Chapter 4

Lena felt a flush creeping up her cheeks.

But she kept her eyes downcast.

"I thought it wasn't an unreasonable request..."

"Everything is excessive coming from you."

He stood up abruptly. He circled his desk.

She recoiled slightly, instinctively.

"You want a phone? What for? To cry in the ear of your father who sold you? To call a friend and play the victim? You want us to come and rescue you, Lena?"

"No. That's not it," she murmured.

"You think I'm going to give you a weapon, just like that? A tool to run away? To manipulate? To lie?"

"I don't want to run away, Ilyès."

But he wasn't listening anymore. He slammed a file violently on the table.

"Get out."

She froze. “I told you to get out!” The word smacked like a slap.

She jumped slightly. Her heart raced. But she didn’t cry. She didn’t protest.

She simply nodded, like a punished schoolgirl, and turned away without a word.

He didn’t follow her. He didn’t call her back.

She closed the door gently behind her.

The hallway was longer than it had been on the way in.

Her steps were slow, almost heavy. She passed a cleaning woman, who immediately looked down. Even here, in this frozen world, no one spoke to Lena.

She didn’t exist.

A shadow between the walls.

She reached her room, closed the door, and leaned against the wood for a moment.

Then she walked to the bed, without undressing, and lay down on her side. Her arms were folded against her chest. Her eyes were fixed on nothing. She still didn't cry. Something inside her had resigned itself. She understood that even asking was a mistake.

That here, every word could be used against her. That Ilyès didn't just want to possess her physically.

He wanted to reduce her.

And she… she had let him.

On the other side of the mansion, Ilyès had sat back down at his desk, but he wasn't reading anything anymore.

His gaze was empty.

He had seen her face. He had seen the hope in her eyes. The foolish, fragile hope of a phone. He could have said yes.

He could have set boundaries, monitored her calls, given her an illusion of freedom. But no. He had preferred to reject her.

He preferred it when she was silent. When she lowered her eyes. When she obeyed. He had the power. And yet… Why, then, this bitter taste in his mouth?

Why did he keep thinking about her disappointed look? About her frail shoulders when she had stepped back?

He slammed his fist on the table. A simmering anger.

It wasn't supposed to affect him.

She was there to pay. To keep quiet. To suffer, as he had suffered her.

Not to make him regret breaking her.

Not to remind him that she was human.

The rain fell softly against the large living room windows, punctuating the silence of the manor.

Everything was calm, almost too calm. But Lena found no peace.

Since the previous day, she hadn't slept. Not really. She closed her eyes, yes, but the inside of her head remained noisy.

Dark thoughts, phrases she wished she could have said to Ilyès, others she should never have heard.

And always this feeling of being nothing more than a blurry presence in her own life.

She sat down by the window. She gazed outside, without really seeing. She hadn't eaten. Yet.

A light knock at the door made her jump.

"Come in," she murmured, without turning around.

The door opened slowly.

A woman entered, perhaps in her forties. Discreet. She was wearing the house servants' uniform: a black skirt, a gray blouse, her hair in a tight bun. She held a tray with a steaming teapot, a few slices of bread, and some honey.

She placed it on the living room coffee table, then stood there for a moment, saying nothing.

Lena turned her head slightly.

"I didn't ask for that," she said.

"I know," the maid replied. "But you haven't eaten anything for two days. I took the liberty."

Her voice was soft. Different from the other employees', who seemed to avoid Lena as if she were a contagious disease.

Lena stared at her, surprised. It was the first time anyone had looked at her with anything other than indifference.

"What's your name?" she asked.

A silence. Then a shy smile.

"Dalia."

"Thank you, Dalia." Dalia bowed slightly. She was about to leave, but hesitated.

“If you need anything… even just to talk… I’m here.”

Lena felt a lump in her throat. It wasn’t much. A sentence. A human glance. But it was more than anything she’d been offered here.

She wanted to reply, but the sound of heels suddenly clicked in the hallway.

A quick, steady rhythm.

Dalia paled slightly.

“She’s early,” she murmured.

“Who?” But Dalia bowed quickly, her eyes darting away.

“Don’t say I spoke to you. Please.”

And she disappeared through the side door just as a figure appeared in the living room entrance. Lena froze.

A woman.

Tall. Slender. Platinum blonde, hair perfectly styled. A fitted white dress, discreet but priceless jewelry. An icy beauty, calculated down to the millimeter.

Her piercing green eyes immediately lingered on Lena.

And that look… was that of a queen facing a servant.

“So you are her,” the woman murmured, advancing slowly.

Lena didn’t reply. She rose gently, unsure whether to flee or stay.

“My name is Silvia De Fontenay. Official fiancée of Mr. Blackwood.” Each word was spoken with almost theatrical clarity. Not information. A warning.

Lena lowered her eyes.

Silvia scrutinized her without any restraint.

“You’re not very tall. Not very beautiful either. But… there’s something.”

She moved closer. Too close. “It’s your silence, perhaps. He likes it, doesn’t he? He likes docile things. Things that don’t talk too much.” Lena felt her heart clench, but she didn’t flinch. Silvia chuckled softly.

“I came unannounced. I know he hates that. He thinks everything has to be under control. But I like to break the rules. Especially when someone thinks they can hide something from me.” She sat down on the sofa, as if she owned the place. Perhaps she did, after all.

“Do you know what you are, Lena?” she asked with an almost pitying smile. Lena looked up. Slowly.

“You’re a whim. Nothing more.”