The Duchess
Paris had always looked beautiful from a distance.
From the top of the Eiffel Tower, the city seemed almost innocent. Golden lights spilled across the streets, cars moved like tiny streams beneath the night sky, and the Seine reflected the glow of the buildings as though Paris had been painted rather than built.
But beauty had never meant innocence.
Not in Paris.
Not in the Fournier family.
And certainly not in the world Y/N Fournier had been born into.
The rain had started just after midnight, turning the long stone driveway of the Fournier estate into a mirror. The enormous gates stood several meters high, surrounded by black iron fencing and hidden security cameras. Beyond them stretched hundreds of acres of private land, thick forests, fountains, gardens, and finally the enormous nineteenth-century mansion that had belonged to the Fournier bloodline for generations.
From the outside, it looked like a royal residence.
Inside, it was a fortress.
Every entrance was guarded.
Every corridor had cameras.
Every employee had been carefully investigated before being allowed to work there.
And every person who entered the estate understood one simple rule.
Nothing that happened inside the Fournier mansion ever left it.
A black Rolls-Royce passed through the gates at precisely 1:17 a.m.
The guards immediately straightened.
The vehicle moved slowly through the rain before stopping beneath the enormous stone entrance.
The rear door opened.
A woman stepped out.
She wore a long black coat that reached almost to her ankles, its collar turned upward against the cold. Her heels clicked against the wet marble as she walked toward the entrance without looking at anyone.
She didn't need to.
Everyone already knew who she was.
The guards lowered their heads.
"Your Grace."
Y/N Fournier didn't answer.
She continued walking.
The massive doors opened before she reached them.
Warm light spilled over her face.
Y/N removed her black gloves one finger at a time as she entered the mansion.
She was twenty-six years old, yet there was something about her that made people forget her age.
Perhaps it was the way she carried herself.
Perhaps it was the coldness in her eyes.
Or perhaps it was because everyone in France who mattered knew exactly what her last name meant.
Fournier.
A name connected to centuries of aristocracy.
A name connected to political influence.
A name whispered in the darkest corners of Europe's criminal world.
To newspapers, Y/N Fournier was the Duchess of one of France's most influential families.
To businessmen, she was an untouchable heiress.
To politicians, she was someone they treated carefully.
But to the people who truly understood the underground world of Europe, she was known by another name.
La Duchesse.
The Duchess.
And unlike most titles, hers had been earned.
Y/N handed her coat to one of the servants and walked deeper into the mansion.
The marble floors reflected the enormous chandeliers hanging above them. Portraits of dead Fournier ancestors covered the walls, their eyes following anyone who dared walk beneath them.
She had grown up surrounded by those portraits.
As a child, she had hated them.
Now, she barely noticed them.
Her footsteps echoed through the corridor until she reached the double doors of her father's private office.
Two men stood outside.
One of them immediately stepped aside.
"Your father has been waiting for you."
Y/N glanced at the closed doors.
"How long?"
"Almost an hour."
Her expression didn't change.
"Then he should have called earlier."
She pushed the doors open.
Inside, the room was dark except for the fireplace burning at the far end.
Her father sat behind the enormous mahogany desk.
Charles Fournier.
Duke of France.
Head of the Fournier family.
And the man who had taught his daughter that kindness could be more dangerous than cruelty.
He was in his late fifties, dressed in a dark suit, with silver beginning to appear in his hair. A glass of whiskey sat untouched beside him.
But he wasn't alone.
Jennie Kim stood near the fireplace.
Y/N's eyes immediately moved toward her.
Jennie was one of the few people in the world who could enter this room without permission.
She was Y/N's closest friend, adviser, and, when necessary, the person responsible for reminding her that she was human.
Jennie gave her a small nod.
"You took your time."
Y/N closed the doors behind her.
"I was working."
"You were interrogating someone," Jennie corrected.
Y/N removed her watch and placed it on the desk.
"That too."
Her father looked up.
"Sit."
Y/N didn't move.
"What happened?"
Charles stared at his daughter for several seconds.
Then he pushed a folder across the desk.
"We lost another man."
The room became silent.
Y/N's eyes lowered toward the folder.
She opened it.
A photograph was on top.
A man.
Dead.
His body had been discovered inside a warehouse near Marseille three hours earlier.
Y/N turned the photograph over.
Another image.
Then another.
Her expression remained unreadable.
"Who?"
"Luc Moreau."
Y/N's eyes stopped moving.
Luc Moreau had worked with the Fournier organization for almost twelve years.
He wasn't family.
But he was trusted.
Or at least he had been.
"When?"
"Eleven forty-three."
"Cause of death?"
"Two bullets."
"Weapon?"
"Nine millimeter."
"Any witnesses?"
"No."
Y/N slowly closed the folder.
"Then why are you showing me?"
Her father leaned back.
"Because this is the third death in six weeks."
Jennie crossed her arms.
"And the other two were killed in exactly the same way."
Y/N looked at her.
"Where?"
"One in Lyon. One in Nice."
"Both Fournier territories."
Jennie nodded.
Y/N turned toward the window.
Rain continued to fall against the glass.
Three men.
Three cities.
Three executions.
Someone wasn't simply killing Fournier associates.
Someone was sending a message.
"What did the police find?" Y/N asked.
Charles gave a humorless smile.
"You still believe the police find things?"
"They find what I allow them to find."
"Exactly."
Y/N walked toward the window.
She stared at the darkness outside.
"Who knows about this?"
"Only the people in this room."
She turned around.
"Then keep it that way."
Her father studied her.
"You don't think this is random."
"No."
"What do you think?"
Y/N's gaze dropped to the folder.
"I think someone wants us to believe they're attacking our organization."
Jennie raised an eyebrow.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning the target might not be the Fournier family."
Charles remained silent.
Y/N walked back toward the desk.
"Who benefits if we believe we're under attack?"
Her father didn't answer immediately.
Then he said quietly,
"Our enemies."
Y/N smiled without humor.
"That's everyone."
A knock sounded at the door.
Everyone turned.
One of the guards entered.
"Your Grace."
Y/N looked at him.
"What?"
"We received something."
He held out a small black envelope.
There was no name on it.
No address.
Only a silver wax seal.
Y/N's eyes narrowed.
"Where was it found?"
"Inside the west gate."
Jennie immediately moved closer.
"Nobody saw who left it?"
"No."
Y/N took the envelope.
The wax seal had a symbol pressed into it.
A crown.
But beneath the crown was a small dagger.
She had never seen the symbol before.
Charles stood.
"Don't open it."
Y/N looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because whoever sent it wanted you to receive it."
"Exactly."
She broke the seal.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Nothing else.
Y/N unfolded it.
Her eyes moved across the sentence.
For the first time that night, something changed in her expression.
Not fear.
Something colder.
Jennie noticed immediately.
"What does it say?"
Y/N handed her the paper.
Jennie read it.
Her face hardened.
Charles took it next.
The message contained only seven words.
You are looking in the wrong direction, Duchess.
Silence filled the room.
Y/N looked toward the fireplace.
"Find out who sent this."
Charles frowned.
"Y/N—"
"Tonight."
"You don't know whether it's a threat."
"I know exactly what it is."
She took the paper back.
"It's an invitation."
Jennie looked at her.
"To what?"
Y/N folded the message carefully.
"To start a war."
⸻
Seoul — 8:32 a.m.
Hundreds of kilometers away, another empire was beginning its day.
The Jeon headquarters stood in the center of Seoul, surrounded by skyscrapers and constant movement. The building belonged to a legitimate international corporation on paper.
Shipping.
Technology.
Luxury properties.
Investments.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing illegal.
Nothing that could connect it to the man who sat alone on the top floor.
Jeon Jungkook.
He stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at Seoul.
The city was already awake.
His hands rested inside the pockets of his black trousers while his white shirt remained unbuttoned at the collar.
A tattoo extended along his arm.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
Behind him, Taehyung entered the office without knocking.
"You're up early."
Jungkook didn't turn.
"I didn't sleep."
"That explains the charming personality."
Jungkook finally glanced at him.
Taehyung smiled.
"Good morning to you too."
Jimin entered behind him, carrying a tablet.
"We have a problem."
Jungkook turned away from the window.
"What kind?"
"The French kind."
Taehyung's smile disappeared.
Jungkook walked toward his desk.
"Explain."
Jimin placed the tablet in front of him.
"Three men connected to Fournier operations have been killed."
Jungkook looked at the screen.
Photos appeared.
Locations.
Names.
Dates.
His eyes narrowed.
"Who ordered it?"
"We don't know."
Jungkook looked at Taehyung.
"Did we?"
Taehyung shook his head immediately.
"No."
Jimin added, "And that's the strange part."
Jungkook leaned back against the desk.
"What do you mean?"
"The killings look like ours."
Silence.
Jungkook's eyes returned to the photographs.
Nine millimeter.
Two shots.
Clean execution.
Minimal evidence.
Someone had studied the Jeon organization.
Or someone wanted them blamed.
Jungkook took the tablet from Jimin.
"How many?"
"Three."
"Any connection to Korea?"
"None that we can find."
Jungkook's jaw tightened.
"Then why would someone use our method?"
Jimin looked at him.
"To make France believe we did it."
Taehyung crossed his arms.
"And if France believes Korea attacked them..."
Jungkook finished the sentence.
"War."
Nobody spoke.
The word remained in the room.
Jungkook looked toward the city again.
He had spent years building his empire.
He knew exactly what war between two major organizations would cost.
Money.
Territory.
People.
And eventually blood.
He didn't want it.
Not because he feared the Fournier family.
He didn't fear anyone.
But because unnecessary wars were bad business.
Jungkook picked up his phone.
"Get me everything on the Fournier family."
Jimin nodded.
"How far back?"
"Everything."
Taehyung raised an eyebrow.
"Even the old aristocratic records?"
Jungkook looked at him.
"Especially those."
⸻
Paris — 10:14 a.m.
By morning, Y/N had already made three calls, canceled two meetings, and ordered her security team to double the surveillance around the estate.
She stood in front of a mirror in her dressing room, fastening the last button of a black tailored blazer.
Her appearance was elegant.
Simple.
Controlled.
Her hair fell neatly over her shoulders, and a pair of diamond earrings caught the morning light.
There was nothing about her appearance that suggested the world she controlled.
That was precisely the point.
A knock came.
"Come in."
Jennie entered.
She was dressed in a dark green suit, her expression unusually serious.
"Your father wants you downstairs."
Y/N picked up her handbag.
"For what?"
"He didn't say."
"Did he tell you?"
Jennie hesitated.
"Not exactly."
Y/N looked at her reflection.
"Jennie."
"He said the council is coming."
Y/N's hand stopped.
The Fournier Council.
Old family members.
Businessmen.
Advisers.
People who had been part of the family organization longer than Y/N had been alive.
They rarely gathered unless something serious had happened.
"What do they want?"
Jennie looked at her.
"I think you already know."
Y/N's expression hardened.
"No."
She walked toward the door.
"I don't."
But deep down, something told her that whatever waited downstairs had nothing to do with the murders.
And everything to do with her future.
⸻
The council room was already full when Y/N entered.
Seven men.
Three women.
Her father at the head of the table.
And an uncomfortable silence that followed her every step.
Y/N took the empty chair beside her father.
She looked around.
"Why am I here?"
One of the older men cleared his throat.
"Because the Fournier family is facing a dangerous period."
"I know."
"We need stability."
"We have stability."
"Not enough."
Y/N's eyes narrowed.
"What exactly are you suggesting?"
Nobody answered.
Then Charles placed a document in front of her.
Y/N looked at it.
She didn't touch it.
"What is this?"
Her father spoke quietly.
"A marriage agreement."
The room seemed to become colder.
Y/N slowly looked at him.
"Excuse me?"
"A political marriage."
Her laugh was quiet.
Almost disbelieving.
"You called me here to discuss my marriage?"
"Y/N—"
"No."
She pushed the document back across the table.
"Absolutely not."
An older council member leaned forward.
"Your Grace, this is not a matter of personal preference."
Y/N's eyes moved toward him.
"Be careful."
The man immediately fell silent.
Her father sighed.
"The agreement is with the Jeon family."
Y/N froze.
The name meant something.
Everyone knew it.
Jeon Jungkook.
Korean mafia.
Self-made kingpin.
A man whose reputation had traveled across continents.
Y/N looked at her father.
"You want me to marry him?"
Charles didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Y/N stood slowly.
"No."
"Y/N."
"No."
Her voice was calm now.
Much more dangerous than anger.
"You cannot arrange my marriage."
Charles stared at his daughter.
"I already did."
Silence.
Y/N's heart didn't race.
Her hands didn't shake.
She simply looked at the man who had spent her entire life teaching her never to surrender control.
And for the first time, she realized he had just taken hers away.
"When?" she asked.
Charles looked at her.
"Three days from now."
Y/N's eyes hardened.
"And when exactly was someone planning to tell me?"
Her father remained silent.
Y/N gave a cold smile.
"Wonderful."
She turned toward the doors.
Behind her, Charles spoke.
"Y/N."
She stopped.
"This marriage may be the only thing preventing a war."
Y/N didn't turn around.
"And what if I refuse?"
Her father answered quietly.
"Then the war begins."
Y/N closed her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them, the softness was gone.
Only the Duchess remained.
She looked back over her shoulder.
"Then I suppose I should meet my future husband."
And somewhere across the world, without knowing it yet, Jeon Jungkook was about to receive the same message.
The war had not begun.
Not yet.
But the marriage had.
To be continued...
Hey loves! 🤍
I'm so sorry it took me this long, but I needed some time to adjust to university and figure out how everything works. 🥹📚
But finally, here you have Chapter 1! 🖤✨
I hope you enjoy it, and I can't wait to hear what you think about it. Thank you so much for being patient with me and for always supporting me. 🫶🏻
Enjoy, loves! ❤️
