Chapter 5

Silence.

“He’ll get tired of it. He always does. That’s just how he is. He takes, he uses, he discards. But I am the alliance. The press. The families. The contracts.” Lena didn’t reply.

“Then enjoy it while it lasts. Drink your tea. Wear her dresses. Endure her silences. Because soon, very soon… you’ll return to where you came from.” She stood up. Smoothed her dress.

“And I’ll take my place again.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked away, her heels echoing even louder on the marble floor. Lena remained standing. Alone. The tea was getting cold on the table. Dalia reappeared a few minutes later. She had heard everything.

She approached slowly. Calmly. Then, without a word, she took Lena’s hand in hers. And that simple gesture, that tiny bit of human warmth, was enough to bring tears to the young woman's eyes. But she didn't let them fall.

Because she knew now that it wasn't just Ilyès… who was going to break her.

“Sit down.” Ilyès’s voice cracked in the silence like a military order. Silvia parted her lips slightly, surprised, but she obeyed. She sat down opposite him in one of the black leather armchairs facing his desk. She crossed her legs, perfectly aware of her posture. Perfectly self-assured.

But in Ilyès’s eyes, she immediately saw that something had changed.

“You didn’t even say hello,” she murmured, feigning hurt.

He didn’t reply. He gently closed the file he was holding, then finally looked up at her. Cold. Sharp.

“Why did you come unannounced?”

“Because I can,” Silvia replied, smiling. “And besides, I wanted to see you. You… and your blonde thing.” Silence fell. Thick. Filled with the sound of broken glass. Ilyès didn't react immediately. He rose slowly, walked around his desk, and approached her with calculated deliberate slowness.

"Say that again," he asked, very quietly.

Silvia didn't lower her eyes.

"Your distraction, your silent doll, your little servant in a red dress. You left her wandering around the living room, Ilyès. Do you really think I wouldn't guess what she is? What she's doing here? Do you think I'm going to stay silent and smile like an idiot? Do you really want me to sit here while you play with some nameless girl?"

She was still smiling. Less certain this time.

"She's not even in my league. And you... you display her, you dress her up, you protect her. For what? For a whim? For revenge against me? Against your father?"

She stood up, suddenly more aggressive. “You think I’m going to tolerate this? I’m your fiancée, Ilyès. The one you’re supposed to marry, the one whose name is in the newspapers, the one who dines with your mother. What is she? A girl with no pedigree? A maid you sleep with between contracts?” She spat the words out like poison.

But Ilyès didn’t back down.

He moved even closer. Very close. Too close.

Then he whispered, icy:

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Silvia stared at him, bewildered.

“What?”

“Don’t ever say her name like that again. Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking you can comment on my choices. What I do with Léna… is none of your business.” She wanted to reply, but he raised his hand, slowly. Not to hit her. To assert his authority.

“You can consider yourself lucky, Silvia.” I chose you for what you represent. For peace. For appearances. Not for your opinion.

He leaned towards her.

“Lena, I chose her for no reason. That’s what makes her dangerous.” Silvia took a step back, unsettled.

“Are you getting attached to her?”

“No. Never,” he replied.

But his eyes said something else.

“She’s mine. And what belongs to me doesn’t need to be loved to be protected. She’s my responsibility. My mistake. My obsession. You don’t touch that.” Silvia tried to compose herself.

“You’re losing your mind. She’s worthless.” Ilyès sneered.

“And what are you worth? Without your name? Without your father’s money? You want to remind me of your importance? Fine.” But don't forget that if you mess with Lena one more time… you'll discover just how capable I am of humiliating even the press, the alliances, and the Fontenays.

She paled slightly.

He finally stepped back, as if he had finished speaking.

“You can stay for dinner if you like,” he concluded. “But if you run into Lena, I advise you to keep quiet.”

She stood there, straight, frozen, unable to find a strong enough reply.

Silence fell. Then she left the room, her face expressionless. Without another word. Behind the half-open door, Dalia stood motionless in the shadows.

And behind her… Lena.

She hadn't heard everything. But enough.

Enough to understand that she wasn't a ghost, in Ilyès's eyes. Not a stranger.

She was a problem he refused to leave to others.

An object, perhaps. But his object.

And in that chilling sentence, there was something terribly crueler… but also more alive than anything Silvia had ever uttered.

Night had fallen on the manor like a pall. Lena lay there, her eyes open, staring blankly into space.

She wasn't asleep. She no longer had the ability.

Each hour stretched out like a muffled whisper. She had lost all sense of time. Time ceased to exist. The only rhythm was that of her thoughts. And tonight, her thoughts were filled with him.

Words she hadn't heard in full. Snippets of voices. Silvia. Him. And that sentence.

"She's mine."

It was supposed to frighten her. Supposed to humiliate her.

But tonight, deep in that icy room, it was almost... a blanket.

A soft noise. A shadow behind the door.

She sat up slowly, her heart pounding faster.

The handle turned silently.

And he came in.

Ilyes. Not in a suit this time. In a black t-shirt and pajama pants, barefoot.

His hair was a little disheveled. His face was closed off. But… different. Less sharp. More blurred.

As if he didn't yet know who he was that night.

He didn't speak.

He closed the door gently behind him, then moved forward. Slowly. Silently.

Lena half sat up on her elbows, wary. She didn't know what he was looking for. She was afraid she'd guess.

But he did nothing.

He simply pulled the covers over her. Lied down next to her. On his back.

Just a few centimeters away.

She didn't move.

He didn't touch her.

The silence was heavy. Intimate. Dark.

"I can't sleep," he finally said, in a low voice. Lena blinked. Surprised.

It was the first time he'd spoken to her without commands, without threats, without a mask.

"I'm not used to being resisted," he murmured.

She turned her head. He was staring at the ceiling. As if he were talking to her, but without looking at her.

"But you're not really resisting me, are you?" He smiled bitterly.

"You're fading away. That's worse."

She didn't reply. Because he was right. And because, for the first time, he wasn't playing games.