Chapter 4: Wife Camouflage

My father didn’t touch the marriage agreement right away.

He stared at it like it might bite.

Luc circled the desk once, hands in his pockets, then stopped as if movement alone could change the outcome. Julien Caron stood by the door, quiet and patient, the kind of patient that meant he had all day and we had none.

I looked at the contract again.

My name sat near the top in clean black print.

So did his.

Renaud Valois.

My father cleared his throat. “This is… outrageous.”

Luc let out a short laugh. “Outrageous is one word.”

“Luc,” my father warned.

“What?” Luc spread his hands. “He can’t just walk in and…" He nodded at the paper. “That.”

My father’s smile tried to return and failed halfway. “Lower your voice.”

Luc dropped it, but his eyes stayed hot.

Julien Caron finally spoke. “Mr. Valois asked for a response within the hour.”

My father turned to him. “And if we refuse?”

Caron’s face didn’t change. “Then the notice proceeds. Restrictions become action.”

My father lifted his chin. “You’re very confident.”

Caron didn’t take the bait. “I’m very instructed.”

I leaned over the desk, reading the first page again. My brain kept trying to pretend it was another contract…machinery, supply, a loan extension. Anything normal.

It wasn’t.

I felt Luc watching me. I felt my father watching me too, like my reaction would decide whether he could keep pretending he’d planned this.

“Out,” my father said suddenly, turning to Caron. “Give us a moment.”

Caron nodded once. “Of course.”

He stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him with a soft click that sounded too final.

My father’s calm dropped the second the latch caught.

“Don’t even consider it,” he said.

Luc shot him a look. “You say that like we have options.”

“We negotiate,” my father snapped. “I do not…” He gestured at the agreement with disgust. “I do not sell my daughter.”

My laugh came out before I could stop it. “You already did. You just didn’t know the receipt would be printed.”

His face tightened. “Careful.”

I leaned both hands on the desk, close enough to smell his cologne. “You drained the reserve account. You hid delinquency notices. You let payroll bounce.”

His eyes flicked once, then hardened. “I was managing a larger threat.”

“Name it.”

He exhaled through his nose. “You’re emotional.”

“I’m employed,” I said. “By that factory. Those people. The ones you keep calling ‘temporary.’”

Luc made a small sound of agreement, then froze when my father’s gaze snapped to him.

My father turned back to me. “You think I did this for fun? You think I enjoy humiliation?”

“No,” I said, voice quiet. “I think you enjoy control. Even when it hurts us.”

His smile returned…thin, dangerous. “I built that company.”

“And I’m holding it up,” I replied. “With tape and prayers.”

My father’s fingers drummed once on the desk, then stopped, as if he remembered he was supposed to look calm. “Renaud Valois is not here to help you.”

“Then why is he here?” I asked.

My father’s eyes sharpened. “Because he wants revenge.”

Luc shifted. “Revenge for what?”

My father ignored him. He looked at me. “He’s a creditor. He wants ownership. He wants you on a leash because you’re useful.”

“And you want me on a leash because I’m family,” I said. “Same strategy. Different packaging.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was loaded.

Luc broke it first. “Okay. New plan. Everyone stops talking like they’re in a courtroom and we do math.”

My father’s jaw clenched. “This is not a joke.”

Luc pointed at the paper. “It’s not a joke. It’s a trap. Fine. But it’s also a deadline.”

I swallowed. My mouth felt dry. My thoughts kept bouncing between faces…the workers on the floor, Sophie with her hands flat on the desk, Mireille’s stare that didn’t blink.

“Payroll,” I said. “Today.”

My father’s voice softened, like he could wrap it around me and pull me back into obedience. “We will find another way.”

“We don’t have another way in one hour,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious.”

Luc leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “You want another way? Show it. Right now. With numbers.”

My father stared at him as if noticing him for the first time. “This does not concern you.”

Luc’s smile was quick and sharp. “It concerns my rent, Dad.”

My father’s mouth tightened.

I straightened and stepped away from the desk, because if I stayed that close, I might say something I couldn’t take back.

“Where did the reserve money go?” I asked.

My father’s gaze slid away. “It covered obligations.”

“Which ones?”

He looked back at me, and for a second I saw something raw behind his calm—fear, maybe, or rage, or both.

“Not yours,” he said.

My stomach sank. “It’s mine when it affects payroll.”

He moved around the desk toward me. Slow. Controlled. The way he used to approach when I was a teenager and he wanted to make me feel small without raising his voice.

“Yselle,” he said softly, “this family is being hunted.”

I held his gaze. “By who?”

He hesitated. A fraction. Then he smiled again, like he had remembered his lines. “By consequences.”

“That’s not an answer,” Luc muttered.

My father didn’t look at him. “We cannot afford to appear weak.”

I looked at the marriage agreement again.

Appear weak.

My father cared about appearances even while the factory floor trembled.

“Say it,” I told him.

He frowned. “Say what?”

“Say the words you’re dancing around,” I said, voice steady. “Say you want me to do it.”

Luc’s eyes widened slightly.

My father held my gaze for a long moment. Then his mouth moved.

“Do it for us,” he said.

It wasn’t a plea. It was an order dressed in family language.

Luc let out a harsh breath. “Wow.”

My father’s eyes flashed. “Don’t.”

Luc lifted both hands. “I’m not even talking anymore. I’m just… shocked.”

I turned away from them both and walked to the window that looked down onto the factory floor. From here, the workers were smaller, but the weight of them wasn’t.

Henri moved a crate, shoulders tight. Mireille stood with her arms folded, watching the line like she could hold it together by force.

I pressed my forehead lightly to the cold glass for one second. Just one.

Then I turned back.

“Call Sophie,” I told Luc. “Tell her to prepare the payroll release letter.”

My father’s head snapped up. “Yselle.”

Luc blinked. “Wait…are you…”

“Call her,” I repeated.

Luc hesitated, then pulled out his phone with shaky fingers. “Sophie? It’s me. Don’t hang up. Listen…”

My father stepped toward me. “You will not do this.”

I didn’t step back. “You mean, you will not let me do this.”

His voice dropped. “You don’t understand what you’re stepping into.”

“Then explain it,” I said.

His eyes went cold. “Not here.”

“Not now,” I corrected. “Not ever.”

His hand lifted slightly, then fell. The man who controlled rooms suddenly had nothing he could hold.

Luc ended the call and looked at me like I’d grown horns. “Sophie said she’ll prep it. She also said Mireille wants to talk to you.”

“She can wait,” I said, already moving.

My father followed. “Yselle.”

I stopped at the door. “If you had told me the truth last week, I could have fought for us with clean hands.”

His smile returned, brittle. “Clean hands don’t survive business.”

I opened the door.

Julien Caron stood in the corridor as if he’d never moved. His eyes flicked to my face, then to my father’s, and he knew. People like him always knew.

“Ms. Morel,” he said politely. “Your decision?”

I didn’t answer right away. I could hear the factory through the walls. I could almost feel the workers’ stares, even though they couldn’t see me.

“Take me to him,” I said.

Caron nodded and led us down the corridor. My father walked behind me, silent now, his anger packed away for later. Luc trailed like a shadow.

We didn’t go far. Renaud had taken the conference room off the main office. The kind of room used for supplier visits and yearly speeches…neutral walls, a long table, and a stale pot of coffee on a warmer.

Renaud stood by the window, looking out at the factory floor.

He didn’t turn when we entered.

His coat was still on. His posture was relaxed, but nothing about him felt relaxed. He looked like a man who measured time in outcomes.

Caron cleared his throat. “Mr. Valois.”

Renaud turned then. His gaze moved over my father without interest and landed on me.

I walked to the table and stopped opposite him.

He waited.

I hated that my pulse reacted to his attention. Not in a soft way. In a sharp way, like my body recognized danger and decided to stay alert.

I placed both hands on the table. “You’ll release payroll today.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And suppliers?”

“Key ones,” he replied. “Enough to keep the line moving.”

“And the factory stays open tomorrow.”

His eyes held mine. “If you agree.”

Luc made a small sound behind me, like he wanted to interrupt but knew better.

My father spoke, voice tight. “We can discuss other assurances.”

Renaud didn’t look at him. “No.”

I swallowed. My throat felt raw. “If I say yes, you don’t touch wages. Ever. You don’t use them as leverage later.”

Renaud’s gaze sharpened slightly, like he appreciated the boundary. “Agreed.”

“And you don’t speak to me through threats,” I added. “If you want something, you ask.”

His mouth moved, barely. Again, not a smile. Something close to it.

“You’ll learn quickly,” he said.

“Try me,” I replied.

Caron slid a pen toward me. The pen looked ordinary, but my fingers hesitated above it like it weighed a ton.

Renaud watched my hesitation without impatience.

I would later understand that he didn’t need to rush me. The clock was rushing me enough.

My father’s voice came low. “Yselle, don’t.”

I didn’t look at him.

I picked up the pen.

“Last question,” I said to Renaud, pen hovering above the page. “Why me?”

Renaud leaned in just slightly. Close enough that his voice dropped, private.

“Because you can still choose,” he said.

Then, softer, like a warning disguised as advice, he added, “And because you shouldn’t trust your father.”

My hand froze above the signature line.