When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

Chained Grace

Myra

The house was a bit tensed with Charles visit. He came on the day of the graduation. We were at the dinner table, quite. I had Lillie slept early to avoid her getting exposed to this not so friendly dinner. I moved through the kitchen, trying to keep my movements calm, controlled. Plates clinked under my hands as I carried them to the dining room, the smell of roasted meat and warm bread hanging heavy in the air.

Marcus was already seated, his posture perfect, eyes sweeping the room like he owned it. Dan sat beside him, casual but alert, while Charles sitting across Marcus surveying us with that piercing gaze that always made the air feel tighter.

"Refill the drinks as well girl" Charles ordered and I nodded. I turned to move towards the fridge 

"Sit," Marcus said, voice low but sharp. My eyes waivered between them. I looked at Dan not understanding the power struggle. He shrugged slightly not giving me any hint. I slid into my seat next to Marcus, careful to keep my hands folded neatly on my lap. His arm brushed mine as I settled in—a subtle claim, as usual.

"Mrs. Irene" Marcus called and she appeared from the kitchen. "Please help us with drinks, can you?" he asked politely looking at Charles "Sure Sir. Mr. Clayton here you go" she started refiling everyone's glasses starting from Charles. "Thank you Mrs. Irene" Marcus said polietly to her to which she nodded with her ever present sweet smile.

The meal began in tense silence. Forks scraped against plates; wine glasses clinked occasionally. Charles finally set down his fork, his eyes locking on Marcus. "We will not take the risk of an eletion" he said smoothly. "You are marrying Hales' daughter. End of story"

Marcus didn't look at him immediately. When he finally spoke, it was measured, calm, but with a sharp undertone. "Uncle, the election is under control. I know what needs to be done. But marriage isn't up for discussion yet."

Charles's gaze flicked to me. "Do you have a problem with it, girl?"

My fork wobbled in my hand. "I—I..." I stuttered, words failing me. I looked at Marcus. Why is he asking me? 

"Do you want Marcus to be the Mayor?" His eyes drilled into mine.

"Yes... of course Mr. Clayton," I said, voice trembling slightly. "I want him to be the Mayor."

Charles leaned back, smirk forming on his lips. "Then you can have your fun. Convince him to marry someone of his class. Get what he wants. You can keep doing what you're doing—even after that."

Marcus shifted in his seat. "You hear that, Red?" His voice was low, and dreading. "Uncle's made it clear. You can try... but it's not negotiable." 

"Listen Marcus, I am asking you to hold on to your position" He re-stated. "Girl you need to understand -" "Her name is Myra." Marcus cut him in between. "And its me you should be talking to on this table." he said 

"I am talking to you. You open your mind" their feud was increasing 

I met his gaze, swallowing past the flutter of unease. "If this is what he needs... Mr. Clayton," I said softly, "then I'm okay with it." 

Charles cleared his throat, his sharp gaze sweeping over us as if to assert his dominance once more. "Good. Glad we understand each other."

I hesitated, then leaned slightly forward, voice steady "But if Jessica says no, you won't have a problem, right Sir?" 

Charles's eyes flicked to me, sharp, calculating. For a heartbeat, I thought he might snap. Then, with the faintest smirk, he replied, "We'll see, Myra. We'll see." he said emphasising on my name rather than calling me girl. 

The tension didn't leave—it hung between us, taut and electric, a silent current connecting the four of us across the table. The rest of the dinner continued in uneasy politeness, but I could feel the invisible lines of power, control, and unspoken threats threading around every glance, every word.

"What are you planning?" I heard Marcus looming in my doorway as I was brushing my hair. I turned startled "Nothing, why?" I said getting up from the dressing table as he strolled inside.

"Why is this Jessica saying no, coming up again and again?" he asks standing in front of me with his hands folded at his chest. "Just a guess" I said turning back to the mirror and he held me by my elbow. He looked at me like trying to read something in my eyes. 

"What are you going to do if I marry her?" he asked bluntly.

"You will not" I said wrapping my arms around his neck "You are mine remember" I said pecking on his lips. 

"Marrying her doesn't mean your freedom anyways." he says removed my hands and laid on his elbow in my bed while my eyes stuck on the hands he just removed.

"Maybe you are too confident about it. Why will I stay if you marry her?" I said fisting my palms. "You don't have choice Red. Your life belong to me" he said casually like he is stating a fact as simple as earth's rotation.

"So Red tell me, you said if I really need this you don't have a problem" 

I swallowed hard, then moved toward him. He laid there like he owned the room, like he owned me. I dropped down to the floor beside the bed, kneeling close.  My hands went to his shoes, tugging them off with trembling steadiness. "Maybe I was looking for that freedom, maybe I am tired of being your puppet"  His eyes turned darker and he fisted my hair making me whimper. "Ahh" his grip made me let out a scream "Say that agin. Couldn't hear you Red" he said and my breath hitched looking in his eyes. 

"I-I am sorry" I said with tears welling up, my hand reached his in a vague attempt to losen his grip.

"Drop the fucking attitude. Don't ever give me this" he said with gritted teeth and I nodded obediently, like everytime. His grip loosened finally.

 "I-I said that to your Uncle, because I know I won't let you marry her"  

His fingers tilted my chin up, forcing my eyes to his "How are you going to stop it?" 

"I'll find a way."

His gaze darkened. A slow smirk curved his lips, cruel, taunting "That's not an answer."

"If I couldn't then, I will kill her....." My pulse hammered in my ears, yet I forced the words out, cold and deliberate. The room froze. I didn't flinch, didn't look away. Our eyes locked, fire for fire. For the first time, I saw his mask flicker—approval, maybe curiosity, maybe a darker satisfaction—but no surprise. 

He pulled out his phone, dialing with deliberate calm. The line clicked, and without breaking eye contact with me, he spoke.

"Uncle," he said smoothly, his mouth curving into something between a smirk and a warning, "Tell Thomas Hales yes. I'll marry Jessica."

My heart stopped. He was watching me—only me—as he said it. Testing me. Daring me.

He sat up straighter, his gaze unrelenting. "You took off my shoes because I brought them onto your bed," he said calmly, almost lazily, but every word cut like glass. His eyes flicked down to the floor, then back to me. "I have to leave now. Won't you make me wear them?"

The weight of his call still hung between us, choking me, but I didn't hesitate. I reached for his shoes, slid them back onto his feet, and tied the laces with unsteady fingers. My hands trembled—not with fear this time, but with a heat I could barely contain. Anger.

His hand came down to my chin, tilting my face upward until I was forced to meet him again. My tears burned at the edge of my eyes, threatening to betray me, but I locked them inside. I would not let them fall.

"Good girl. And Red, you are going to arrange my wedding"

The words landed like shackles, and before I could breathe, his lips crushed against mine. His hand curled possessively around my neck, a kiss that claimed rather than soothed, stealing the air from my lungs. Then, as if nothing had happened, he broke away and rose to his feet.

And just like that—he left me there on the floor