《The Wife I Betrayed Twice》

Chapter 3: The Hunt

It was getting dark, he was gone, and I was back in the attic, the numbers from that phone call still buzzing in my head.

40,000 euros. We have to have it by next week.

Thinking of this, I threw myself into the creaky old chair, opened the shrunken purse, emptied out all the bills and coins, and spread them on the lacquered wooden table. 0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,. The ones in the mezzanine, which I'm saving for next month's rent and Anthoine's basic medication, are off-limits. Otherwise we won't even have a place to stay next month.

Despair, like the tide, surges up in waves, covering my mouth and nose, leaving me breathless. I am very distressed, where to get 40,000 euros? To rob a bank? This is the unthinkable.

The blue-eyed Man's face popped into my mind again, unseemly. He looks so rich, 40,000 euros to him is probably like a few coins I dropped out of my pocket? I felt a sharp pang of shame at the thought. Celeste, what are you thinking? Looking to a stranger to save you. And in a way that... ... In a disturbing way.

I shook my head and forced myself to calm down. Something has to be done. I pulled out my address book and looked at zero names. Charles Édouard Guillaume? He's a good man and a friend, but he's just starting his gallery and money is tight, so I can't talk about it. Other students, friends? We are all just struggling to survive in society, who can afford such a large sum of money?

All That's left is. . . borrowing. Usury.

The mere thought of the word gave me a shiver. I know what that means. It's a hell of a lot worse than disease. But Anthoine couldn't wait.

Just as I was about to grab my phone to search for those dark ads, I heard a knock at the door.

Very restrained, very polite three knocks.

Not the landlady. The landlady knocks on the door like a drum. It's not Charles Édouard Guillaume. He'll knock and call my name.

My heart lifted. Who Was It?

I went to the door and looked out through the cat's eye. There are two men standing outside the door. The first, a serious-looking man in a crisp black suit, was the same assistant who had followed the blue-eyed man the day before. A little behind him stood a man, also in a suit and carrying a briefcase, who looked more like a civilian.

They found this place? !

Panic seized me in an instant. What did they want?

"Miss Martin," said the assistant outside, her voice steady and emotionless through the thin panel of the door, "We have been asked by Mr. Lucas de Noaille to speak with you. Please open the door."

Lucas de Noaye. That's his name. It sounds like it belongs to a family I can only read about in the financial pages of newspapers or history books.

I put my back against the door. Open or closed? It is a difficult choice

No. Would they have forced their way in? Open, what's Waiting for me?

"Miss Martin, we mean no harm," the assistant's voice said again, as if she could see through my fear, "Mr. Noaye just wants to make a deal with you. A deal that might solve your predicament."

A deal? A solution?

These words, like a spell, pierced through my fear. They knew! They know about Anthoine. They know I need money!

My Head tells me it's dangerous, playing chicken with a tiger. But the reality is, I'm desperate. Which is scarier, the usury or the mysterious"Transaction" outside the door? I don't know.

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door with a trembling hand.

The assistant outside the door saw me and bowed slightly, with an impeccable manner, but without any warmth in his eyes. "Excuse me, Miss Martin, I'm Vincent, Mr. Noaye's assistant, and this is Mr. . Dupont, the company's general counsel."

The lawyer, dupont, nodded at me, a professional smile on his face.

My Attic is too small, too humble, they two men in suits standing here, it is particularly abrupt and crowded. I stood there awkwardly, not knowing where to put my hands and feet.

"Sit down," I said dryly, pointing to the only chair and bed in the room.

Vincent didn't sit down. He just glanced at my tiny, run-down apartment and looked at the frames and half-finished pieces stacked in the corner, then, without further ado, "Miss Martin, let's cut to the chase. Mr. Noyer is very interested in you."

My heart tightened. "Interested? What do you mean?"

"He'd like to invite you to live with him as his partner for a while," Vincent said in a voice as calm as if discussing today's weather.

I was so stunned that I almost thought I had misheard. "Companion... Companion? What do you mean, girlfriend?"

"You could say that, but it's more of a time-bound, contractual relationship," Vincent said, taking a thick brown paper folder from dupont and opening it, inside was a beautifully bound document. "For a year. During that time, Mr. Noaye will take care of all your living expenses and provide you with excellent material conditions. In the meantime," he paused, my eyes cut into my most vulnerable place like a scalpel, "He will bear the full medical expenses of your brother, Mr. Antoine Martin, including the upcoming surgery and any subsequent necessary treatment and rehabilitation until he is fully recovered."

Until he's fully recovered.

The words exploded in my ears like thunder. Bear the full cost of. Until he's fully recovered... ...

Huge temptation like siren song, instantly swept me. This is not just about solving the $40,000 problem, it is about giving Anthoine a certain, bright future! Is the guarantee that I try my best to give him!

"Why. . . why me?" My voice was shaking, i could barely stand up because of the shock and confusion. "Mr. Noaye... why would someone like him want me? He should want someone better than me."

Vincent's expression did not change: "Mr Noaye has his reasons. All you need to know is that this is a deal. You give time, and Mr. Noaye gives money and resources. You can get what you need for each other."

I looked at the contract. On the white cover, there are no headlines, just the complex brand of the Noaye family coat of arms, with a cold sense of luxury.

"It lays down your rights and obligations, and the terms Mr. Noaye promised," Mr. . Dupont began, in a soft, legally distant voice, "You can read it carefully. If you have any questions, I can answer them for you."

Vincent placed the contract on my rickety little table and gave a soft"Rap".

"You have twenty-four more hours, Miss Martin," said Vincent, looking at me sharply

Instead of asking"Would you like to", he said"To hear from you". As if my assent had already been in his calculations.

With that, he bowed again, took Mr. Dupont with him, and turned to leave. The sound of footsteps faded away in the empty corridor.

I stood there like I was nailed to the floor. The door was still open, and the dim light of the corridor came in and drew out my long, lonely shadow on the floor.

On the table, the contract lay like a sleeping animal, like a key that could open the cage, but could also push me deeper into hell.

Lucas de Noaye.

I chewed the name over and over. He was like a hunter hiding in the mist, pinpointing my weakness and casting the bait I couldn't resist.

To give his time? to be his"Partner"?

I know it can't be that simple. There was no desire or adoration in his ice-blue eyes, just a heavy obsession that I couldn't understand.

I closed the door and slid down on my back against the plank, clasped my knees and buried my face in it.

On the one hand is the living life of his brother, on the other is the unknown and dangerous contract.

What should I do?

---