“His former business partner, I assume,” Élise said, clinging to a fragile hope.
Camille’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes.“That too. Some ties are harder to sever than a business contract, don’t you think? Especially when there’s a shared history. A shared failure.” She took a step closer, her perfume, something expensive and floral, clashing violently with the scent of old books.“He’s hiding here, playing at being a writer. It’s a cute fantasy. But realities have a way of reasserting themselves. Debts need to be paid. Loose ends need to be tied up.”
She looked Élise up and down, a dismissive flick of her gaze.“Tell him Camille was here. He has my number. He’s been ignoring my calls.”
With that, she turned and left, the door swinging shut behind her, the bell jangling like an alarm.
The silence she left behind was poisonous. The library, Élise’s sanctuary, felt contaminated. The warm certainty of the morning was gone, replaced by a cold, slithering doubt.
Partner. Some ties are harder to sever.
Was that the failure he was truly trying to bury? A person, not just a business? The man who drew with such sensitivity, who saw the soul in silence—was he still entangled with this sharp, cold woman?
When Luc arrived at 2:07, the usual focused energy in his step, Élise could not meet his eyes. The ghost of Camille’s perfume seemed to still linger in the air.
He stopped at the counter, his smile fading as he took in her expression. “Élise? Is everything alright?”
She forced herself to look at him.“A woman was here for you this morning. Camille.”
All the color drained from his face. The storm in his eyes wasn’t one of creative passion, but of pure, unadulterated dread. It was all the confirmation she needed.
“What did she want?” he asked, his voice strained.
“She said you’ve been ignoring her. That you have… loose ends.” Élise’s voice was quiet, hollow.“She said she was your partner.”
Luc closed his eyes for a long second, a muscle working in his jaw. When he opened them, the guilt and conflict in them were a physical blow.“It’s… complicated, Élise.”
The word was a shield, and a flimsy one at that. It was the universal excuse for avoidance, for unfinished business.
“She seemed rather uncomplicated,” Élise whispered.
He reached for her hand, but she subtly shifted it away, picking up a pile of bookplates. The gesture was small, but the distance it created was a chasm.
“Élise, please. Let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. She gestured vaguely towards the main room.“Your table is free.”
She turned her back to him, pretending to be utterly absorbed in the bookplates. She heard him stand there for a moment longer, his presence a heavy, pained thing behind her. Then, finally, the sound of his footsteps as he retreated to his table.
But he didn’t write. He didn’t sketch. He just sat, a brooding statue, the silence between them now fractured and sharp with everything that had been left unsaid. The story, so beautiful just hours before, had begun to unravel.
Chapter 18:
The Fractured Silence
The silence of the library had never been so loud. It was a physical barrier, thick and heavy, stretched taut between the counter and the central table. For the first time since his arrival in her life, his presence was a source of pain, not comfort. Élise kept her back to him, her hands busy with meaningless tasks, her vision blurred by unshed tears.
She could feel his gaze on her, a weight of pleading and remorse. But the image of Camille—her sharp coat, her colder smile—was seared onto the back of Élise’s eyelids. Partner. Some ties are harder to sever.
After what felt like an eternity, she heard the scrape of his chair. His footsteps approached, hesitant this time, lacking their usual purpose. He stopped a few feet from the counter, a respectful, wounded distance.
“Élise.”
She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. If she looked at him, at the storm of guilt in his eyes, she might forgive him too easily, and the doubt would eat her alive later.
“Camille and I… it’s been over for a year,” he said, his voice low and urgent.“The failure of the firm… it broke us. Broke everything. What was left wasn’t a relationship; it was just… debris.”
Élise remained silent, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter.
