When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

When he brings a smile

Myra

The hallway was still buzzing in the aftermath of his kiss, but quieter now—quieter in that tense, heavy way when people don't know whether to laugh or whisper.

Jess looked as though someone had slapped her, frozen in place, her lips parted with no words coming.

Ash's face was pale, caught between disbelief and hurt. She didn't lash out again—her mouth opened like she wanted to, but no words came. Instead, her eyes flicked from Marcus to me, as if silently asking why didn't you tell me?

Dan stood a few feet away, phone still in his hand, shoulders rigid. His brows drew tight, and for a heartbeat his expression was unreadable. But when our eyes locked, the weight in his gaze made my stomach twist. It wasn't anger. It wasn't even judgment. It was a silent question, edged with something almost softer—like a flicker of relief that, at least, Marcus had claimed me openly instead of letting me be torn apart..

And me? My heart hammered so violently I thought I might collapse right there

So I walked away from the swarm of stares practically running.

"Marcus" I called him walking down a silent hallway towards gym.

He halted hearing me. And I walked to him . Every step I took I felt more overwhelmed. Why I called him? What I needed to say? Am I feeling happy that he did this? Or embarrassed?

My voice barely a whisper. "Marcus, everyone saw—"

"That was the point," he cut me off, his tone quiet but sharp as a blade. His eyes flicked over me, searching, probing. "You wanted to claim me in front of Jessica? Fine. I let you. But now everyone knows you're mine. And I don't care what they think."

The weight of his words pressed on me, too heavy, too final. My throat felt dry. "Marcus, I didn't want—"

"You wanted exactly this." His fingers brushed along my jaw, deceptively tender, but his eyes were dark. "And now you'll live with it. Every look. Every whisper. Every second they stare at you—they'll see me. They'll know who owns you."

My chest tightened. The air felt too thin. "Please, Marcus... don't—" He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "No more pulling away from me in public. No more hiding. When I want your hand, you give it. When I want your smile, you show it. Do you understand, Red?"

His grip tightened just enough to make me gasp.

"Y-yes..." The word slipped out, trembling, because what else could I say?

"That's my girl." His smirk curved slowly, satisfied. Then he released me, his touch lingering like a brand. "Now fix your face. Don't let them see you scared. If anyone makes a sound about you, I'll shut them up myself."

And with that, he walked away—casual, unhurried, leaving me pressed against the stair wall, breathless, my skin burning with the mark of his command.

When I finally gathered the courage to glance back toward the hallway, I saw Ash still standing by my locker, arms folded tight across her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line. Dan had stepped closer to her, murmuring something I couldn't catch. They weren't looking at me with judgment. But they weren't looking away either.

Her eyes said everything she didn't voice—I saw, I don't understand, and I am waiting for you to tell me the truth.

The hallway's noise trickled back, laughter and whispers like sharp needles pricking at me. Only now, I knew none of it mattered. Because the only eyes that truly mattered—the only cage I was trapped in—belonged to him.