When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

Bruises and Promises

Myra

"You need more proof of the stupidity you're doing?" Charles's voice cracked like a whip as he barged into the mansion. He hadn't even bothered to announce his arrival. And today he didn't even move the conversation privately to the study. No—he wanted an audience. A surprise visit, and the living room turned into a warzone—Marcus by the fireplace, William slouched with arms folded, even Dan was sitting stiffly in the corner. I never see him getting involved in their politics. Hell, I never saw him talking to Charles except the regular greetings and nods.

Seeing Charles pulled me back to that awful day I try not to think about. I forced the memories down. He was Marcus's uncle, after all. His candidacy was at stake. I had no right to insert myself into Clayton family matters.

I stepped into the living room with a tray. "Good evening, Mr. Clayton. Hope you had a good travel," I greeted politely, setting their drinks on the table.

"Red, leave." Marcus's voice was sharp.

I nodded, lowering my eyes, but before I could turn—

"Stay, girl. Stay here." Charles's tone was deliberate.

I froze, glancing at Marcus. His gaze warned me: move. So I did.

"She should stay." Charles's hand landed on my shoulder. I winced—the pressure brushed against the bruise Marcus had left days ago. His eyes flicked there too. Marcus noticed. His hand shot out, pulling me into his side possessively. Charles's lips curved into a smirk.

"I told you not to come back here," Marcus spat.

"I don't care to return to a place where I was disrespected," Charles shot back. "But I couldn't stay away when I see you barreling headfirst into disaster. No matter how arrogant you are, Marcus, I raised you. And I won't sit idle while you destroy your future over—" his gaze slid to me, dismissive "—this."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth."

"Don't growl at me like a feral dog. You're the unanimously chosen Mayor. A Clayton. You don't need an election—that was your father's legacy. But because of your stubbornness, because of your attachment, you're losing it all. A second-rate senator managed to sway the council into demanding an election instead of letting you take the oath. And why? Because you're young. Too young, they say. Not stable. Not ready." His lip curled. "Yet somehow, that same man is perfectly fine giving his daughter to you. Do you not see the irony? And I don't see your problem with it. This—this is politics. This is survival. Men make such agreements all the time—for business, for power, for legacy. You marry his daughter, you silence every whisper against you. You secure Riverbridge. Big deal. Grow up."

"I'd rather burn Riverbridge to the ground than barter myself," Marcus snapped, eyes blazing. "I don't need anyone's daughter to validate my name. I don't need your lessons either, Charles. I am not my father's shadow—I'll win this town on my own terms."

"On your own terms?" Charles scoffed. "Boy, you're gambling with a kingdom your father bled for. You think this town respects you? They don't. They respect your name. They might fear you. Fear doesn't win ballots."

William cleared his throat, trying to defuse. "Charles, maybe there's a middle ground here—"

"Don't," Marcus cut him off sharply. "Don't you dare take his side."

"I'm not," William said, voice low but steady. "I'm saying, think. You've already got the whole town split. You can't just—"

Dan leaned back, arms crossed, his voice cutting in coolly. "This is all smoke and mirrors anyway. Power traded like cattle, marriages arranged like property sales. Same game, different decade." His tone was laced with disgust. "If Marcus doesn't want to play, maybe it's about time someone didn't."