Page 32 of A Mistake of Worth
The oversized sectional dominated the space—all cream leather and overstuffed cushions. Michael settled into the corner and pulled Henri down beside him, then guided him to lean back against his chest.
Henri melted into the position with a contented sound. “This couch is ridiculous. Like being hugged by a cloud.”
Michael wrapped his arms around Henri’s waist, feeling the tension in his shoulders gradually ease. They sat like that for several minutes, Henri’s breathing growing deeper as he relaxed fully for what might have been the first time since arriving in London.
“We should talk about last night,” Michael said eventually, his voice low against Henri’s ear. “About Marc.”
Henri’s body went rigid immediately. “My phone—I left it upstairs—”
“Stay.” Michael’s arms tightened gently, keeping him in place. “What time is it in Porte du Coeur right now?”
Henri’s breathing had quickened, but he answered. “Just after three in the morning.”
“Is Marc usually awake at three AM?”
“No.” Henri’s voice was small. “He doesn’t get up until five on weekdays. Seven on weekends.”
“Then we have time.” Michael pressed his lips to Henri’s temple. “Help me understand what happened last night.”
Henri was quiet for so long that Michael wondered if he would refuse to answer. His fingers traced anxious patterns on Michael’s forearm, and Michael could feel the rapid beat of his heart against his chest.
“Take your time,” Michael murmured, pressing another gentle kiss to Henri’s temple.
Henri’s breathing gradually slowed. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “I’ve been his since I was seven.”
Michael’s hand stilled on Henri’s arm. “His?”
“It’s...” Henri’s fingers twisted in the fabric of his borrowed shirt. “Not many people know the whole story. Gabriel does now. Marc, obviously. Jean knows pieces.” He swallowed hard. “But no one knows everything.”
“I’m listening,” Michael said softly.
Henri leaned deeper into Michael’s chest, as if drawing strength from the contact. “La Sauvegarde almost went under when I was seven. The market crash hit us hard, and we would have lost everything.” His voice grew distant, remembering. “Father was desperate. Olivier Saint-Clair offered to save us with an exclusive insurance contract worth millions.”
Michael kept his breathing steady, though he could already sense where this was heading.
“But there were conditions.” Henri’s voice cracked slightly. “Marc was... troubled. He’d been hurting animals since he was small. Birds, cats. Whatever he could catch.” Henri shuddered. “His father was terrified because Marc had started experimenting on his younger brothers.”
Michael’s jaw clenched, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “Experimenting?”
“Torturing them,” Henri said quietly. “Especially Alexandre. They’re Irish twins, only eleven months apart. Marc would lock him in closets, tie him up with jump ropes or belts and leave him for hours. Once he nearly drowned him in the pool. Held him under until he passed out.” His voice grew even softer. “And Philippe... Philippe is blind in one eye because of what Marc did.”
“That’s horrible,” Michael breathed.
“It was,” Henri agreed. “Olivier was desperate to give Marc someone else to focus on. Someone his own age who could...” Henri’s words came out in a rush now, thick with shame. “Someone who could help him learn to act normal in social situations. Teach him control.”
The silence stretched between them. Michael could feel Henri trembling slightly against his chest.
“So Father gave him me,” Henri whispered finally.
Michael’s arms tightened instinctively around Henri, horror washing through him in cold waves. “Your father knew,” he said, voice rough with barely contained fury. “He knew what Marc had done to his own brothers, knew he was torturing then, and he still gave you to him.”
A beat of silence. Then Michael’s voice dropped lower, carefully controlled. “Did Marc... did he do those things to you too?”
Henri exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
“How?” Michael’s arms tightened fractionally. “What did he do?”
“I’m not going to answer that.” Henri’s voice was firm despite the tremor in it. “I understand you’re angry on my behalf, but it’s well over and done with. No need for both of us to have nightmares.” He tried for humor and failed, the words falling flat.
