14. Henri
Chapter fourteen
Henri
T he car came to a stop beneath the glass canopy of Le Ciel Tower. Even at this hour, the air outside was thick with late-summer warmth, the city’s night hum bleeding through the muted purr of the engine.
Porte du Coeur never really slept. There was always light somewhere, movement in the periphery, but the tower’s private entrance stood apart.
Polished stone, the faint scent of the florist’s arrangements near the doors, the quiet presence of uniformed staff who knew exactly when to open them without being told.
Henri stepped out after Marc, the transition from car to cool, conditioned air so seamless it was almost disorienting.
David followed, his expression unreadable in the shifting light.
The ride from the airport had been quiet for the most part.
Marc scrolled through messages, Henri stared out at the streets he knew too well, and David occasionally glanced between them like he wanted to speak but didn’t dare.
It had been different on the plane.
Marc had slept for nearly three hours over the Atlantic, stretched across the couch with his jacket folded beneath his head.
Henri had pulled himself off the floor, legs shaking, and stumbled back to his seat.
His pants were still unbuttoned, fabric torn at the waistband.
He’d tried to clean himself with tissues from the bathroom, but he could still feel Marc inside him, the ache settling deep.
His cheek throbbed where it had ground into the carpet.
He’d curled against the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass, and tried to disappear into the clouds below.
David had watched him return. Henri had seen it in his peripheral vision, the boy’s wide eyes tracking his unsteady walk, taking in his disheveled state, the way Henri couldn’t quite straighten his spine. Then David had looked away, staring at his hands.
After twenty minutes of silence, Henri forced himself to move. His body protested, muscles stiff and sore, but he couldn’t leave David sitting there alone with whatever he was thinking.
He crossed to the couch and lowered himself carefully onto the cushions. Every movement hurt.
David’s eyes widened slightly. He glanced toward Marc’s sleeping form, then back to Henri.
“He’s out,” Henri said quietly, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “He won’t wake for hours. He never does during these trips.”
David nodded but said nothing. His gaze kept dropping to Henri’s torn slacks, the marks on his face.
Henri let the silence stretch and waited. Sometimes that was all people needed, just the space to decide whether to speak.
Finally, David’s voice came, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never seen him like that before. What he did to you.”
Henri’s jaw tightened. “That’s Marc.”
“But before, he was just...” David’s hands twisted in his lap. “Particular. About how things should be. Where I should stand, how I should dress. I knew he had a temper, but I’d never seen—”
“You hadn’t given him reason,” Henri said quietly. “I did.”
David paled. “By orgasming?”
“By stepping between him and something he wanted.” Henri shifted on the couch, wincing at the movement. “But that’s not why he did what he just did. You understand that, right?”
David’s brow furrowed. “I thought it was because I couldn’t... because I was bad at—”
“No.” Henri’s voice was firm. “That had nothing to do with you. It was about me. About London. About the fact that I left for three weeks, and he couldn’t control me.
” He met David’s eyes. “He would have found a reason regardless. That’s what you need to understand.
When Marc wants to punish someone, the excuse doesn’t matter. ”
David’s throat worked as he swallowed. “So even if I do everything right—”
“If he wants to punish you, he will. He’ll just find a reason that makes it seem justified.” Henri leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice low. “Listen to me. Marc is possessive of what he considers his. Obsessively so. Don’t become one of his possessions.”
“Is it too late for that?” David’s voice cracked on the question. “I signed the contract.”
Henri went still. “Contract?”
“The arrangement.” David looked down at his hands. “Marc had his lawyers draw it up. I moved into his place. Sleep in his bed. He pays for everything, and in exchange I...” He trailed off.
“Be available,” Henri finished quietly. “Be perfect. Be his.”
“Yes.” David’s voice was barely audible.
Henri’s chest tightened. A contract. Marc had formalized it, made it legal, binding. That was new. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Henri had just never needed one because Marc had owned him since childhood.
David closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were wet.
“My mother’s sick. MS. She gets government aid and medical care, but she’s angry about it.
Does the bare minimum to qualify and nothing else.
My stepfather works the docks. He doesn’t care about me or my sister.
Just himself and my mother. He’s not mean, exactly.
Just... absent. We’re furniture he has to walk around. ”
Henri understood that kind of neglect. The kind that didn’t leave bruises but hollowed you out anyway.
“My sister, Lily, she’s finishing high school next year.
Smart as hell, but her grades aren’t perfect.
Not enough for the scholarships she’d need.
I can’t let her end up like my mother. Bitter and trapped.
” David’s voice turned urgent, desperate.
“Marc offered me a place to live, money for Lily’s tuition, medical care for my mother.
Better care than the government provides. All I have to do is—”
“Follow the rules,” Henri said. “Be what he needs.”
“Yes.” David pulled his knees up to his chest. “I had to leave the apartment I shared with four other guys. I don’t miss that...”
“You can still have pieces of yourself,” Henri said carefully. “Keep something separate. Your friends, your interests, your thoughts. Don’t give him everything.”
David was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly: “But I like it.”
Henri stilled. “What?”
“The control.” David’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away. “When he tells me what to wear, where to stand, how to move, it feels safe. Someone’s paying attention. I matter enough for him to care about the details.”
Henri’s chest tightened. That didn’t make sense. Couldn’t make sense. “David, that’s not safety. That’s—”
“I know what it is,” David interrupted. “I’m not stupid.
But my whole life has been chaos. My mother and stepfather are useless.
I’m trying to keep food on the table and Lily in school.
Nothing was ever certain. We never had enough.
” His voice dropped. “When Marc tells me exactly what to do, I don’t have to guess.
I don’t have to worry if I’m doing it wrong. I just follow the rules.”
“Until you break one,” Henri said quietly. “And then what you saw earlier, that’s the correction.”
“I know.” David’s voice was small. “But at least it’s clear. At least I know where I stand.”
Henri wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him that clarity wasn’t worth the cost. But he remembered being seven years old, desperate for his father’s approval. He couldn’t judge David for seeking the same thing in different wrapping.
“Just remember,” Henri said finally, “what feels safe now might feel like a cage later. And Marc doesn’t give back what he takes.”
“I’ll remember.” David lowered his knees, his posture straightening slightly. “Thank you. For trying to warn me. For trying to help.”
“I don’t know if I helped.”
“You did.” David managed a weak smile. “At least now I know what I’m choosing.”
That was the problem, Henri thought. David knew and was choosing it anyway. Because sometimes the devil you could predict was better than the chaos you couldn’t control.
A soft sound from Marc’s couch ended the conversation. Just a shift in breathing, a slight movement. Both of them froze, watching. But Marc simply turned onto his side and settled deeper into sleep.
David stood carefully and returned to his original seat. Henri did the same, returning to his window, his leather depression, his place.
They hadn’t spoken again for the rest of the flight.
Now, standing in the lobby of Le Ciel Tower, Henri expected Marc to take him straight upstairs. That was the rhythm. No delays.
But halfway across the marble lobby, Marc’s grip on Henri’s elbow changed. Slight pressure, enough to redirect his path without looking like it.
Henri didn’t have to ask why.
Gabriel was here.
Leaning with infuriating ease against the concierge desk, talking to the front-door attendant like they were old friends.
His jacket caught the light from the ceiling fixtures, fine fabric glinting faintly.
The attendant laughed at something he said, head tipped forward in that unguarded way Henri remembered from childhood staff around Gabriel.
Gabriel’s gaze lifted, found him instantly.
Relief flooded his features first. Then concern. Both buried just as quickly beneath a polite half-smile.
But Henri had seen them. That split-second reveal before Gabriel’s control slammed back into place. His brother had been worried. Had probably been waiting here for hours.
Marc’s fingers pressed lightly at Henri’s back, steering him forward. His tone when he spoke was warm, almost pleasant. “Gabriel. What a surprise.”
Gabriel pushed away from the desk. His movements were casual, relaxed, but Henri caught the tension in his shoulders. “Marc. I was in the neighborhood.”
In the neighborhood. On a Friday evening.
Gabriel had never been subtle when he set his mind to something.