10. CHAPTER 9
Léonie
The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was the bright light. I couldn’t tell if it was from the blazing sun making its way through the slightly open blinds or the white paint on the walls.
Everything was too bright.
I shut my eyes again to ease the throbbing headache at the right side of my head.
I wasn’t sure where I was but the feel of the mattress told me I wasn’t at home or in my bed.
The trauma signs exuding from my body reminded me of how I’d lost. The understanding of it settling skin deep before my thoughts assembled themselves properly.
Everything ached as I attempted to move. My throat was sore from all the shouting and yelling. I attempted to form a word, but my voice came out hoarse, like someone else’s.
The room smelled like clean linen and sophisticated things. Same smell all Fernández family guest houses had: citrus and musk. The familiarity of it pricked at my consciousness.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time, blinking slowly, waiting for memory to return in a way that made sense. None came.
There were fragments: Yves trembling in the corner where they had dumped him, while I stretched my hands trying to reach him as the distance between us widened. My own voice ripping from my throat till I could barely recognize myself.
Then nothing. Everything went blank after that.
I tried to sit up slowly but it didn’t help the pain in my head. A wave of nausea hit me, but I pulled myself up and didn’t throw up. Instead I held on to the frame of the bed, and braced myself.
My gaze moved to my clothes. I was still in the same outfit from when I was taken.
Yves shirt and a pair of shorts.
I lifted the shirt to my nostrils and inhaled deeply. A hint of his scent still lived in it. Tears welled up in my eyes.
Yves.
I searched around for my phone. Under the pillow, the corner of the side table…of course, it was nowhere.
My stomach twisted from the thought of what my family would have done to Yves.
As I struggled to gather my thoughts together, the door opened with the soundless politeness of a place designed to look harmless.
A man in a dark suit walked in carrying a tray. He was huge, easily over six-foot-two, broad enough to make the doorway feel smaller. Dark blond hair. Pale blue eyes so light they almost disappeared in the sunlight.
His facial expression neutral. The posture men adopted when they were told they were there to serve, but also to prevent.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said, setting the tray down. “You should eat.”
His French was Parisian, but his tone had the clipped precision of a man trained for violence, not conversation, like most of my father’s men and the men my brother Debo kept around him.
My stomach twisted at the smell of the tray’s content—bread, fruit, tea, something warm, soup maybe, with steam rising off it. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to throw up or devour all of it.
“What time is it?” My voice came out rough, and lower than usual.
“Eleven forty,” he said in a deep husky voice.
So I’d slept, or fainted, or maybe someone sedated me. None of those options made me feel any better.
“Where am I?” I asked.
He hesitated just long enough to make the answer obvious.
“Safe,” he said.
I almost laughed.
Safe.
“With my family?” I pressed.
“Yes.”
That should have been a comfort… but it wasn’t.
I licked my cracked lips. “Is my brother here?”
He didn’t ask which one. “Yes. Your brothers will see you shortly.”
I nodded and looked at the tray. My hands were shaking, and the lack of composure frustrated me. I crushed the sheet in my grip until my pulse steadied.
“You’ll need your strength,” the man said. “They insisted you have something before they come in.”
“Which one insisted?” I inquired. “Debo? Blaise? Laurent?”
He didn’t answer that. Just bowed his head.
“I’ll let them know you’re awake,” he said, and left with the same disciplined calm he’d entered with.
The door closed, but the lock didn’t turn. I knew better than to assume it was open, or attempt something stupid like escaping. I was worried about Yves, but trying to escape my brothers would only make things worse.
So I stared at the food for a long moment, then forced myself to reach for the tea. It burned all the way down, and I welcomed it. But my stomach lurched a second later as the nausea returned. Probably from whatever they’d sedated me with.
I winced as the uneasy feeling spread through me again.
Closing my eyes, I remembered Blaise and Laurent from last night. A part of me—some stupid, tender part—had still hoped Debo would have come himself. Debo knew how to look at me without making me feel like a casualty.
My mind had been playing the scene on loop from the moment I agreed to meet Yves at Sacré-C?ur. I hadn’t imagined the specifics—we’d been stupid enough to hope we could outrun those—but I’d always known the consequences would come.
We ran. They found us. The only question had ever been how far we’d get, not whether they’d come.
Three days, as it turned out was generous enough by Fernández standards.
Somehow I’d unintentionally put aside the thought of what my brothers would do to Yves once they found us.
Why did I ever think they would spare us? A foolish thought indeed.
The door opened again before I could work up the courage to try the soup.
Laurent came in first.
Laurent looked like my father’s temper given a body—same height, same broad shoulders, same beautiful face sharpened by cruelty. His eyes were bloodshot, still in yesterday's clothes, collar open, jaw shadowed with stubble as if sleep had been a choice he'd refused to make.
Blaise followed behind him, calmer, but not softer. Blaise had the same face, the same bones, the same violence in his blood. He just kept it behind his easygoing demeanor. He hid it well.
Blaise looked straight at me. His eyes carried the same care he had whenever he found me hurt. The same look he had when I fell off my bike while learning to ride at eight years old. He’d picked me up from the ground and examined me for bruises, while Laurent looked bored through it all.
For a second, the tension that had been gripping my chest since I woke up loosened.
I could breathe a fraction knowing that Blaise at least looked relieved that I was alive and safe.
Laurent stood there, furious.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice vibrating with anger.
“Obvi—”
The word broke apart in my throat. I fought back a cough, wincing as pain flared all the way down my throat. When the spasm finally passed, I forced my shoulders back and swallowed down the residual burn as though it was nothing
“Obviously,” I croaked, meeting his stare head-on.
He took two fast steps toward me, standing too close, looking ready to grab me to make a point.
Blaise caught his arm.
“Don’t,” he warned in the strict tone he used to keep Laurent at bay.
Laurent snapped his head toward him unruly. “Don’t what? Don’t touch her? Don’t look at her? She ran with that—”
“Laurent,” Blaise growled. “Not right now.”
Laurent laughed once in disbelief.
“She made us a fucking joke,” he spat, turning back to me. “Do you understand that? Do you understand what you’ve done to our father?”
Laurent, always siding with our father, or pandering to our mother. It pisses me off.
I held his gaze.
“What I’ve done to our father,” I repeated slowly, “or rather what has our father done to me?”
Laurent’s nostrils flared. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted something to break.
Blaise stayed between us, not blocking Laurent from me, but keeping Laurent from himself.
“Enough,” Blaise said, then looked at me. “Are you hurt?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. I tried again but no words formed, because the truth was, everything hurt. My head, my body, my heart. Mostly my heart. I was hurting in ways no one else cared about.
“My throat hurts,” I said instead. “And my head is pounding.”
Blaise’s jaw flexed. “They shouldn’t have sedated you that hard.”
“They did,” I said. “So clearly someone decided I wouldn’t cooperate.”
Laurent’s mouth curled. “Would you have?”
I stared at him. “Would you have, if it were you?”
“You’re not me.
“Clearly not.”
Blaise exhaled as if he was trying to keep his own patience intact. He was always the intermediary between Laurent and me, especially when Laurent thought he could push me around.
“Léonie,” Blaise said, “listen to me. Father is furious. He’s terrified. The Kades—”
“The Kades,” I echoed. The words tasted like ash, the bitterness trailing down my already scraped throat.
Laurent stepped closer again. “Orion Kade will eat us alive… and you handed him the knife.”
I felt my stomach dip.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Blaise eyes moved to the door, checking for the guard. The movement told me whatever he was about to say required privacy.
“Father spoke to Orion,” he said. “This morning. Told him you've been found.”
My pulse jumped hard in my throat.
The room felt smaller. Of course he was informed of my disappearance.
“What did Orion say?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay even.
Laurent’s laugh was caustic. “What do you think he said? He said nothing. He acted like it was an inconvenience. As if you were a delayed shipment.”
Blaise shot Laurent a warning look, then returned his gaze to me.
“He was… calm,” Blaise admitted. “Scarily calm.”
I tried to swallow, but my sore throat protested.
“Did Father ask for help…I mean…when I disappeared?”
Blaise hesitated.
“Yes,” Blaise said faintly. “In his own way.”
“And Orion refused,” I said.
Blaise didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it either.
Laurent leaned forward, his eyes burning with something almost feverish.
“He didn’t refuse,” he spat. “He simply didn’t offer. There’s a difference. He wants us to bleed for the truce. He wants our family desperate.”
My skin prickled in fear.
Laurent was reckless and hot headed, but he wasn’t stupid. When Laurent saw something, it was usually because it was clear enough to cut through his rage.
I stared at my hands. They were trembling again.
“What happened to Yves?” I asked, my voice turning quieter.