Page 3 of A Mistake of Worth
“Though speaking of family secrets, Gabriel—” He gestured toward where Ellis lurked behind his brother, grasping for some way to shift attention away from his own revelations. “Father knows he’s still here.”
Gabriel shifted to block Ellis completely. Henri laughed, sharp and frayed.
“Don’t bother hiding him now. You know how Father gets when he’s crossed. And he’s made it clear your... investment has overstayed his welcome.”
Ellis made a soft sound that cut straight through him. Gabriel’s fists clenched, fury alive on his face—real, protective, something Henri had never seen aimed at him.
Never at him.
“Ellis isn’t going anywhere,” Gabriel said with certainty.
The words hit with quiet finality. Simple. Absolute.
“Your funeral,” Henri said, hollow.
Henri turned and fled, composure shattering with each step. He stumbled through the warm, lived-in house, past scents that spoke of family, out into the humid evening.
Thirty-two minutes.
His hand shook as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Marc’s number glared from the favorites list—the number that had dictated his life for two decades. The number that demanded explanations, obedience, submission.
He was already late. Marc would be waiting.
And Henri had just made the first real choice of his adult life.
Now he would learn what freedom cost.
Chapter one
Henri
Afewweekslater…
Henri’s hand trembled as he pressed his palm to the biometric scanner outside Marc’s penthouse. The elaborate security system was less about keeping others out and more about monitoring every aspect of Henri’s existence within these walls. Each door would record his passage, every camera would track his movements, and Marc would review it all later.
The lock disengaged with a soft click.
He didn’t move right away. It wouldn’t matter if he did. Marc already knew he was here. The system logged everything, from arrival time to pulse rate.
Henri watched the status light shift from red to green, knowing it could just as easily go the other way. Biometric palm scanners secured every bedroom door in the penthouse, another layer of Marc’s control. The master suite was the worst. There had been nights when Marc had decided Henri needed “timeto think,” locking him in that room for hours or days, and no amount of palm-scanning would open any doors until Marc was satisfied.
Henri left his shoes in the proper cubby by the front door. Even though Marc had the penthouse cleaned weekly, the man disliked dirt and disorder. Every surface gleamed, every item precisely placed, from the crystal vases filled with fresh flowers to the carefully arranged art books on the coffee table.
The foyer opened onto the sprawling lower level of the two-story penthouse, marble floors stretching toward floor-to-ceiling windows. To the left, the open-plan living spaces flowed seamlessly from the formal sitting room to the dining room and a kitchen that would make even the most skilled chef weep. To the right, Marc’s study connected to the library through mahogany double doors. The gaming room, with its pool table and bar, lay beyond. A glass staircase curved up to the second floor, where the bedrooms waited.
“You’re back.”
Marc’s voice drifted from his study, deceptively gentle. The kind of gentleness that made Henri’s stomach clench.
Henri found Marc at his desk, backlit by the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the Second Cat’s glittering skyline. From the fifty-second floor of Le Ciel Tower, the city spread out in jewels and light. The penthouse’s private elevator and security entrance far below, nestled between the Michelin-starred Le Petit Jardin and an exclusive Chanel boutique, seemed a world away from this height.
Marc didn’t look up from his laptop. “Come here.”
Henri moved without conscious thought, muscle memory guiding him to place his suit jacket, shirt, and slacks in a careful pile near Marc’s desk. His fingers worked automatically, loosening buttons, sliding fabric from his shoulders. He didn’t remember starting. Only that he was already bare.
The part of him that thought, that chose, had stayed behind somewhere near the elevator doors. His body knew what was expected. Had known since high school at Chaminade.
He sank to his knees beside Marc’s chair. CFO of La Sauvegarde, kneeling naked before the President of Three Rivers Insurance. The absurdity of it might have made him laugh if he weren’t so terrified of Marc mistaking his amusement for mockery.
