Real.Doc - Part 2 - Joe (English Version)

Familiar Faces, New Secrets

The weekend air buzzed with anticipation. Another one of Shannon's extravagant parties was being whispered about for days. It was the kind of event that made you feel like the world outside ceased to exist for just one night. And this time, Françoise insisted on accompanying us, dressed in his usual opulent style. There was no denying it—he was a sight to behold. From the moment we stepped through the gates, eyes turned our way, but mostly toward him. His presence was magnetic, effortlessly drawing attention wherever he went.

I shouldn't have been surprised by the spectacle. After all, Shannon had practically become a mirror image of Veronica. The thought irritated me more than it should have. Parties used to have meaning; now they were all just shallow reflections of each other. And what's worse, he was there. Les. The sight of him at the center of it all—exactly like at Veronica's parties—stirred something dark inside me. I could feel my jaw clench as I stared, locked in place. How dare he show his face here, like nothing ever happened?

Before I could gather my thoughts, I saw him moving toward me, that usual confident stride, as if he owned the very ground he walked on. He was about to greet me, lips already forming the words I'd heard a thousand times before. But then his eyes flicked past me and settled on Françoise. The smile that had started to form on his lips froze, shifting into something harder, something less welcoming.

"Fran-ço-ise," Les muttered, his voice taking on a subtle edge.

Françoise didn't miss a beat, responding smoothly, "C'est moi."

What began as simple words quickly turned into a full-blown conversation—no, argument—in rapid-fire French. They spoke in a way that surprised me, like equals matching wits. The air between them bristled with tension. I couldn't understand most of it, but the intensity in their eyes said enough. Something shifted when Françoise's posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing as if he had just heard something that pushed him over the edge. His next words, however, came out in perfect English, sharp and cutting.

"Did you touch my boy?"

The question hung in the air, and before I could process what was happening, Françoise turned to Jase. His voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous. "Did he lay his ugly fingers on you?"

Jase's head dropped, and I could feel the weight of the moment crashing down. He was trying to avoid the confrontation, but there was no escaping it now.

Les opened his mouth to speak, probably to deflect or dismiss what had just been implied, but Françoise was having none of it. With a single, commanding gesture, he silenced him, cutting off whatever excuse he had prepared.

"Love?" Françoise asked softly, his tone suddenly full of concern, like he was afraid of the answer.

Jase hesitated for only a moment, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally responded. "He did."

The tension in Françoise's shoulders shifted from concern to cold fury. His eyes darkened as they bore into Les, who muttered something in French under his breath. But Françoise wasn't finished. He stepped in closer, too close for comfort, speaking so low that only Les could hear.

"You'll be hearing from me."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Les standing there, frozen. Jase and I followed without hesitation, not daring to look back. We were halfway across the garden when Françoise, now a few paces ahead, stopped abruptly. He turned back toward us, his expression softening into something more familiar.

"What did he do?" His question was direct, but Jase only shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. I'm here now," he replied, his voice shaky but firm.

Françoise wasn't satisfied with that. His sharp gaze fell on me next, searching for answers. "I want to know. And you know too."

I nodded, words escaping me. He was right—I knew. There were things about Jase and Les that I had been forced to learn, things I wished I could forget.

"Mr. Innis kind of secret?" Françoise asked, his voice lower, laced with understanding.

"Yes," we both replied in unison, the weight of that single word hanging between us.

Françoise's demeanor shifted again, this time to something protective, almost paternal. "I see. Don't worry, my loves. Uncle Franz's got you."

He offered a reassuring smile, though the fire in his eyes hadn't completely gone out. For a moment, it was as if the whole world had righted itself again, with Françoise at the helm, ready to shield us from whatever storm was coming.

He turned, distracted by the sight of appetizers being passed around on trays. While he occupied himself with selecting the most delicate of hors d'oeuvres, I leaned toward Jase.

"And you were sad because nobody loved you," I whispered with a smirk.

Jase let out a small, nervous laugh, but it was clear the night's events were still pressing on his mind. As we stood there, side by side, watching Françoise command the room, I couldn't help but feel a small sense of relief. Whatever battle was brewing, we weren't facing it alone.