Chapter 6

He stood up with a start, pushing his chair back exaggeratedly.

— Miss Chantelle! What an honor. Such beauty, such grace… You are even more magnificent than in the photos. Come closer, come closer…

Chantelle forced a smile. A grimace skillfully disguised.

— Hello.

She sat down without responding, crossing her legs with distant elegance. Everything about her screamed the desire to flee, but she kept the mask on. For now.

Raphina Paterne sat down across from her, his gaze greedy, as if he were examining her piece by piece.

— You know… I'm ready to do anything to marry you. Absolutely anything. My father wants a prestigious woman by my side, and when he saw your photo… he knew. It's you. And I know it too. You're the kind of woman who deserves a man like me. Heir to a real estate empire. Forty buildings in my name, shares abroad… And that's just the beginning.

He spoke without pausing for breath, without really looking at her. He didn't want to discuss. He wanted to impress. To put himself on display.

Chantelle remained silent. Her only response was another polite, empty, painfully mechanical smile.

— So, what would you like to eat, my pearl? he finally asked, closing the menu arrogantly.

— I'll have whatever you're having, she replied softly.

He tapped the table, delighted, as if this response confirmed his superiority.

— Excellent choice. We have the same tastes, I knew it. Waiter! Two duck breasts, honey and thyme sauce, with dauphinoise potatoes. And a bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet. 2018.

The waiter bowed and left.

Raphina started talking again. Again. About his cars. His properties. His trips to Dubai. The women who courted him but whom he had disdained. Everything was about him. Nothing was about her.

Chantelle, frozen in her role, was barely listening anymore. She sometimes nodded, brought her glass to her lips without drinking. Each minute spent facing him felt like an eternity.

And she thought: My God, does Dad really want to sell me to this?

As the meal progressed, Raphina Paterne's words became increasingly inappropriate. His compliments dripped with innuendo, his glances lingered where they never should have.

— Do you like the meal?

He asked with his mouth almost full.

Chantelle felt like vomiting. What an unrestrained man? She put on a smile before answering:

— Yes, it's delicious, thank you very much.

— A woman like you… beautiful, elegant, sensual. You can feel the warmth beneath that coldness, huh? Me, I know how to see these things…

Chantelle didn't respond.

From the beginning of the meal, Raphina hadn't stopped making equivocal remarks, talking about their future, their physical "compatibility," the "luck she had" to be chosen by a man of his standing. His eyes detailed her like a product in a shop window, his words oozed vulgarity.

— You know, me, I like women with spirit, he breathed, leaning towards her. But I like it even more when they know when to keep quiet at the right moment… especially in a bedroom.

Chantelle swallowed her indignation, trying to maintain her composure.

But everything derailed when, taking advantage of a moment when she was taking a sip of water, he slid his hand onto her thigh, under the table. Slowly. First on the fabric… then his fingers crept higher, trying to slip under her dress. His touch was heavy, sticky, intrusive.

The shock stunned Chantelle. Her eyes widened, suffocated by the audacity. Then, with a sudden movement, she violently pushed his hand away.

— What are you doing?! she exclaimed, jumping up, her heart pounding wildly.

Silence fell over the neighboring tables. Heads turned.

Raphina shrugged, without a trace of shame, and said in a smug tone:

— So what? Aren't you my fiancée? You think I'm here to discuss the weather? It was your father who told me you were ready. I have to test what I'm going to marry, don't I?

He laughed loudly.

— Do you know how many women would dream of being in your place? I agreed to this arranged marriage to please you. And you, you play the offended virgin? You need to come down a peg, my dear…

Chantelle trembled with rage. Her face flushed. She took a deep breath, trying not to explode, but her voice vibrated with anger:

— You are vile! Vulgar! And you think you can treat women like cattle?!

Raphina stood up in turn, clapping his hands as if mocking her:

— Well, I must say! You've got character. I like that. It spices things up.

— Don't ever touch me again! she shouted.

The room had frozen. Customers were now openly watching them, some with indignation, others with embarrassment.

— You're pathetic! she continued. I am not an object, and certainly not for sale! Said an angry Chantelle.

— You should be flattered, it's not every girl who gets the chance to dine with me.

Raphina's voice echoed in the dining room, sickening with self-satisfaction. He seemed pleased with his own arrogance, leaning towards Chantelle, a slimy smile on his lips.

Chantelle, her gaze hard but trembling inside, pushed her chair back, ready to leave. She had already endured enough humiliation for the day. Yet Raphina insisted again, trying to touch her arm once more.

— You're beautiful, you know that? And look at me… I'm a good catch, a very good one. You're playing hard to get, but I can see in your eyes that you like me.

Chantelle stood up abruptly.

— That's enough!

The room had gone silent, all eyes converging on their table.

And it was at that moment that a tall, imposing figure appeared at the doorway. Collen.

Collen had remained a witness to the entire scene, standing not far from the table, arms crossed, his dark gaze fixed on Raphina and Chantelle. His face, impassive on the surface, concealed a growing tension.

When Raphina stood up snickering and tried again to touch Chantelle's hand, she quickly stepped back.

— I told you never to touch me again! she released in a firm voice, her eyes full of anger and disgust.

At that instant, she felt a presence right behind her. A shadow, tall and straight, was cast onto the table.

She turned around... and her heart leaped.

— You? she murmured, stunned. What are you doing here?

Collen, icy, replied without taking his eyes off Raphina:

— We are leaving this place.

Raphina burst out laughing, mocking, arms spread wide as if watching a bad comedy.

— Good grief, who is this guy? And who does he think he is?

But Collen offered him neither explanation nor a glance.

He took Chantelle's hand, with a firm but not brutal gesture, and gently pulled her towards him.

— Come, he ordered in a curt tone.

Raphina, red with rage, shouted:

— But who the hell are you?! And by what authority do you dare to interfere in MY BUSINESS?!

Chantelle didn't even need to think. Seeing Collen there, standing between her and Raphina, a strange conviction came over her: God had sent him. Like an answer from heaven to the humiliation she was suffering.

So, without hesitating, she followed him.

— You're going to regret this, Chantelle! You hear me?! You're going to regret leaving this restaurant and leaving me alone! Raphina shouted, red with rage, his face distorted by anger.

But she didn't turn back. Not once. Her hand remained firmly held by Collen, who advanced with icy determination.

They left the restaurant under the intrigued and mocking gazes of the customers. Behind them, Raphina Paterne, wounded in his pride, fumed, swearing into the void.