Chapter 4

Chantelle stepped back sharply, almost panicked. The proximity of Collen Wilkerson, his piercing gaze, his imposing presence… it all oppressed her. But more than anything, a visceral fear gnawed at her: Mégane, her hysterical stepsister, could appear at any moment. She didn't need much to imagine herself betrayed, especially when it concerned a man she had decided to possess.

— Sorry… she breathed, unsteady, short of breath.

She turned on her heel, determined to move away, but her foot slipped on a damp paving stone. Her heart leaped in her chest, and before she could hit the ground, a firm, burning hand caught her by the waist.

An electric shock ran through her. Her nose was almost pressed against his chest, and unable to stop herself, she inhaled… that scent. The same one. The one that haunted her at night. The one belonging to the mysterious stranger with whom she had spent twelve nights.

The world seemed to tilt.

Her gaze slowly traveled up to Collen's eyes, which watched her without any apparent emotion.

— Be careful, he said, in a neutral tone.

Chantelle abruptly pulled back, as if burned. She pulled her hand away, confused, ashamed, lost.

He scrutinized her for a moment, then asked, in a hard voice:

— Do I disgust you that much?

She lowered her eyes, swallowing her emotions.

— I just want to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings…

A cold smile stretched Collen's lips.

— Not even a thank you? You really do lack a little refinement…

The remark was a slap. She looked up, furious. Her cheeks flushed, her gaze became sharp.

— Thank you, Mr. Wilkerson, she spat out, her voice trembling with rage.

Without waiting for a response, she spun around and walked away briskly.

On the balcony, away from the facade smiles, Mégane was furiously gripping her mother's arm. Her nails were almost digging into the skin, so great was her boiling anger.

— Mom, did you see that bitch?! She's doing everything to circle my fiancé! She looks at him as if he were hers! She provokes him, puts on innocent airs, but I know her!

Rhonda, imperturbable in her ivory suit, took a sip of wine as if nothing was wrong. Her eyes, however, shone with cold vigilance. She slowly set down her glass, then grabbed her daughter's clenched hand to soothe her.

— My darling, calm down. Keep your voice down.

Mégane was no longer listening; she was enraged.

— And if they ever find out that the engagement contract was originally for her? What do we do then, huh?! Everything will fall apart!

Rhonda sketched a venomous smile, worthy of a snake silently slithering behind its prey. She gently stroked Mégane's hand, almost tenderly.

— You forget who you're talking to, my daughter. That girl… she's just a little pebble in our shoe. I'll take care of this problem. Permanently. Trust me.

Mégane looked at her with a gleam of admiration mixed with fear.

Chantelle entered the living room hurriedly. Her father was there alone, standing by the bar cabinet, an empty glass in his hand. Without waiting for him to speak, she planted herself in front of him, her face closed.

— Dad, I think it's time for me to go home.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

At that moment, Rhonda and Mégane arrived, slightly out of breath.

— So, Chantelle? Did you have a good time tonight? Mégane asked in a honeyed tone, a sarcastic smile on her lips.

Chantelle ignored her. She stared directly at her father, crossed her arms over her chest, and declared, in a neutral but cutting tone:

— I think I played my role well tonight. I'm going home now.

— Why don't you stay a little longer? her father said, his voice strained.

— Because I have nothing to do here, Dad. Good evening.

She turned on her heel, but Mégane couldn't help but spit out:

— Yes, you'd better go home. You might ruin a lot of things if you stay.

— Mégane, shut up! Rhonda cut in sharply, her jaw tight.

She glanced quickly towards the staircase. Collen was still in the house. He could burst in at any moment. No way he should witness an argument scene. Rhonda knew how much he hated conflict, and above all, she didn't want him to discover the real bitterness between the girls.

She turned to her daughter and murmured in a low voice:

— Put on a good face, Mégane. Collen might still be here. He mustn't suspect anything.

Mégane swallowed a comment, but her gaze remained poisonous.

Chantelle, for her part, didn't say another word. She grabbed her bag from the sofa, left with dignity, back straight, heart heavy.

After leaving her father's house, Chantelle felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She took out her phone and opened Uber. No vehicles available. She tried several times, in vain. The silence of the night enveloped her, the streets were deserted, the streetlights cast a pale, ghastly light. She quickened her pace, throat tight.

Suddenly, a black car slowed down beside her, stopping gently. The passenger-side window lowered with a soft click. Collen looked at her, calm and cold.

— Get in, he said simply.

She stepped back, eyes wide, caught off guard.

— No thank you, she replied, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

— Do you plan to walk until sunrise? he shot back, his eyes piercing. Look around you… Not a single official taxi, just cars passing by without stopping.

A shiver ran through her, as much from the cold as from this imposing presence facing her.

— No, I'm not getting into your car, she asserted, her gaze defiant but her voice weaker than she intended.

Silence settled for a moment. Collen looked at her, his dark eyes fixed on her, as if weighing every word.

Then he added, in a cold and categorical tone:

— I'm forced to make you get into my car, because you are now my future sister-in-law. Dishonest people could harm you in this darkness.

Breathless, she glanced around her. The solitude oppressed her chest.

After a hesitation that felt like an eternity, she slowly approached and opened the door.

— Just this once, she breathed as she sat down.

The door closed softly. The engine roared, and the car resumed its journey into the silent night.

Chantelle stared stubbornly out the car window, the city lights flashing by without her really paying attention. Her mind was agitated, torn between anger and sadness.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated. She looked away from the scenery to see who was calling. It was her father.

She answered quickly.

— Tomorrow at noon, go have lunch at the Le Grand hotel with the son of the Paterne family, her father's harsh voice ordered. He's a good catch. He's the one you must marry. You need to attract him, you hear me? It will be excellent for our business.

Chantelle felt a dull anger rise within her. In a firm voice, she replied:

— I won't go, Dad. I'm not a child to be ordered around. I'm a free woman, capable of making my own decisions. I know what's good for me.

Her father's tone became threatening, chilling the air around her:

— If you refuse, then forget your grandmother. You will never see her again.

Before she could retort, the line went dead.

Chantelle gripped the phone in her hands, her knuckles white from the pressure. A bitter frustration and a feeling of powerlessness washed over her.

In the car, the silence was tense, almost oppressive.

Collen kept his eyes on the road, focused on the steering wheel, his face frozen in perfect indifference.

He had heard everything.

Yet, his voice suddenly snapped, as cold as the air conditioning in the cabin:

— Your father seems to like selling off his daughters, from what I can see.

Chantelle froze. Blood rushed to her face. Without turning her head, she breathed in an icy voice:

— That's none of your business.

An almost imperceptible smile stretched Collen's lips. He shrugged with a small nonchalant gesture of his right hand, while keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

— Yes, of course… he replied calmly, as if his remark was of no importance.

But in his eyes, irony gleamed. He expected no answer.

They soon arrived in front of Chantelle's building. She almost rushed to grab her bag, opened the door, then turned briefly towards him, her gaze hard.

— Thank you, Mr. Wilkerson.

She got out without waiting for a reply and firmly slammed the door. Collen, still motionless, followed her receding silhouette with his eyes. He didn't move, his face as closed as a steel door.

Then, with an almost inaudible sigh, he started the car again, as if nothing could reach him, or as if he was forcing himself to let nothing reach him.