That she chose to betray me.
At myself—for caring. For standing in this hallway with my fists clenched so tight my nails are drawing blood. For wanting to follow her so badly it's become a physical ache behind my ribs.
I'm not operating like a neutral asset anymore.
I'm operating like she's still mine.
And I hate it.
I hate that some traitorous, pathetic part of me still wants to protect her. After the lies. After she carved me out of my son's life like I never existed. After she took something that belonged to us and handed it to a monster who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air.
I hate that I don't hate her.
Not even close.
Marchand findsme twenty minutes later. "Boss wants to see you," he says.
Fuck, not today of all days.
Not when I'm this close to ruining everything just to kill him.
He's standing by the window when I enter his office, hands clasped behind his back, watching the darkness beyond the glass.
He doesn't turn around. "Henri. How was your first few days on interior detail?"
"Uneventful, monsieur."
"Good." He turns, looking all too pleased. "That's what I like to hear. I wanted to thank you personally for last night. For ensuring my wife completed her task."
I want to rip out his tongue for calling her his wife. The fucking audacity of this asshole.
"Of course, monsieur."
"It must have been difficult." He moves closer, circling the desk. "Watching her struggle like that. Some men find it unsettling."
Another test.
"I'm here to do a job, monsieur. Not to have opinions."
"Excellent answer." His smile widens. "You stood very still last night. Very controlled. But it almost seemed like you were restraining yourself."
He was watching us the entire time. Maybe used her punishmentas a test on me too, wanting to see how his new guard would react in difficult situations.
Fucking psychopath.
"Tell me, Henri." He stops a few feet away, close enough that I can smell his cologne. "What exactly were you restraining yourself from?"
From crossing that room in three steps. From wrapping my hands around your throat. From making you swallow every piece of glass she touched and then some.
"From interfering, monsieur. You gave explicit orders."
"I did. And you followed them. Perfectly."
He liked watching me struggle. Gets off on control—his own and everyone else's.
"Keep up the good work." He moves back to his desk, dismissing me. "My wife will need close supervision in the coming weeks. I'm relying on you to ensure she stays compliant."
"Yes, monsieur."
