Captive of the Billionaire
s a second too
which runs along my skin as a silent alert. Not a
ing for my breath, looking for a logic to a
looks
ys no
re is a disorder tha
where it
kidnapper
ch my
re you
jaw contracts. I see the fi
axi
fter than I wo
ires s
n't want
tiny space where it is no longer this cold and controll
't go
to unde
ference that he persists in carrying. There is something behind his eyes
the trut
e his fingers tense slight
l not change an
as if he was fighting against somet
one mor
change e
away, as if he weighed the pros and cons. T
st the
rt tig
Ho
houlders lowering slightly under the in
ed. Becau
I hear in his voice. It's something darker, deepe
axi
enly, cutting me a
try to u
already
mething indefinable, a tension that o
. Detach me f
I ca
t
tself has stood out. A feeling of discomfort invades me, a feeling that something is wrong.
s where I
cr
Something more primary, more visceral, as a s
e of panic invades me, mixed with a strange need to understand. From an irratio
whisper that tears me away. I know he's not just dreaming. He is
ands trembling with hesitation. Should I enter? Should I help him, despite everything? Or would it mean
el the pain in his voice, a suffering that tightens my throa
nd on the d
om. This is what I should do. But basically, I know that I
ing. The room is plunged into darkness, but I see it. He is t
y which seems to be playing behind his closed eyelids. I dare not get closer.
He turns his head in my direction, his gaze crossing mine. A flash of
lnerable than ever, and that's what upsets me. I had never seen Maxime in
trembling voice, unable to
always irregular. He clears his fists on the sheets, as if it helped him stabilize, find his control
e, he said finally, th
m to be in his usual state. Not the maxim I know, this a
lost, as if he were looking for something in the dark th
an talk to me .
ghtening intensity. I see the war playing in him. He wants to push me away, he wants
d, the weak but firm voice.
right in front of him. He doesn
me. I saw it. And I can't leave
as if he was fighting so as not
t what you t
ns, pe
t's going on. Why do you have these n
urns at the bottom of his gaze. He turns away suddenly, as if he could
now, he repeats, dry.
I feel it. There is something he hides, a secret that is too
wing slightly from front to back. And yet, despite everything, somet
ards him, putting a tr
not alon
king for something in mine. The tension between us is almost unbearabl
that, Émilie, he whispers
st tightening
re to help him, but something he holds me back. Something
nothing, but I know that he is trying to escape from this
axi
ss of the house, leaving me alone with what remains