~The Cost Of Survival~

Chapter Three

Elodie arrived at noon with pastries and coffee, her nursing textbooks tucked under one arm like armor against the world.

"Only three more months," she said, settling onto the couch with the kind of easy confidence I envied. "Then I'll be working at Hôpital Saint-Duval. Can you imagine? The biggest private hospital in Paris. State-of-the-art facilities, the best surgeons in Europe, and it's owned by this absolutely gorgeous man—Adrien Duval. I've seen his photo in magazines. Total dreamboat."

I tried to smile, to match her enthusiasm, but my face felt stiff. The foundation over my bruise had started to crack.

"That's wonderful, Elodie. You've worked so hard."

She looked at me then, really looked, and her expression shifted. "Camille. What happened to your face?"

"Nothing. I just—I bumped into a cabinet door. Clumsy me."

"Bullshit." She set down her coffee and moved closer, her fingers gentle as she tilted my chin toward the light. "That's not from a cabinet. That's from a hand."

The concern in her voice broke something inside me. Tears came hot and fast, months of swallowing them down suddenly erupting in ugly, choking sobs.

"He hit me," I whispered. "Julien hit me."

"Oh, Camille." Elodie wrapped her arms around me, and I collapsed into her, letting myself be small and broken and afraid. "Tell me everything."

So I did. His affairs, the lip gloss, the underwear, the slap, the cruel kiss. The way he'd made me say I was a good wife while his fingers bruised my chin. The roses this morning that were supposed to erase it all. I told her about Theo's wandering hands, about Julien's dismissals, about feeling like I was losing my mind in a house full of lies.

When I finished, Elodie pulled back, her eyes fierce. "You need to divorce him. Pack a bag right now. You can stay with me while we figure things out."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Camille, he *hit* you then brought you flowers in the morning. That's not love. That's not even close to love."

"You don't understand." I wiped my face, smearing foundation and tears together. "My family, they need me. Mother needs money for this dinner party, Clara needs a dress, Uncle Bernard's business is struggling again. If I leave Julien, I’ll have nothing. I am nothing actually. And they'll never forgive me."

"They're using you."

"They're my family."

"Family doesn't demand you stay with a man who hurts you and cheats on you!" Elodie's voice cracked with frustration. "What about what you need? What about your safety, your happiness?"

I thought about my parents' graves, the ones I could only afford because Julien had paid for them. About Uncle Bernard's disappointed face when I'd shown up on his doorstep at ten, orphaned and penniless. About Clara's sneering reminder that I was lucky, so lucky, to have escaped poverty through marriage.

"I can't let them down," I said quietly. "They took me in when I had nowhere else to go. I owe them."

"You don't owe them your life."

But I did. I owed them everything. The debt was written into my bones, carved into every memory of my parents' funeral, every night I'd slept in Uncle Bernard's house knowing I was tolerated, not wanted. Julien was supposed to be my way of finally paying that debt. Of finally being worth something.

Even if it killed me.

Elodie left an hour later, defeated and worried. "Call me if you need anything. Anything at all. Promise me."

I promised, knowing I wouldn't keep it.

********************

That evening, I dressed carefully in a navy sheath dress and low heels, preparing to meet Elodie for dinner and movie night. Julien hated when I spent time with her. He said she filled my head with feminist nonsense and made me dissatisfied. But he'd texted that he'd be late, so I'd thought I was safe.

I was in the foyer, purse in hand, when the door opened.

Julien looked wrecked. His tie was loosened, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled in a way that had nothing to do with work. He smelled like perfume that wasn't his!. And there was a hickey, faint but visible, just above his collar.

"Where are you going?" His eyes traveled over my dress.

"Dinner with Elodie. You said you'd be late, so I thought…"

"Cancel it."

"Julien, I haven't seen her in weeks. I just want…"

"I said cancel it." His tone left no room for argument.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and texted Elodie an excuse. *So sorry. Rain check.*

Julien watched me do it, satisfaction flickering across his face. Then he loosened his tie further and headed toward the bar.

"Actually," I said, my voice small, "I needed to talk to you about something. My mother needs money. For a dinner party. And Clara needs a dress for prom. It's... it's quite a bit."

He poured himself whiskey, not looking at me. "How much?"

"Twenty-five thousand euros."

The glass paused halfway to his lips. Then he laughed, cold and mirthless. "Twenty-five thousand. For what? So your uncle can pretend he's more successful than he is? So your spoiled cousin can show off?"

"They're my family."

"They're parasites." He drank, set down the glass. "But fine. I'll send the money."

Relief flooded through me. "Thank you. I really…"

"On one condition." He crossed the room slowly. "Undress and get on the bed."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"You heard me. You want the money? You satisfy me for hours. Until I'm done with you."

"Julien, I'm not—I'm not in the mood tonight. Can we please just…"

He moved faster than I could process. One moment I was standing by the door, the next my back slammed against the wall, his hand fisted in my hair. Pain radiated across my scalp.

"You don't get to tell me no," he said against my ear. Then he dragged me toward the bedroom.

I tried to pull away, to plant my feet, but he was so much stronger. He threw me onto the bed hard enough that the air left my lungs. Before I could move, he was on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.

"Let me go!"

"Here's how this works." His voice was perfectly calm, almost pleasant. "You cooperate, you get your money. You fight me, I don't send a single euro. Your mother's dinner party fails. Clara goes to prom in last year's dress. And they'll all know it's because you couldn't keep your husband happy."

Tears burned hot in my eyes. "Please."

"Please what?" He leaned down, his breath warm against my face. "Please fuck you? Since you asked so nicely."

I went still beneath him. What choice did I have? Mother's voice echoed in my head: *You owe us this much.* Clara's sneer: *You should be grateful.* Uncle Bernard's cold calculation when he'd handed me over to Julien like a business transaction.

"That's better," Julien murmured, releasing my wrists. "See? You can be reasonable after all, I’m your husband."

He kissed me then, brutal and claiming, and I tasted it immediately…the salty, unmistakable flavor of someone else's release on his lips. My stomach lurched. He'd been with another woman, he let her do that to him, and now he was bringing that violation home to me.

But I couldn't say anything. I couldn't do anything because my family needed that money, and I was the only way they could get it.

Julien's hands found the zipper of my dress. His mouth moved to my neck, hot and possessive, marking me the way someone else had marked him. And then he whispered against my skin,

"Who's a good wife?"

A tear slipped down my temple, soaking into my hair.

"I am," I whispered back.

His smirk pressed against my throat. "That's my girl."

And I closed my eyes and disappeared into some quiet place inside myself, where good wives went to survive the cost of being grateful.