⇚ 27 ⇛

❚ ❙ La Vie Et La Mort ❙ ❚

life and death

Pain was exhausting.

Not the sharp kind.

That part, I understood.

Bullets.
Broken ribs.
Knife wounds.
Bruises blooming purple beneath skin.

Those things were practical.

You stitched them.
Wrapped them.
Survived them.

No.

The exhausting pain came afterward.

The waiting.

The silence.

The way Victor looked at me now like the universe had nearly stolen something he could not survive losing.

That part hurt worst of all.

"You need to stop moving."

I blinked slowly from the hospital bed.

"I am literally sitting still."

"You're emotionally moving."

I stared at Victor flatly.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you got shot twelve hours ago and you're still glaring at people like you intend to fistfight death personally."

"That depends what mood I catch him in."

Victor looked exhausted enough to collapse.

Dark circles bruised beneath his eyes.
Shirt wrinkled.
Hands still stained faintly pink from my blood despite multiple attempts to wash it away.

He hadn't left.

Not once.

Rain slid quietly down the private clinic windows overlooking grey London streets while monitors beeped softly around me.

My shoulder burned beneath thick bandages.

Every breath pulled painfully through muscle.

Annoying.

Frederick stood near the doorway on his phone speaking rapid French in the low dangerous voice he used before ruining someone's life permanently.

Bernie lounged beside the coffee machine like an elegant vampire waiting for inheritance paperwork.

Adriana had disappeared before police arrived.

Naturally.

Victor rubbed both hands down his face slowly.

"You scared me."

Something in his voice made me look away immediately.

Weakness.

Dangerous weakness.

"I'm alive."

"That wasn't the agreement."

I frowned.

"What agreement?"

"The unspoken one where you stop getting shot."

Despite everything, a quiet laugh escaped me.

Victor exhaled shakily like hearing it repaired something inside him.

It didn't.

Nothing about Dock Eight felt repaired.

Jean-Claude escaped.
Valerie escaped.

And now-

everything felt wrong.

Not dangerous wrong.

Personal wrong.

Like someone had reached inside my chest and rearranged pieces of my life while I wasn't looking.

Frederick ended his call quietly.

For a moment, he simply stood there watching me.

Not speaking.

Not approaching.

And suddenly I noticed something unbearable.

He would not look directly at me anymore.

Not fully.

His gaze kept shifting away too quickly.

Like eye contact itself had become dangerous.

My stomach tightened painfully.

Victor noticed too.

Of course he did.

"You should sleep," Victor said softly.

"I hate hospitals."

"That wasn't a response."

"It was emotionally one."

Victor sighed.

Behind him, Frederick moved toward the bed slowly before holding something out carefully.

Stella's apple hair clip.

My breath caught instantly.

I reached for it with my good hand.

"...Where did you find this?"

"It fell from your pocket at the docks."

The tiny pink clip rested silently in my palm.

Small.
Childish.
Precious.

Stella.

The room became painfully quiet.

Then Frederick said softly:

"She would've been proud of you."

My throat tightened immediately.

Because suddenly-

for the first time in years-

I believed him.

And somehow that made grief hurt all over again.

⸻

Victor stayed beside me for three days.

Three entire days.

Which apparently involved:

* ignoring half his clients,
* sleeping badly in uncomfortable chairs,
* and arguing professionally with nurses about my discharge papers.

"You cannot leave yet," one nurse snapped.

Victor pointed toward me.

"She threatened to climb out the window."

"I heard that," I muttered.

"You were meant to."

The nurse looked spiritually exhausted.

"She needs rest."

Victor laughed once.

"Good luck convincing her."

Traitor.

Frederick remained at the clinic too.

Not inside my room constantly.

Just nearby.

Always nearby.

Security rotated quietly through the private hallway outside while Bernie handled logistics downstairs with terrifying efficiency.

No one entered the clinic unchecked anymore.

Not after Valerie.

Not after Dock Eight.

Not after Stella.

Especially not after Stella.

Nobody spoke about the photograph directly for nearly forty-eight hours.

Which somehow made it worse.

Because silence gave it room to breathe.

I kept seeing it every time I closed my eyes.

Stella standing beside the black car.

Older.

Alive.

But wrong.

Something about the image crawled beneath my skin.

It wasn't relief I felt looking at it.

It was dread.

Because Stella wasn't smiling.

Not really.

Her posture looked stiff.
Her face too thin.
Dark glasses hid half her expression.

And behind her-

two men stood near the vehicle.

Watching.

Not protecting.

Watching.

Like guards.

Like handlers.

Like prison with expensive tailoring.

Hope clawed viciously beneath my ribs anyway.

I hated it.

Hope was crueler than grief.

At least grief was honest.

On the fourth morning, I woke to quiet voices outside my room.

"...not safe here," Frederick muttered.

Victor answered immediately.

"She's safer here than in France."

"You don't understand what's coming."

"No," Victor replied coldly. "You don't understand what happens when someone spends their entire life treated like a weapon instead of a person."

Silence.

Then Frederick laughed once bitterly.

"You think those are different things in our world?"

Victor didn't answer immediately.

And that terrified me slightly.

Because Victor Hart was beginning to understand exactly how ugly survival could become.

I pushed the door open before the conversation worsened.

Both men looked at me instantly.

Victor softened immediately.

Frederick's expression closed just as quickly.

Again-

he looked away first.

My chest tightened painfully.

"You're supposed to be resting," Victor said.

"I'm bored."

"You got shot."

"And survived."

Frederick crossed his arms loosely.

"You always say that like it personally offends you."

"It's repetitive."

Victor rubbed his forehead.

"You two genuinely communicate through emotional violence."

"Yes," Frederick and I answered together.

Victor looked deeply unhappy about that.

Good.

⸻

The Noodle Barn looked different after violence touched it.

Not ruined.

Just aware.

Like all of us.

The broken windows upstairs had been replaced.
Blood cleaned from the staircase.
Tables repaired.

But people moved differently now.

Closer.
Quieter.
More careful.

Amy carried pepper spray clipped inside her coat.
Archie locked doors properly now.
Xavier checked the alleyway before every closing shift.

Even Allison noticed.

"Everybody's acting weird," she announced one evening while coloring at the bar.

Granny Kim patted her curls gently.

"Adults are silly."

True.

Very true.

I sat at the counter with my arm in a sling pretending not to watch Victor move around the pub.

He looked exhausted.

Again.

Always exhausted lately.

But different too.

Harder around the edges now.

Dock Eight changed him.

I saw it every time someone entered too quickly and his body instinctively tensed.

Every time his eyes checked exits automatically.

Every time he positioned himself between people and doors without consciously realizing it.

Victor caught me staring.

"You okay?"

"No."

"Helpful."

I watched him dry a glass quietly.

"You hit someone with a metal pipe."

Victor blinked once.

"Yes."

"You didn't hesitate the second time."

"That feels judgmental."

"I'm proud of you."

"That is significantly more concerning."

A smile threatened his mouth.

There it was again.

Warmth.

Dangerous warmth.

Before either of us could continue-

the pub doors opened.

And the entire room froze.

Valerie Beaumont stepped inside smiling softly.

No guards.
No visible weapons.
Elegant black coat dripping rainwater onto polished floors.

Beautiful devil.

Every instinct inside me sharpened instantly.

Victor moved subtly closer to me.

Protective.

Frederick stood from his table so violently his chair crashed backward.

"Valerie."

She looked at him calmly.

"Hello, husband."

Amy whispered:
"Oh this is toxic toxic."

Bernie sighed beside her.

"Unfortunately yes."

The pub became deathly silent.

Even Allison looked up from her crayons sensing tension she didn't understand.

Valerie's eyes drifted toward my sling.

Then she smiled wider.

"I do apologize for the shoulder."

Victor's jaw tightened immediately.

"You need to leave."

Valerie laughed softly.

"You must be Victor."

"I said leave."

"How protective," she mused. "I see the appeal."

I stood slowly despite the pain radiating through my shoulder.

"What do you want?"

Valerie finally looked serious.

"That depends."

"On what?"

Her eyes slid briefly toward Frederick.

Something poisonous moved behind them instantly.

Ah.

There it was.

Not jealousy.

Resentment sharpened into obsession.

"You know," Valerie said softly to Victor, "it's fascinating watching someone willingly walk into this family."

Victor's expression hardened.

"I'm not interested in your opinion."

"No?" Valerie tilted her head. "You still think Camille understands normal love?"

"Valerie," Frederick warned quietly.

She ignored him completely.

"I spent years trying to understand why no woman was ever enough for him," she continued lightly.

My stomach tightened instantly.

Victor went very still beside me.

Valerie smiled.

"Turns out the answer was sitting at family dinners the entire time."

"Enough," Frederick snapped.

His voice cracked slightly beneath the anger.

That silence afterward felt catastrophic.

I stared at Frederick.

Really stared.

And suddenly everything felt wrong.

Moments.
Looks.
Protectiveness.
Tension I never understood.

No.

No no no.

"He never touched me," I said coldly.

Valerie laughed bitterly.

"Oh darling, I know." Her eyes flicked toward Frederick cruelly. "That's what made it pathetic."

Frederick looked genuinely ill now.

Not angry.

Humiliated.

Victor shifted closer beside me instinctively.

Not possessive.

Grounding.

Valerie noticed immediately.

"See?" she murmured softly. "That's the difference. Your lawyer actually says the quiet parts out loud."

Victor's expression tightened.

"Stop talking about her like she's an object in some argument between you two."

Valerie's smile faltered briefly.

Interesting.

Victor continued calmly:

"Whatever happened in your marriage is not Camille's fault."

The room went silent again.

Because Victor-
sweet emotionally intelligent idiot-
was the only person here speaking like love wasn't ownership.

Valerie studied him carefully then.

And for the first time-

she looked genuinely angry at him too.

"You really love her," she said softly.

Victor didn't answer.

Didn't deny it either.

Dangerous man.

I stepped forward immediately before he could say anything worse.

"What do you want?"

Valerie looked back at me.

Then slowly reached inside her coat.

Frederick's gun appeared instantly aimed at her chest.

The room tensed violently.

Valerie rolled her eyes.

"Oh relax. If I wanted violence, we'd all already be bleeding."

She pulled out a cream envelope instead.

Old-fashioned.
Expensive.

Then placed it carefully onto the bar.

"For you."

I didn't move.

Victor reached it first.

He opened the envelope slowly.

Then froze.

Completely froze.

All color drained from his face.

And suddenly-

fear crawled through me.

Not hope.

Fear.

Victor looked up at me slowly.

"...Camille."

My heartbeat became deafening.

"What."

He didn't answer.

Couldn't.

Frederick crossed the room instantly and ripped the photograph from Victor's hand.

Then-

for the first time in my entire life-

I watched my brother completely shatter.

Not emotionally crack.

Shatter.

The photograph slipped slightly in his trembling hand.

I snatched it before it could fall.

And the world stopped.

Stella.

Older.
Alive.

Standing beside a black car somewhere unfamiliar.

But wrong.

Everything about the image felt wrong.

Too thin.
Too still.
Too empty around the eyes.

And behind her-

two armed men watched from near the vehicle.

Not bodyguards.

Handlers.

The timestamp read:
THREE MONTHS AGO.

My knees nearly gave out.

Victor caught my waist immediately.

"No," I whispered.

The pub exploded into noise around us.

Amy swearing repeatedly.
Archie yelling WHAT THE HELL like a broken emergency alarm.
Demi grabbing Allison protectively.

But Valerie remained calm.

Cold.
Victorious.
Cruel.

"You lied," Frederick snarled.

"No," Valerie replied softly. "Jean-Claude did."

"Where is she?"

Valerie's eyes shifted toward me.

"That's complicated."

I looked down at Stella's face again.

Hope clawed viciously through my chest.

Horrible.
Dangerous.
Alive.

"If this is fake," I whispered, voice shaking slightly, "I will kill every single person involved."

Valerie smiled faintly.

"There she is."

Frederick grabbed Valerie violently by the arm.

"WHERE IS MY SISTER?"

Victor moved instantly.

"Frederick-"

"Stay out of this!"

"No," Victor snapped back. "You do not get to lose your mind inside a building full of civilians!"

The room tightened instantly.

Frederick looked one second away from breaking Victor's jaw.

Victor didn't move.

Didn't retreat.

I stepped between them immediately.

"Stop."

Neither listened.

Typical men.

Valerie watched the chaos quietly.

Then softly said:

"She's alive because André made a deal before he died."

Everything stopped.

My blood turned cold.

"What deal?"

Valerie smiled slowly.

I moved before thinking.

My hand disappeared behind the bar.

Metal met my palm instantly.

Gasps erupted around the room too late.

I raised the gun directly toward Valerie's face.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Victor froze.

Frederick went pale instantly.

Not because I held a gun.

Because he knew I meant it.

Valerie didn't even flinch.

Interesting.

Amy whispered:
"Oh my God."

Bernie became very still near the doorway.

Dangerously still.

I stepped closer.

The barrel stayed perfectly level between Valerie's eyes.

"Tell me where she is."

My voice sounded wrong.

Too calm.

That terrifying kind of calm that arrived right before violence.

Victor looked at me carefully.

Not afraid.

Heartbroken.

"Camille," he said softly.

I ignored him completely.

Valerie studied me for a long moment.

Then smiled.

Not nervous.

Victorious.

"Or what?" she asked gently, tilting her head to the side.

My grip tightened instantly.

"Try me... and find out"

"I don't think so...You need me alive." Valerie's eyes glittered cruelly, walking even closer towards my gun with determination. "Or you'll never see Stella again."

The words hit harder than the bullet.

The entire room watched me break silently around them.

Because Valerie was right.

And we all knew it.

I hated her for seeing it.

"You're going to let me walk out of here," Valerie continued softly, "and then you're going to do exactly as I say."

Nobody moved.

Not Victor.
Not Frederick.
Not even Bernie.

I stood there holding the gun with chilling stillness even through my chest was thumping in my ears like something feral and starving.

"I'll see you around... Camille." She uttered before laughing and flicking her hair strutting out of the door.

I was going to kill her.