The Life of Violette Dupont

Chapter one: The beginning

Violette was only seventeen when she first learned what it really meant to endure a secret life and rebellion. Not the harmless kind from teenage stories, like sneaking out past curfew or skipping a class. 

Violette's was grander, riskier. 

At seventeen, she unwittingly stepped into a world she barely understood, yet instinctively knew she belongs. 

It all began in the quiet outskirts of Paris. Nestled among fruit trees and vineyards stood the Dupont family home. A grand, ivy-covered estate, its white walls gleaming in the soft autumn light.

The house was as lively as it was beautiful, filled to the brim with the chaotic energy of the Dupont family. Violette lived with her twin sister, Charlotte, their parents, Louis and Isabella, and their younger siblings, Diego and Juliette—also twins.

Twins, it seemed, were a family trademark. Even Violette's older siblings, Colette and Alessandro, who had already moved out, shared this curious trait. 

Bit odd if you ask me. Anyways. 

So, the story begins. 

"Violette, could you set the table, please?" her mother called out one gray autumn afternoon, her voice carrying from the kitchen, where the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the bitter aroma of over-brewed coffee.

"Yes, Mama," Violette replied, pushing herself off the sofa where she had been halfheartedly thumbing through a worn novel. She wandered into the dining room, its large oak table polished to a shine, the room bathed in soft golden light from the tall windows.

As she set out the plates and cutlery, her twin sister, Charlotte, breezed in, humming a melodic tune. "Do you think this one's too much?" Charlotte twirled, showing off her dress—a pale blue number with lace trim that caught the light.

"For dinner at home?" Violette teased, raising an eyebrow. "Definitely."

The sound of a car pulling up the gravel drive caught their attention. Visitors weren't rare, but the Duponts weren't expecting anyone. Violette exchanged a glance with Charlotte, curiosity flickering between them.

Peeking through the window, Violette saw a man step out of the car, his dark suit tailored perfectly to his lean frame. His posture was rigid, his movements deliberate. Even from a distance, he exuded an air of authority. 

"Who's that?" Charlotte whispered, joining her sister at the window.

"I don't know," Violette murmured, her pulse quickening.

Their father, Louis, appeared in the doorway, his expression unusually serious. "Girls, go upstairs."

"But, Papa—" Violette started.

"Now," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Something in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. Reluctantly, the sisters retreated upstairs, though Violette couldn't resist lingering at the top of the staircase. Through the banister, she watched as her father greeted the man with a handshake that seemed anything but friendly.

The words exchanged between them were hushed, but the tension in the room was palpable.

"...last chance..."
"...must deliver..."
"...no mistakes..."

Charlotte appeared beside her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Violette," she whispered, her voice a mix of caution and care. "We shouldn't eavesdrop."

"I know," Violette whispered back, but her eyes didn't leave the scene below. Violette didn't know what the man wanted or why her father seemed so on edge, but she knew this was no ordinary visitor. Something told her this man's arrival wasn't just a simple visit.