Page 2 of A Mistake of Worth
“What are you even doing here, Henri?” Gabriel’s voice carried suspicion, and something else. That protective edge that had never once been directed at Henri.
Henri’s laugh tore out dry and brittle. “Father sent me. He wanted to ensure your little pet had come to his senses and finally left.” His gaze snapped back to Jean, dread building in his chest. “He also wanted me to check if Jean was here. Said it was ridiculous, but wanted to humor Olivier.”
He gestured toward Lucas and Jean. “Guess the old man’s instincts were right about Saint-Clair’s youngest son.”
“I ran away,” Jean said, chin lifted but voice shaking. “Please don’t tell them, Henri. Please.”
The wordpleasehit Henri hard. Henri had said it himself too many times, begged too many times, always to no avail.
“Why would you—” Henri’s gaze snapped to Gabriel, desperation making his voice sharp. “Did you take him? And now you’re letting your staff fuck him?”
“Lucas isn’t staff,” Gabriel’s voice carried a dangerous quiet. “And no one took anyone. As he just said, he left of his own accord.”
“Then why—”
“Because they’re cruel!” Jean’s shout made Henri flinch, the pain in it too familiar, too raw. “All of them. You, of all people, should know that, Henri!”
Ice flooded Henri’s veins. No. Jean couldn’t say things like that, not here, not in front of Gabriel, who would ask questions Henri couldn’t answer.
“Shut up!” Panic sharpened his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But Jean’s bitter laugh said he did. The boy had seen too much. Understood too much.
“Don’t I?” Jean’s voice shook. “I’ve seen the way Marc—”
“I said shut up!” Henri surged forward, but Lucas blocked his path. The truth slipped free, unguarded. “It’s not like I had a choice about Marc.”
Silence.
Gabriel’s eyes fixed on him, cutting straight through the mask. Henri felt stripped bare.
“What does that mean?” Gabriel asked.
He couldn’t breathe. “None of your fucking business.” His hands tore through his hair, wrecking the neat precision Marc demanded. Ten wasted minutes that morning, undone in seconds.
“No!” Jean pressed closer to Lucas, voice breaking. “Please, I can’t go back. You know how Marc is, Henri. You know what Father lets him do.”
Henri froze. He knew exactly what Jean meant.
“He needs to go back,” Henri said numbly. The words tasted like ash. He saw the hope fade from Jean’s face. “He has to go back.”
Jean’s fingers dug into Lucas’ shirt. “Henri, please...”
His shoulders sagged. Saving Jean meant punishment Marc would make unforgettable. But Jean’s fear mirrored his own atthat age—same wide eyes, same desperate plea. Someone should have helped him. No one had.
Sweat gathered at his temples. His pulse hammered in his throat, counting down the seconds left on Marc’s clock.
“Fuck.” The word broke from him, cracked and defeated. “Fine. I won’t tell them where you are.”
The decision hollowed him out. Marc would know.
Marc always knew.
But Jean was a young man. And Henri had been him once.
Don’t think about it. Don’t make it worse than it already is.
He forced himself back to the task still waiting. Thirty-five minutes. Maybe less.
