Page 114 of A Mistake of Worth
Michael’s breath caught. “What?”
Marc’s voice turned silky, pleased, but underneath it ran something manic. Something barely contained. “You’ll wire themoney to an account I specify. Then you’ll come to Porte du Cœur personally to collect him. Alone. No Gabriel, no security, no backup. Just you.”
The hairs on Michael’s neck rose. “And?”
Marc’s laugh was soft, delighted, spiraling. “Oh, we’re just getting started. You’ll meet me at a location of my choosing. Henri will be there, but he won’t be—he won’t be pristine. I plan to spend our last evening together making sure he understands exactly what he’s leaving behind. Who he’ll always belong to.”
Michael’s vision went red. “If you hurt him—”
“I’ll hurt him regardless,” Marc cut in, voice matter-of-fact but with an edge of desperation creeping through. “The only question is how much. But here’s the beautiful part, Michael. He’ll thank me for it. He always does. Years of training won’t disappear because some posh businessman thinks he can play hero.”
Marc paused. The silence stretched too long, as if he was reassembling himself, piece by piece.
When he spoke again, the words tumbled out faster, less controlled. “You’ll watch me break him one final time. You’ll watch him beg for it, cry for it, submit so completely that you’ll wonder if you ever knew him at all. And then—only then—you can have what’s left.”
Michael’s hand shook with rage. His voice came out strangled. “You’re sick.”
“I’m thorough,” Marc corrected, but his voice cracked slightly on the second word. “But we’re not finished. Here’s my favorite part: Henri will choose to stay.”
“What?”
Marc’s voice carried satisfaction but also something unraveling, thread by thread. “I’ll give him the choice. Right in front of you. Stay with me, where he knows what’s expected, where he’s useful, where he belongs. Or go with you, a strangerwho’ll—who’ll grow tired of damaged goods within a year. What do you think he’ll choose, Michael?”
Michael’s chest tightened with the horrible certainty that Marc might be right.
“And when he chooses me,” Marc continued, words spilling faster now, tumbling over each other, “you’ll leave. Empty-handed. Ten million poorer. Having learned exactly how little your three weeks of playing house actually meant to him.”
Marc stopped. Breathing hard.
When he spoke again, his voice had steadied, but the control sounded forced. Brittle. “You’ll learn what I’ve always known. Henri needs what I give him. Structure. Purpose. Someone who knows how to use him properly. You think kindness will be enough? You think—”
He laughed, high and sharp. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
Michael’s voice came out raw. “You’re insane.”
“No,” Marc said, and the manic energy threaded through every word now, bright and terrible. “I’m realistic. I know Henri better than anyone ever will. Better than he knows himself. I made him. I own every response, every fear, every desperate need to please. You think those paltry weeks meant anything? You think—”
His breathing had gone ragged again. “You think you know him?”
The silence stretched.
“But let’s say he surprises us both.” Marc’s voice had dropped to something almost conversational, which somehow made it worse. “Let’s say he chooses you. You’ll get damaged goods, Michael. Beautiful, obedient, utterly ruined damaged goods. And every time you look at him, you’ll remember this conversation. You’ll remember that I offered to spare you this disappointment for the bargain price of just walking away.”
The silence stretched, weighted with cruelty and something breaking.
“Twenty-four hours to decide,” Marc said finally, voice fraying at the edges like old rope. “Then one week to deliver the money and yourself. If you don’t? Henri stays. And I will break him so thoroughly that even his dreams will belong to me. Every thought. Every breath. Mine.”
Michael’s breath hissed sharp between his teeth.
“Oh, and Michael?” Marc’s voice carried a smile. “David says hello. He’s very grateful for your call. Gave him such inspiration for tonight’s performance. Henri’s watching us, you see. Learning what enthusiasm looks like. I do hope you’re proud of the education you’re providing.”
The line went dead.
Michael sat frozen, the phone heavy in his hand, pulse hammering in his ears.
Regent’s Park lay calm outside the window, but the world inside had narrowed to a single point of rage and horror.
He couldn’t breathe properly. Each inhale felt like it caught on something sharp in his chest.
