greatest ballet dynasty.

But Étienne wasn't sure he wanted to be anyone's heir.

As he sat there, the night air chilling him to the bone, he wondered if he could ever escape the expectations that had been forced upon him. Could he really live this life, knowing that he had been chosen out of necessity rather than love?

The stars above gave no answers. The wind whispered through the trees, but it brought no comfort.

In that moment, Étienne felt more alone than ever before.

And for the first time since coming to Paris, he wasn't sure who he hated more—his mother, Lucien, or himself for allowing them to control his fate.