Chapter 4

When Colette stayed silent, Marcel assumed she was wavering.

Nobody ever said no to Marcel, and even fewer would refuse a check from the CEO of Maxwell Group.

In this world, everything had a price. If the stakes were high enough, anyone would fold.

Marcel leaned closer, closing the distance between them. The scent of fresh pine swept into Colette's personal space, carrying the confidence of someone always in control.

"So, what do you think of this offer?" Marcel's voice was low and magnetic, tinged with temptation. "Move into the Larsen residence. Be my wife. Help me fend off all the family matchmaking schemes. As for everything else..."

His gaze lingered on Colette's rosy lips, his eyes deepening. "I'll make it worth your while."

They were so close that they could see each other's lashes tremble.

Colette looked up and locked eyes with Marcel. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

But in those beautiful eyes, there was none of the greed or excitement Marcel had anticipated. Instead, they were sharp, with a mocking glint.

"300 thousand is a lot of money," Colette said, her smile fading as she raised her hand. The stick she had been using to eat her toast now pressed against Marcel's expensive suit, halting his advance. "But Mr. Larsen, maybe you're the one who's mistaken."

Marcel glanced down at the stick against his chest, his brow furrowing as a strange feeling crept over him. "What?"

"Sure, I love money," Colette said, tilting her head with a confident glint in her eyes. "But here's the thing. I only chase money that makes me happy. If it's going to make me miserable, I walk away. Contract marriage?"

She snorted and pressed the stick harder against Marcel's chest to make sure he felt it. "I'm only a street vendor living for my freedom.

"Why would I trade that for a spot in the Maxwell residence to stare at your annoyingly handsome face every day and deal with your whole crazy family? No way. That's not a good deal."

Marcel's face darkened. For the first time, he had been turned down in such a dismissive way. His sense of control took its first real hit, and he felt a frustration he had never known before.

"Say yes, and you'll have free rein in Linsiton," Marcel said, raising the stakes.

"I already do whatever I want," Colette shot back, pulling away the stick and leaning back in her seat. "If you don't believe me, ask that man with a car on his face. His legs are probably still shaking."

Marcel paused, stunned. 'Indeed, this woman isn't bluffing. She has a wild streak, and with that kind of courage, she can easily dominate the Food Truck Gatherings.'

"Besides," Colette said, turning to watch the city lights streak past the window, her voice calm and steady, "I'm not short of money."

Her bank account barely had three digits, and she was behind on rent, yet if she wanted, she could hustle her way back. Money was never truly a problem.

"I don't need your money," Colette said, turning to Marcel and enunciating each word. "What I'm really short on is morals."

Marcel was left speechless.

Up front, Laith suddenly began coughing violently, nearly losing control of the wheel.

"I'm a little nuts with a bad temper, and honestly, I can get violent. Who knows? Maybe one night, I can't stand you and take you out in your sleep," Colette said with a grin, revealing her perfect white teeth.

"Mr. Larsen, for your own safety, I'm vetoing this marriage," she added.

The car went dead silent.

Marcel stared at this stubborn woman, his chest heaving with rage so intensely that he actually laughed.

'Well, well,' he thought. He had thought she was someone with useful skills, but now she had his full attention. This was the kind of challenge that made a hunter's blood surge. The urge to conquer the untamable was irresistible.

'This wildcat has sharp claws,' Marcel thought. 'But I love nothing more than pulling out those claws and making the beast purr at my feet.'

"Colette," Marcel said, pulling back and reclaiming his commanding presence, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee. "You're jumping the gun. You really think you can leave now that you're in my car?"

With a soft click, the sound of the locks snapping shut filled the car.

Colette jolted and quickly straightened. "Where are we going?"

Outside, the city faded into quiet. Streetlights thinned, replaced by towering oaks and armed guards.

"My place," Marcel replied coolly, leaving no room for argument. "Not the Larsen residence. This is my own turf. Since you're not up for being Mrs. Larsen, you can start by being my bodyguard."

He turned, his gaze deep and unreadable. "A personal bodyguard has to stay close, really close. That means you're staying in my room tonight."

Colette's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's going to cost you extra."

"No problem. I'll pay up," Marcel replied instantly, his voice sharp, almost vindictive.

*****

The car gradually came to a halt in front of the massive black iron gates adorned with intricate designs. They slid open effortlessly.

Outside the villa, two neat rows of men dressed in black stood in formation. These were no ordinary bodyguards. Their posture, with the faint scent of blood in the air, revealed they were mercenaries.

Marcel opened the car door and stepped out, his long legs moving with an air of effortless confidence.

He lingered by the door, extending his hand with a smile that was both refined and dangerous, as if inviting her into the abyss. "Welcome, Ms. Bodyguard."

Just then, Colette's phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a message from that encrypted number. [Run.]

Her fingers tightened around the phone. 'Run? I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. If there's no way out, I'll face it head-on,' she thought.

She took a deep breath, swatted Marcel's hand aside, and hopped out of the car. With her chin raised, she walked purposefully toward the villa. "Lead the way."

Marcel looked at his hand, now red from her slap, and the smile in his eyes deepened, taking on a more sinister edge. 'Interesting,' he thought. 'Let's see how long this wildcat will keep showing her claws on my turf.'

"Close the gate," Marcel ordered, and the heavy iron gates behind them slowly slid shut, cutting them off from the outside world.

The villa's main hall was vast, large enough for a horse race. The crystal chandeliers hanging above were so dazzling that they almost hurt people's eyes.

Colette stood on the expensive handwoven carpet and glanced at her shoes, still stained with grease from the Food Truck Gatherings. Without hesitation, she wiped them off right there.

"So, this is the room you've given me as your bodyguard?" she said with a mocking smile, surveying the space. She clicked her tongue dismissively. "Honestly, it's nothing special. My own shabby place feels more alive than this."

Marcel shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it to Laith, unbuttoning his cuffs as he spoke with nonchalance. "You can crash in the guest room, or on the floor of my bedroom. But if you want the bed, I won't stop you."

"Hold up," Colette said, raising a hand to stop him. "Dream on, Mr. Larsen. Anything is possible in your dreams, so go get some sleep." With that, she spun around and headed for the door.

Marcel furrowed his brow. "Where are you going?"

"Home," Colette said without turning around. "I've got a whole family waiting for dinner. If I don't show up tonight, they'll probably riot and tear the roof down."

Marcel squinted, puzzled. 'A whole family? The intel said she is an orphan, living alone. Did I miss something? A secret kid? Or is it that mysterious guy she keeps texting?'

"Laith, get the car," Marcel said, grabbing his coat and following her. "Let's see what kind of legendary crew she's got waiting for her."