Chapter 289: Games

MARGAUX

Something flickered across his face, quick and dismissive.

“Forget about her for now,” he said. “You need rest. You’ve been through so much.”

“She’s your sister,” I said. “Is she not exempt from your games, Chris?”

His expression hardened.

“She stood in my way.” He stepped toward me as he said it.

The movement was slow enough that I had time to see it coming, but I still found myself moving back. My shoulders pressed closer to the wall before I could stop myself, my body reacting before my pride could catch up.

Chris noticed. Of course he did.

But he kept coming until there was barely any space between us, his eyes fixed on mine. I tried to hold his stare, tried to keep my face from betraying me, but the fear had already surfaced. I could feel it in the tightness of my chest, in the way my fingers curled instinctively at my sides.

“She stood in my way,” he repeated, quieter this time.

The casualness of it, the way he said it like he was describing an inconvenient piece of furniture rather than his own blood, settled something cold and certain in my chest.

And the worst part was that he had seen me afraid.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Your own friend got in the way of your salvation.” His gaze never left mine as he continued. “I had to do it. I had her arrested. But she will be fine.”

There was no hesitation in his voice. No regret. If anything, there was something almost reverent in the way he said it, as though he genuinely believed what he’d done had been an act of devotion rather than betrayal.

“That is how deep my devotion to you is.”

I refused to bend.

“Do you honestly believe,” I said, my voice dropping into something quieter and far more dangerous than the shouting I’d started with, “that after all of this, I’m going to love you now?”

His expression brightened, hope flaring so fast and so genuine that it turned my stomach.

“Because I would rather die, Chris.” I let that land fully before continuing. “I would rather set myself on fire than spend one more second pretending your obsession is anything close to what you claim it is. I am here to clean up the mess you made. That is the only reason I came back. That is the only reason I’m standing in front of you right now.”

The hope drained out of his face all at once, replaced by something wounded and disbelieving.

“But I saved you,” he said, his voice climbing, cracking slightly at the edges. “I risked everything. My standing with my father. My place in this pack. I told the truth about that rogue, about what he’s done to you, and I did it knowing it could cost me everything. Why are you being like this?”

“Because it isn’t the truth,” I said. “It’s your fantasy dressed up as heroism. Étienne never held me against my will. You know that. I chose him. I love him. And instead of accepting that, you decided to burn down an entire alliance and drag two packs into war because you can’t stomach the fact that I never wanted you back.”

“That’s not—” he started.

“It is exactly that,” I cut in. “And you had your own sister arrested for saying the same thing I’m telling you right now. Your own blood, and you had her locked away because she dared to defend the truth over your delusion.”

His jaw tightened, something ugly flickering behind his eyes before he smoothed it back into wounded sincerity.

“She was compromised,” he said. “She wasn’t thinking clearly. None of you are, apparently, thanks to whatever that rogue has done to your heads.”

“He hasn’t done anything to my head,” I said. “The only person twisting reality to fit a narrative he can live with is standing right in front of me.”

Chris stared at me for a long moment, something working behind his expression, recalculating, searching for an angle that might still land.

“You’re grieving, Margaux.” His voice dropped, gentler now, as if softness might do what insistence hadn’t. “I know what your mother did. I know it doesn’t undo what she was to you.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Truly. Grief makes people say things they don’t mean — things they’ll take back once the shock wears off.”

“I mean every word,” I said. “And my grief has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me,” he said, something desperate bleeding into his voice now. “I’m trying to build you a future free of that man’s manipulation. A life where you’re safe, where you’re valued the way you should have always been valued. Can you not see that? Can you truly not see what I’m offering you?”

“What you’re offering me,” I said, “is a war that’s going to get hundreds of people killed, based entirely on a lie you invented because you couldn’t handle rejection. That’s what you’re offering me, Chris. Bodies. Grief multiplied a hundred times over, so you can pretend you’re the hero of a story where I never actually cast you in that role.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I fucking do.”

He shook his head slowly, like he could physically dislodge the words if he refused them hard enough.

“I need to see my father,” I said, pulling my hand free from his grip with a firmness that left no room for negotiation.

He didn’t move at first. When he finally spoke, the softness was gone, and what replaced it made the hair on my arms rise.

“You’ll thank me,” he said quietly, “when this is over.” His hand found my wrist again, tighter this time, thumb pressing hard enough to bruise. “Everyone comes around eventually. Even you.” He smiled, and it didn’t touch anything above his mouth. “Especially you. You will see me and how far I am willing to go for you. There is no line I would not cross for you.”