Chapter 5: Winter Vows

The pen felt heavier than it should have.

I held it above the signature line while my father’s silence pressed on my back like a hand. Luc stood near the door with his arms crossed, jaw working as if he was chewing words he didn’t dare say out loud. Julien Caron waited without moving, eyes on the clock, not my face.

Renaud Valois didn’t blink.

He just watched.

“You have one hour,” he’d said, like he was offering a courtesy instead of a countdown.

I looked at the page again. The words were clean. Legal. Neatly arranged into a cage.

“Before I sign,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “I want one sentence added.”

Caron lifted his brows. “Ms. Morel…”

“I’m not asking you,” I said, eyes on Renaud. “I’m asking him.”

Renaud’s gaze didn’t shift. “Say it.”

“No wage interference,” I said. “Ever. Not as pressure. Not as punishment. Not as leverage.”

My father let out a sharp breath. “Yselle, stop…”

Renaud cut him off without looking at him. “Agreed.”

Caron hesitated, then opened his briefcase again and pulled out a small addendum sheet. He wrote quickly, the scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. When he slid it across the table, the ink was still fresh.

Renaud didn’t touch it. “Sign.”

I signed the addendum first.

Then I signed the agreement.

The pen moved across the page like my hand belonged to someone else. I wrote Yselle Morel in the same neat script I used for supply approvals and staffing schedules. Ordinary handwriting on an extraordinary decision.

When I finished, I set the pen down carefully, as if I’d break something if I dropped it.

Luc stared at my signature. “You… actually did it.”

“I know,” I said.

My father’s face had gone quiet in a way that worried me more than anger. He was already calculating. Already reshaping the story he would tell later.

Renaud reached forward and took the contract…not rushed, not triumphant. He flipped to the last page, checked my signature, then signed his name with a single smooth stroke.

Renaud Valois.

He passed the pen to Caron, who gathered the documents as if he’d just closed a deal on an office building, not a human life.

Renaud looked at me. “Now the payroll release.”

Caron produced a one-page letter and set it in front of me.

My name was printed at the top again. Under it, a formal confirmation that funds would be released within hours.

I didn’t let myself breathe until I saw the line that mattered.

Transfer authorized. Immediate effect.

I lifted my eyes. “You’re doing it right now?”

Renaud nodded once. “Caron.”

Caron stepped out of the room with his phone already raised to his ear.

Luc let out a shaky laugh. “So that’s it? We just… sell our souls and money appears?”

Renaud’s gaze slid to him. “You talk too much.”

Luc’s mouth snapped shut.

I should have enjoyed that. I didn’t. My stomach was still tight, still waiting for the floor to drop.

Renaud turned back to me. “Go tell your staff.”

“I will,” I said, then added, because my pride insisted on one small fight, “and I won’t lie for you.”

His eyes held mine. “Good.”

That single word felt like a strange kind of permission.

I stood to leave.

Renaud’s hand lifted slightly, stopping me without touching me. “One more condition.”

My shoulders stiffened. “We just signed.”

“This isn’t about the contract,” he said. “This is about optics.”

My father’s head turned sharply. “Optics?”

Renaud spoke as if my father wasn’t there. “Your people need calm. The bank needs a story. Suppliers need reassurance. The public will hear something. Better it’s controlled.”

“I’m not doing an interview,” I said.

“You’re getting married,” he replied.

The sentence hit like cold water.

Luc’s eyes widened. “Wait. Now?”

My father found his voice again. “This was never part of….”

“It’s the entire point,” Renaud said, finally looking at Hector. His tone stayed calm, but the chill under it sharpened. “You didn’t think I was financing you out of charity.”

Hector’s smile tried to return. It failed at the corners. “There’s no need for haste.”

“There is,” Renaud replied. “You have a bleeding business. I have a schedule.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It had only been twelve minutes since I picked up the pen. My life was moving faster than my brain could keep up.

“Where?” I asked.

Renaud’s gaze returned to me. “City Hall. This afternoon.”

Luc barked out a laugh that sounded like disbelief. “City Hall. Sure. Why not add a parade?”

Renaud ignored him again.

I looked at my father. “You wanted me to do this.”

Hector’s eyes flashed. “I wanted a solution.”

“This is the solution,” I said quietly. “This is what your ‘meeting’ bought.”

Hector’s jaw worked. “We will discuss this at home.”

“There’s no discussion,” Renaud said. “There’s a timeline.”

He turned to me. “You’ll need a dress.”

“I have clothes,” I said.

Renaud’s gaze ran over my factory coat and scarf without judgment. “Not for cameras.”

My throat tightened. “Cameras?”

Caron returned to the doorway. “Payroll transfer is processing,” he said. “Confirmation in thirty minutes.”

The relief that rushed through me was so sharp it almost hurt.

I didn’t smile. I didn’t thank anyone. I simply nodded once.

“Good,” I said, and walked out.

The factory floor was louder than before, but it wasn’t the same noise. It was edge noise. The hum of people trying not to panic.

Mireille met me halfway, her stride purposeful.

“Well?” she asked.

I didn’t dress it up. “Payroll is going through.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Going through.”

“Yes,” I said. “Confirmed. Within the hour.”

Henri, who had drifted close enough to listen, let out a breath like he’d been holding it all morning. Someone behind him murmured a prayer. Another worker cursed softly, not angry, just exhausted.

Mireille held my gaze. “What did it cost?”

I hesitated.

Not because I was ashamed. Because saying it out loud would make it real.

“Not your wages,” I said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

I swallowed. “I’ll tell you soon.”

Mireille’s stare sharpened. “Soon is a dangerous word.”

“I know,” I replied.

Her chin lifted a fraction. “We’ll keep the line moving. But don’t forget who you’re saving.”

“I won’t,” I said, and meant it.

Sophie appeared at the office doorway, her phone in her hand. She raised it toward me, eyes wide, and mouthed one word:

Approved.

Relief hit the floor like a wave. People didn’t cheer. They didn’t clap. They simply moved again, like a body choosing to keep living.

Mireille watched them, then looked at me once more.

“You look like you lost,” she said softly.

“I might have,” I answered.

She didn’t press. She just nodded and turned back to the line, calling out instructions like the world wasn’t falling apart.

I walked toward the office, and halfway there Luc caught my arm.

“You did it,” he said, voice low. “Payroll’s fine. Great. But…”

“But what?” I asked.

His eyes flicked to the corridor. “Dad is… smiling again.”

That was not comfort.

“That man,” Luc added, “Renaud…he looked at you like he already owned the room you were standing in.”

“I noticed,” I said.

Luc leaned closer. “Tell me you have a plan.”

I stared at him for a beat. “My plan is to survive the next twenty-four hours.”

“That’s not a plan.”

“It’s honest,” I said and kept walking.

By mid-afternoon, the city air was sharp with winter. I stood on the steps of City Hall in a borrowed coat that didn’t quite fit and a simple dress that had been rushed from a boutique like an emergency supply drop. My hair had been pinned again, tighter this time, as if neatness could keep me from shaking.

Caron moved like a machine, guiding signatures, arranging documents, and speaking to clerks. My father stood beside me with his calm smile restored, as if he’d always expected this day.

Luc hovered behind, looking like he wanted to pull a fire alarm and run.

Renaud arrived exactly on time.

He wore a dark suit, no flash, no unnecessary shine. He looked like a man built out of decisions. When he reached the steps, he didn’t rush toward me. He simply stopped beside me, close enough that I felt the warmth of him through his coat.

“Breathe,” he said quietly, not looking at me.

I blinked. “I am breathing.”

“You’re doing it badly,” he replied.

I almost laughed. Almost.

A gust of wind cut across the steps. My hands were cold. Before I could tuck them into my coat, Renaud reached for my fingers…brief, controlled…and folded them into the warmth of his palm.

The touch was simple. Not intimate. Not soft.

Still, my pulse jumped like it had been called by name.

He let go as quickly as he’d taken my hand, as if he’d never touched me at all.

“Let’s finish,” he said.

Inside, the ceremony was short. A clerk with kind eyes read legal wording in a calm tone. Questions. Confirmations. A pen was placed in front of me again.

I signed.

Renaud signed.

The words “husband” and “wife” felt like labels stuck to skin that didn’t belong to them yet.

When the clerk said we could kiss, Renaud paused for half a second…just long enough that I wondered if he’d refuse.

Then he leaned in and brushed his lips against my cheek.

Quick. Controlled. Almost polite.

The cameras caught it anyway.

Flashes sparked like tiny explosions.

I turned my face away from the lights, and Renaud’s hand came to my lower back…not gripping, not pulling, just anchoring me in place while the world stared.

“Smile,” my father whispered from behind us.

Renaud’s voice came quieter, for my ears only. “Don’t.”

I looked up at him.

His eyes were steady. Dark. Unreadable.

And for one strange second, I believed him more than the man who raised me.

A staff member stepped forward with a bouquet…white flowers, winter greenery, ribbon tied tight. It was placed in my hands like a prop for the cameras.

I held it because everyone expected me to.

When we turned to leave, something slipped from between the stems and brushed my wrist.

A small card. Folded once.

I glanced down as we stepped through the doorway.

One word, written in thick black ink:

RUN.