Know your status

Léonard Lafaille’s POV,

Luckily he said nothing to me and I was relieved , instead he propped against embroidered pillows, a newspaper spread wide in his hands. Le Monde, folded with precise irritation. His eyes were sharp above the paper, too sharp for a man supposedly weakened by illness. The anger on his face was not loud. It was controlled, curated, the kind that could ruin lives without raising its voice. He was a scary man and he indeed passed that fear.

Anne-Marie didn’t see it. She never did, not when it came to him.

“Papa,” she said, already smiling, already kneeling beside the bed.

His gaze flicked past her, landed on me. 

“Anne-Marie,” he said, voice clipped. “Go fetch my medication.”

She stood immediately, obedient as ever. “Of course.”

As she passed me, her sleeve brushed my wrist. A small, accidental contact. I told myself it meant nothing. I told myself many things where she was concerned.

The door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded much louder than it should have.

Mr. Duval folded the newspaper with deliberate care and set it aside. Silence pooled between us. Outside, somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared and a café door clattered open. Paris carried on, indifferent.

“So,” he said at last. “What is your job?”

I met his eyes. “To protect your daughter.”

He studied me the way men like him studied contracts looking for loopholes. Then he nodded once, slow.

“Good.” He gestured to the chair opposite the bed. “Stand there.”

I did.

“I don’t want you close to Anne-Marie. Don't forget what I told you the last time”

The words were calm but they landed like a blade. How could I forget the warnings he issued to me the last time.

“You will maintain your position as her bodyguard,” he continued, “nothing more. You will walk two steps behind her. You will speak when spoken to. You will remember your place.”

My jaw tightened, but my voice stayed even. “Of course, monsieur.”

His lips curved slightly. Not a smile. Just a warning.

“Men in your position often make mistakes,” he said. “They confuse proximity with permission. Protection with affection.”

I said nothing. The radiator ticked behind me. Somewhere downstairs, a clock chimed the quarter hour.

“You will not fall in love with my daughter,” Mr. Duval went on. “If you do, I will ruin your family.”

That got my attention.

“My family?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He leaned back against the pillows, satisfied now. “I know where they live, Léon. I know where your mother buys her bread every morning. I know which school your younger cousin attends. France is small when one knows where to look.”

The room felt tighter, as if the walls had edged closer.

“I am a reasonable man,” he said softly. “I reward loyalty. I destroy disobedience.”

Anger flared in my chest, hot and useless. I swallowed it down. Men like him thrived on reaction. I had learned that long ago.

“My loyalty is to my job,” I said.

“Excellent.” He nodded again. “Then we understand each other.”

The door opened. Anne-Marie returned with a glass of water and the small white pills, her presence shifting the air immediately. Mr. Duval’s face changed into something softer, warmer, the anger erased like chalk from a board.

“Thank you, ma chérie,” he said as she handed him the medication.

I stepped back, exactly two steps, exactly as instructed.

As she fussed over him, adjusting his pillows, asking if he felt better, I watched her hands, the way they trembled just slightly. I wondered how much she knew. How much she had been shielded from by wealth, by marble halls and polite smiles.

“I’ll be fine now,” she said. “Papa is resting.”

I nodded, already stepping back into the role Mr. Duval had carved for me with surgical precision. “I have some work to take care of tonight,” I told her. “I’ll return in the morning.”

Her brows knit together. “So late?”

“It won’t take long.”

That was a lie, but it was the safest kind. She hesitated, as if she wanted to ask more, then simply nodded. Trust again. Always trust.

“Bonne nuit, Léon,” she said.

“Bonne nuit, mademoiselle.”

I turned before she could see anything on my face. The hallway swallowed me, long and dim, lit by antique sconces that cast more shadow than light. Despite being the oldest building, it looked new and beautiful. There were several renovations done every new month.

As I reached the back corridor near the servants’ stairs, I saw her, the maid. Older, sharp-eyed, hands permanently red from work. She had been watching me, I realized, waiting.

“Monsieur Léon,” she said quietly.

I stopped. Instinct prickled along my spine. “Yes?”

She glanced up and down the corridor, then stepped closer. “I shouldn’t speak,” she murmured, “but I’ve worked for this family for twenty years. I’ve seen things.”

I said nothing. 

“Monsieur Duval,” she continued, lowering her voice, “he is making arrangements.”

My chest tightened. “Arrangements for what?”

“For mademoiselle.” She crossed herself once, quickly. “A marriage.”

The word echoed too loudly in my head.

“To whom?” I asked.

She shook her head. “i’m not sure but I know Madame won't be pleased with the arrangements. It's a secret.”

“When?” I managed.

“Soon. Before spring, I think. Monsieur Duval believes a husband will… stabilize her future.”

Stabilize. I almost laughed considering she was now a revengeful person because of her last marriage.

“Why tell me?” I asked.

She met my eyes then, steady. “Because you look at her the way her mother once wished someone would.” 

“You know her mother?” I asked, confused.

“I'm not allowed to say such things but know that this family holds great secrets. The walls have ears.” She whispered and walked away so fast.

I was stunned by what she had just said. I didn't care about Anne-Marie’s Mother's death, I was o

nly concerned about the new marriage plan. What was in Monsieur Duval’s mind this time?