Which made his sudden marriage to a 26-year-old named Elias Varenne all the more intriguing.
Elias was, by contrast, almost painfully visible. He had once been a model—minor campaigns, a few magazine covers, nothing remarkable. But he had a face that lingered in memory: soft features, thoughtful eyes, and a quiet demeanor that made people lean in when he spoke.
The wedding itself was private.
No press. No guest list leaked. No photographs released.
Just a legal confirmation filed in a discreet registry office.
And then—two days later—Arthur Delacroix was found dead.
The Discovery
It was the housekeeper, Mireille, who found him.
She had worked in the Delacroix estate for fifteen years and had long ago learned not to ask questions. The mansion itself sat on a cliff overlooking the sea—vast, silent, and immaculately maintained.
Arthur was found in his study.
Seated upright.
Eyes open.
No visible injury.
No sign of struggle.
No sign of anything at all.
It was as if he had simply… stopped.
The official report would later describe it as “sudden cardiac arrest.” Given his age, it was not an unreasonable conclusion.
But there were details—small ones—that unsettled the few who noticed them.
His hands were clenched.
And on the desk in front of him sat a single glass of water, untouched.
The Widower
Elias Varenne became, overnight, one of the wealthiest individuals in the world.
The will was clear.
Shockingly clear.
Arthur Delacroix had left everything to his husband.
Every company. Every property. Every hidden account that investigators would spend months uncovering.
There were no disputes.
No legal challenges.
