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“Only to create a heir.”
“To make a baby.” My teeth chatters around the words.
“Yes,” he says with a frown, as if he’s having a hard time understanding why I should be upset about that.
“What about us, Maxime? Have you considered that? What if I wanted a baby?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
Swallowing my tears, I lift my chin. “Why?”
“Bastard children aren’t recognized. I won’t be able to protect it with my surname. More so, bastard kids have a hard time adapting. They always come second. That’s not fair to any child.”
Does he even realize how far his selfishness goes? “And how are you supposed to get rid of me before this marriage?” I ask, repeating his fiancée’s words.
For the first time, he has the decency to look guilty. “Naturally, as my wife, Izabella will live here.”
“So, you’re throwing me out.” I backtrack to the stairs. “I’ll start packing, then. I’ll be glad to go home.”
He comes after me so fast I don’t have time to run. His fist is in my hair before my foot is on the second step of the stairs.
“I’m not throwing you out,” he growls against my ear, “and I’m not sending you home.”
“I’m not sleeping with an engaged or married man. There’s no point in keeping me. You’ll have to take what you want with force, but I refuse to be the other woman.”
His hold tightens in my hair, making my scalp sting. “Marriage has nothing to do with sex and love. Not in my world. If I want our business to survive, I don’t have a choice but to honor that contract and marry Izabella. I’ll respect her and care for her as my wife, but it’s you I want.”
“I can’t do this, Maxime. You have no right to ask this of me.”
His voice turns cruel. “Oh, but I’m not asking, little flower.”
“Fuck you,” I cry, pulling so hard his hand comes free from my hair with the long strands stuck to his fingers.
“Maybe it’s a good idea to start packing, after all.” He reaches for me, but I jump away. “In time, you’ll get used to the idea.”
“Never,” I bite out. “Not as long as I live.”
“That’s how you felt at first, but you got used to this.” He waves a hand around the space. “You’re a survivor. You’ll adapt.”
I can’t listen to him anymore. I escape up the stairs, and he lets me. The only mercy he gives me is not coming after me. I keep on moving until I run out of stairs. Rushing into the tower, I shut the heavy door behind me. There’s no key to guarantee my solitude. The only door in this house with a key is Maxime’s study. That’s where he locks away his laptop and the phones, any form of communication with the outside world. My passport has to be in there. I have to find it.
Sitting down on the window seat, I wrap my arms around myself. I’m cold. Shivering. Finally, the tears I’m trying so hard to swallow erupt. They escape with ugly wails of shameless, pitiful crying. I focus my blurry gaze on the distorted vision through the stained glass window. The color twists through my tears like a kaleidoscope. The sounds of footsteps falling on the stairs makes me suck in and hold my breath. The sob trapped between my ribs aches, but I keep it in with all my might. I can’t let anyone see me like this, least of all not Maxime.
A knock falls on the door. “Zoe?”
I can’t answer. If I do, he’ll hear my brokenness. I’m not giving him that much.
“I’m coming in,” he says.
I swallow, somehow finding inhumane strength to keep my voice even. “If you care about me at all, even just a little, you won’t.”
Silence. After a beat, he says, “I’m going to my parents’ house. I’ll be back for dinner.”
“To see her?”
“To smooth things over. She’s upset.”
No shit. Pulling my legs up, I wrap my arms around my knees.
“Benoit stays here,” he says, “in the house.”
Another silence. Finally, after a long stretch of waiting, his heels tap an even rhythm on the stairs as he descends.
I let out the breath I was holding. My chest expands with another sob. Suddenly, I’m not sure whose cruelty is worse, Alexis’s or Maxime’s. Maxime knew all along while he was fucking me and being kind to me, watching me fall for him a little more each day, that he was promised to someone else. This is my limit. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back and sends me over the edge.
Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I rest my head against the cold stones of the wall and close my eyes. No wonder Maxime’s family hates me so much. It all makes sense now. I’m the imposter, the seducer, and the mistress. They’re the wives. I think back to a conversation I once had with Sylvie when I still thought we were friends. It was over a glass of wine after class. We talked about made men and how they treated their women. I wanted to know more about what it meant to be property since it had become my label in Maxime’s world.
