Chapter 5 — The Walls Close In
1241 Words
Fleure
The morning begins with an unusual silence.
Not the chosen kind, the calming kind.
No. The kind that precedes a storm.
I arrived early at the office. Had two coffees, reread my notes for the investors' meeting on Thursday. All to give myself the illusion that I still have control over something.
But at 9:02 AM, my phone rings.
Unknown number.
I answer, wary.
"Mademoiselle Monet? This is Banco Castéra. We are calling regarding your professional line of credit. Immediate regularization is required."
I freeze.
"Excuse me? I have a payment plan validated with your department, we still have…"
"The payment plan has been suspended, ma'am. The internal evaluation has revealed an aggravated risk. You have forty-eight hours to make the payment. After which, the debt will go to litigation."
A silence. The world constricts around me.
"But… that wasn't the agreement."
"Conditions have changed. Thank you for your understanding."
Beep.
I'm still there. Phone in hand. Heart about to burst.
Forty-eight hours.
It's a joke. A bad joke. Or a trap.
And I know exactly whose name that trap smells of.
Valesco.
The timing is too perfect. The turn, too abrupt. He pulled a string, I'm sure.
And yet… no proof. Only a feeling, a burning intuition.
I grit my teeth.
I don't have the luxury of falling apart.
I get up, pace the office, quickly open my computer. Check my accounts, my recent income, the remaining funds.
The verdict comes down, chilling: insufficient.
I could sell a patent, but that would sabotage a year's work. Borrow from private investors? Too late. Too risky.
I must breathe. Think. Don't panic.
Ping.
A notification appears. A new email, no subject.
I open it, and my blood freezes.
An attachment. A detailed project. The kind of confidential market study not left to chance.
Origin: Valesco Corp.
I click.
My throat tightens. This file is exactly the type of mission I've always dreamed of leading. A European implementation project, complex, intelligent, visionary. Everything I've ever wanted.
Below, a note:
"Consider this a preview of what you could build. — A.V."
I slam the screen shut abruptly. My heart pounds against my ribcage.
I should be furious. I am furious. And yet, my brain is already working at full speed. I saw flaws in his model. Unexplored development axes. Ideas I could apply.
I clench my fist. He knows.
He knows I'm going to think about it, dive into the file despite myself.
And as if that weren't enough…
Ping.
A second email.
This time, a signed document. A contract revision.
A clause has been added: possibility of exit after six months, without any penalty.
My hand trembles.
He's offering me an out.
Or rather, he's pretending to offer it.
I turn to the window. The city stretches before my eyes, beautiful and indifferent.
And me, I'm here. Trapped between a wall of debt, a project that could make me shine… and a man I hate as much as he obsesses me.
I think of his eyes. His low, contained voice. The way he looked at me, as if he already knew I would waver.
No.
No, no, no.
I'm not a piece on his board.
But maybe I'm already in the game.
I reopen the first email. And despite myself, I start reading. Annotating. Thinking.
It's not a capitulation.
Not yet.
It's… analysis.
That's all.
I convince myself. I lie to myself. And I know it.
But the truth imposes itself:
I'm already playing.
And I only have six days left to decide if I want to survive…
… or bend to my own conditions.
---
"No, no, no… I already told you the pitch needs restructuring. Three slides too many, too much jargon, not enough concrete. Rework it and come back to me tomorrow."
I hang up without waiting for a response. It may be unfair, it may be harsh, but today I'm a volcano under pressure. A sleepless night. Forty-eight hours to save my company. A poisoned contract in my inbox. And a temptation I refuse to name.
I sink into my chair. The silence of the office is an illusion, pierced by bursts of anxiety.
He won't leave me alone.
Every email, every perfectly orchestrated little detail from Aaron Valesco is a play in which I am trapped.
I've started reading his dossier. I hate how brilliant it is.
I hate even more how much I want to respond.
The door knocks.
I straighten, surprised.
"Yes?"
Maëlys pokes her head in, frowning.
"You have a… guest."
"I didn't have an appointment."
"He says you'll understand. And… Fleure, it's Aaron Valesco."
The name echoes like a blade in the room.
I freeze. My fingers clench against the leather of the chair.
"Let him in."
She nods, disappears. A heartbeat. Two.
And he's there.
Dark suit. No wrinkles. Steel gaze. He occupies the space without raising his voice. Without even uttering a word.
"Excellent sense of timing," I murmur, icy.
He smiles, barely. That kind of smile that never reaches the eyes.
"I wanted to see how things were going."
"I assume you don't mean my work."
"Not this morning, no."
He moves forward slowly, sits down uninvited. Settles into the chair opposite mine, as if he were at home. As if he already possessed me.
I cross my arms.
"You went to all this trouble to play messenger of fate. Bank threats, brilliantly formulated offers, modified clauses, perfect timing… I must say, it's impressive. And terrifying."
"Nothing I do is left to chance, Fleure. That's why I succeed. And also why I chose you."
I clench my jaw. His calm drives me crazy.
"You chose me like you'd choose a racehorse."
"No. I chose you like you'd choose a weapon."
A silence.
His gaze settles on me like a judgment.
"You think I'm manipulable. That I'll end up giving in."
"I think you're intelligent. And intelligent people don't let pride ruin them."
He pulls out another dossier. Another one. Places it between us.
"This is a co-direction project. Not a facade. Not a flimsy contract. A real partnership. You would have control over the entire strategy."
I don't touch the dossier.
"You think I'm going to sign for a well-oiled power play?"
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Closer. More dangerous.
"I think you're already thinking about it. And that you started reading the first document. Page twelve, bottom right, you made a note. 'Add France North client data.' You think I wouldn't see it?"
I freeze. My heart skips a beat.
He read my version. He had access to my modifications. How? When? I don't know.
But one thing is clear: he already has the upper hand.
I jump to my feet.
"Get out."
He doesn't move.
"Fleure."
"I told you to get out."
My voice is firm, sharp. And yet, my breath trembles.
He rises slowly. Takes the dossier, but doesn't put it away. Places it on my desk like an offering.
"I'll give you a few more days."
He stops at the door.
"But know this: I never leave a piece off the board for too long."
I stand there, alone, heart beating too fast.
When the door closes, the air returns to me. Finally.
I collapse into the chair, fingers trembling.
I didn't give in.
But I didn't resist either.
I take the dossier. Open it.
And this time, I don't close it.
- Writer
