e day had barely started, the fresh air from the outside sliding through the ajar windows, but something unreal floated around it, like a heavy atmosphere ready to break. She had not tr

u know. He was not

ized that Camille listened to her, but it was too late. The words were released. Camille got closer subtly, pretending indifference. Each gesture, each breathing seemed to be heavier

the other employees, a slight tremor in her voice made her unders

her calm voice but tinged with an insisten

features. She turned furtively, verifying that no one lis

ent. Before all that. He was someone m

g to avoid contact. She shook her head as if she realized that she had just said too much. Camille, however, could not st

ore direct tone, but without breaking t

, as if she herself could no longer contain the desire to reveal what was buried. She lowered her head, taki

n broken in a way that apparently never repaired. But something in the tone of the servant told her that it was not a

ded the servant, looking down. "He

story that she did not yet understand. One night. Something inexpressible seemed to hover around this simple

hout ever diving into it. Camille found herself alone, distraught, with this new information. But she now knew that her own role in this story could no longer be as simp

an unloved afternoon flooded the room, but it was the smell of an old fragrance, of a perfume that she did not know, which made her frown. She put forward, and on the tab

t seemed as fleeting as the thoughts of a man in the grip of his own demons. As she turned the pages, she distinguished a drawing that made her stop net. It was him. Bastien.

hing deeper, something that had marked his soul in a way that no word could

e knew it, she had to face it. She couldn't flee. Not now. Bastien had insisted. Camille had not had a choice. An unforeseen evening with longtime knowledge, people that Bastien knew too well, had forced him to take a role that she was not read

for error. Camille hosted her head, her stomach tied. This role, this mask they had to wear, would only accentuate the distance it already felt b

uests with the assurance of a wolf in familiar ground. Camille, on the other hand, was a foreigner in this world that she did not yet understand, but that she felt deeply anchored

ched. He presented it with the same cold indifference which he displayed when he talked about his business. A couple

master of concealment, and he seemed to have established an invisible border between him and the rest of the world, the one she struggled to cross, like a door

parent tranquility of the evening. A stealthy look exchanged between Bastien a

smile a little too forced to be

astien, still as impassive, just looked at her, silently inviting her to answer. Camille had a moment of panic, b

er how much she replied with a certain grace, the tension was palpable. There was

ged from his gesture, but the grip he exercised over her at every moment. The evening continued thus, full of forced smiles and insistent looks, but all that Camille could perceive, beyond the shadow of the words e

ced that Bastien, often calm and reserved, hardened with each sentence. A shine in her eyes, a coldness that was b

ds he pronounced escaped him. But Camille now knew that he was not only acting for them, but also to protect something even deeper.

, followed it like shadows. She wondered if this role of couple they played was not the only way for Bastien to protect herself, to kee

is facade, there was something else. A man who needed this facade, who needed this role they played to surv

n had led him to the exit, without a word, his gaze turned towards the horizon. She knew that that evening, their relationship

ed about her relationship with him seemed to be more complex, more restrictive. The evening with her knowledge had only been a prelude, a silent tes

o felt already vulnerable in this rigid universe, understood that she had become a play of the game he directed with relentless precision. What he expected from her went far beyond appearan

wn identity. Camille felt, every day a little more, the overwhelming responsibility for her behavior. His actions were no longer just hi

s protective, but behind this facade hid a silent expectation that she could not ignore. He made him understand, by his supported looks, his silences heavy with meaning, t

f reflection and confusion. Camille began to grasp the contours of a man marked by a past he refused to evoke. The m

s increasing pressure. It was not just the image she had to maintain, but a silent promise that she had to respect. Pr

as if each smile, each word, each movement was carefully weighed. He was not the man he seemed to be, and every moment spent by his side

movement could betray her. The fear of disappointing, of not being up to the task, of breaking this facade which it had built

tain: it was not a simple game of power. There was something deeper, more dangerous, in this relationship with Bastien. A link that was woven in t