23. Henri #3
Henri closed his eyes, trying to imagine it.
London. Michael’s townhouse with the tall windows overlooking Regent’s Park.
Mornings in that comfortable bed where the sheets smelled like Michael’s soap.
Coffee that Michael made just the way Henri had learned to like it during those three stolen weeks.
Work that challenged him in ways that felt good rather than threatening.
Evenings spent curled together on the sofa, reading or talking or just existing in each other’s presence without performance or expectation.
No Marc. No Le Ciel Tower. No rules except the ones they made together. No waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the punishment to come, for the moment when he failed to be enough.
Just... life. Simple, ordinary life.
“London,” Henri whispered, and saying it out loud made it feel more real. “I want to be in London.”
Michael’s smile was radiant, transforming his whole face. “Then that’s where we’ll go. Everything else, we’ll figure out as we go.”
Henri opened his eyes, looking at Michael’s face, at the hope and love written so clearly there.
This man had crossed an ocean for him. Had walked into Marc’s penthouse knowing it might be a trap.
Had sat beside Henri’s bed for three days, feeding him soup and water and asking for nothing in return.
This man cared for him.
The thought was terrifying. It was also the most hopeful thing Henri had ever felt.
A knock at the door made them both freeze. Henri’s body went rigid automatically, that instinctive fear that visitors meant inspection, evaluation, judgment.
“It’s probably just Gabriel,” Michael said softly. “He’s been checking in a few times a day. He’s worried about you.”
“I don’t know if I can face him,” Henri admitted.
“You don’t have to. I can send him away.”
But Henri shook his head. He needed to see Gabriel. Needed to understand why he’d done this, needed to begin the impossible task of thanking him for something that could never be repaid.
“Let him in,” Henri said quietly.
Michael rose and crossed to the door, opening it just enough to speak quietly with whoever was on the other side. Then he stepped back, and Gabriel entered.
He looked terrible. Gabriel always looked polished, controlled, perfectly composed even in crisis. But now his hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes that spoke of days without proper sleep.
His eyes found Henri, and something in his expression cracked. “Henri.”
Henri tried to speak, but his throat had closed.
Gabriel moved closer, stopping a careful distance away as if afraid Henri might bolt. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Lost. Confused. Grateful. Terrified. All of it at once.”
Gabriel’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “That’s understandable.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. Michael had retreated to give them privacy, but Henri could feel his presence nearby, solid and reassuring.
“Ten million dollars,” Henri finally said, because someone had to acknowledge the elephant in the room. “Gabriel, that’s—”
“Worth it,” Gabriel interrupted firmly. “Every penny. I’d have paid twice that if Marc had demanded it.”
Henri’s hands twisted in the sheets. “I need to pay you back.”
“No.” Gabriel’s voice was harder than Henri had ever heard it. “Absolutely not. That money was mine to spend, and I chose to spend it on you. It’s done, Henri. There’s no debt between us.”
“But—”
Gabriel cut him off. “Ten million dollars is nothing, Henri. It’s less than nothing. It doesn’t repay you for what you suffered. It doesn’t undo the years of abuse. It doesn’t make me less culpable for failing you. But it was something I could do.”
A tear slipped down Gabriel’s cheek, and Henri realized he’d never seen his brother cry before.
“So no,” Gabriel said, his voice fierce now. “You will not pay me back. This wasn’t a transaction. This was me finally, finally being able to give you what you should have had all along—freedom. Don’t take that away from me by trying to make it into a debt.”
Henri couldn’t hold back his own tears anymore. They spilled over, hot and fast, years of grief and gratitude tangled together until he couldn’t separate them.
“I’m going to London. With Michael.”
Gabriel’s face did something complicated. “Michael told me he would ask you.”
“Are you angry?”
“Angry?” Gabriel looked startled. “Why would I be angry?”
“Because I’m leaving. Because after everything you did to get me back, I’m just... going away again.”
Understanding dawned in Gabriel’s eyes. “Oh, Henri. No. I’m not angry. I’m relieved. The best thing you can do is get as far from Marc as possible. London is perfect. It’s safe, it’s away from here, and you’ll have Michael taking care of you.”
Something in Henri’s chest loosened slightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.” Gabriel’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll video call, we’ll text, and I’ll visit. But you need distance from this place, from these memories. You need space to become someone new.”
Henri nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Michael’s a good man,” Gabriel continued. “He walked into Marc’s trap knowing it might kill him, just for the chance to get you out. That’s not nothing, Henri. That’s love.”
“I don’t know if I know how to love someone properly,” Henri admitted, the confession tearing out of him. “Everything Marc taught me about love was twisted and wrong. What if I can’t untangle it? What if I hurt Michael because I don’t know how to be in a real relationship?”
Gabriel was quiet for a moment, considering. “You’ve spent twenty years learning what love isn’t. Maybe now you get to spend the next twenty learning what it is. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s okay not to have all the answers right away.”
Henri wiped his eyes with shaking hands. “When did you get so wise?”
“Older brothers are always wise.” Gabriel’s smile was full of cheek.
A smile tugged at the corner of Henri’s lips. “I'm not sure that's true… but thank you,” Henri finally said, the words feeling inadequate. “For paying—”
“Don’t.” Gabriel’s voice was firm. “We’re not talking about the money anymore. It’s done. You’re free. That’s all that matters.”
Henri nodded, accepting it even if he couldn’t quite believe it yet.
“I should let you rest,” Gabriel said, rising. “But Henri? I’m proud of you. For choosing Michael. For choosing to leave.”
“Thank you,” Henri whispered again.
Gabriel squeezed his shoulder once more and then left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Michael returned immediately, as if he’d been waiting just outside. “How are you doing?”
Henri didn’t know how to answer that. He felt scraped raw, emotions too close to the surface, everything too bright and too sharp. But underneath the overwhelm, there was something else. Something that felt almost like hope.
“Tired,” he said finally. “And scared. But... maybe okay?”
Michael smiled and settled back on the bed, pulling Henri close. “That’s a start.”
They lay in silence for a while, Henri listening to Michael’s heartbeat and trying to imagine a future where this was normal. Where he woke up every morning, safe and loved and free to choose what his day looked like.
“I need to tell you something,” Henri said eventually, his voice shaking.
Michael’s hand stilled in its soothing rhythm on Henri’s back. “Okay.”
Henri pushed himself up slightly so he could see Michael’s face.
“I don’t know if I know how to love someone properly,” Henri said, forcing the words out even though they felt like admitting failure.
“I don’t know if what I feel is real love or just..
. gratitude, or dependency, or something Marc programmed into me over twenty years.
I don’t know if I can be what you need, or if I’ll ever be whole enough to be someone’s partner instead of someone’s. .. property.”
Michael’s eyes were bright with emotion, but he didn’t interrupt. He just waited, patient and present.
“But I want to try.” Henri’s voice grew stronger, more certain. “I want to learn how to love you the way you deserve to be loved. I want to choose you, every day, not because I have to but because I want to. I want to be with you.”
He took a shaky breath, the words forming on his tongue feeling both foreign and right.
“I love you,” Henri whispered.
It was the first time he’d ever said those words by choice.
“I love you,” he said again, stronger now. “And I’m choosing to say that. Choosing you.”
Michael’s expression crumpled, tears spilling down his cheeks. He pulled Henri into his arms, holding him so tight Henri could barely breathe, and Henri realized Michael was shaking.
“I love you too,” Michael said, his voice wrecked with emotion. “God, Henri, I love you so much.”
They held each other in the morning sunlight, in Henri’s childhood bedroom that had witnessed both his innocence and his destruction.
The ghosts of who he used to be hovered in the corners, but for the first time in twenty years, Henri could imagine becoming someone new. Someone who belonged to himself.