When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

What Breaks, Belongs

Myra

I scraped at the smeared frosting, my fingers trembling as I pressed the crumbs into a plate. The pink and blue stains clung stubbornly to the floorboards, as if mocking me, bruises I couldn't scrub away.

This was it. The proof of my failure.

I had tried—God, I had tried. I did what I could to ensure that Jess denies the wedding. She did too.  Then what happened? what the fuck happened? How did he convince her? I had done everything to avoid stepping across that line. But in the end, even I had crossed it. The cupcake had been my weapon: sugar and poison disguised in pastel icing, sweet death masquerading as celebration.

But Marcus, as always, he had stripped it from me before it even touched her lips. My last chance dissolved into nothing but frosting smudged into the cracks of the floor.

Now there was nothing left.

I sat back on my heels, chest tight, the rag hanging limp in my hand. The future I'd clung to — the idea of escape, of choice, of anything but this — had slipped through my fingers. The weight of it pressed down on me until my throat ached.

I wanted to scream. To shatter every plate, every flower, every polished surface of this house that was about to swallow me whole. But all I could do was clean. Bend and scrape and gather, as though by tidying this mess, I could hold myself together.

"Still bending."

The voice cut smooth through the air.

I froze, looked up.

Charles Clayton stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane, his eyes glinting with amusement. Not warm, not cruel — something worse. Detached. Sardonic. 

I forced myself to rise, smoothing my hair, swiping away the wetness from my cheeks. A mask. Always a mask.

"Mr. Clayton. Welcome" I said lightly, forcing the pleasant smile onto my face "Hope you had a safe travel"

"I am hoping for a flawless wedding" His tone carried weight, as though he were reminding me it wasn't a wish but an expectation.

"Marcus grew up too soon" Charles mused, his gaze drifting across the hall. 

I followed it—and there he was. Marcus, standing at the altar, adjusting flowers, brushing his hand against the wood, his expression unreadable. To anyone else, he was simply inspecting arrangements. To me, he was my dream standing in a place meant to belong to love. My dream, my ruin, standing where vows would be spoken to another woman.

"Feels like yesterday," Charles continued, voice colored with something that might have been nostalgia. "He was only eight when he came to me. Arrogant. Short-tempered boy. But now..." He chuckled softly. "Now, an admirable man. Still arrogant, still short-tempered but he's found his outlet." His eyes slid toward me, meaning dripping heavy and deliberate.

"You've learned to bow without complaint," he said, stepping further in. "Efficient. Seamless. Almost convincing enough to be mistaken for devotion."

I stilled, rising slowly with the plate of crumbs in my hand, the air heavy around his words.

His gaze lingered on me a moment longer, unhurried, weighing. "Marcus has done his work well. It takes a certain kind of power to train obedience until it looks like love."

My pulse stumbled, but I forced my voice steady. "Or perhaps it takes a certain kind of blindness to confuse the two."

He chuckled softly, the sound indulgent. "There it is. The tongue I wondered if he'd managed to tame. Careful, Myra. Sparks burn quickest when the fire belongs to someone else."

He tapped his cane, dismissive, and moved past me with a faint trace of cologne that lingered even after he was gone.

"Myra?"

The sound of my name tugged me back, soft and trembling.

I turned.

Mom stood in the entrance, poised in a lavender dress, her hair pinned neatly, as though she hadn't spent months behind walls, as though she hadn't signed my fate away once upon a time. And next to her—William. Smiling, awkward, earnest, his boutonnière pinned too high.

For a moment, I froze.

"Mom?"

"Myra," Mom's voice softened, her hand brushing my cheek before pulling me into a tight hug.

"Mom—I missed you so much," I whispered, clinging tighter than I meant to. The tears threatened, hot and dangerous, but I forced them down. I couldn't fall apart now. Not in her arms. Not when she looked at me with pride, not when her gratitude belonged to Marcus.

"Did you think I'd miss the wedding of the Mayor of Riverbridge?" she teased gently, pulling back.

"Mom" I wanted to fight with her, she signed the contract, took my choices away. She showed me every possible way to view belonging to Marcus Calyton as a blessing. She made it a legal contract, so that Marcus marries me, but today when he is marrying someone else why is she not saying anything. Why? But I couldn't. I couldn't say anything to her. What's the point when Marcus wants this.

I blinked, confusion knotting in my chest, I asked her instead, "You're... allowed to come?"

Her smile trembled. "Marcus made sure my sentence ended early. My trial's closed. I can come home."

Of course he did. Of course. Something twisted inside me — a fresh bruise laid over all the others. Another favor, maybe that's why Mom couldn't say anything.

"Mom!"

Lillie's squeal broke through as she raced in, her tulle skirt bouncing. Mom crouched to hug her, both of them laughing like the world had never broken.

"Hey bub" Mom crouched down to hug her. "I am back" she said with a hi-fi to her and Lillie was beyond excited. I shuffled her hair "Hey don't ruin my hair" she whined and I laughed "Of course I will" I said tickling her.

I watched them, aching and hollow, until William cleared his throat, his smile boyish as he stepped closer.

"You look... really nice, Will," I said, trying to muster a smile.

He flushed, tugging at his lapel. "Best man duties. Gotta live up to it, right?"

Ash's laugh chimed in next. She and Dan arrived together, Ash dazzling in a shimmering red gown, Dan steady and impossibly composed in his tuxedo.

"Big day, huh?" Ash nudged me, her eyes alight.

"Big doesn't even cover it," I whispered. "But you look amazing. Both of you."

Dan's eyes lingered, sharp and knowing. "You holding up, Myra?"

I swallowed. "Trying."

And then—his shadow.

Marcus's voice slid into the room, smooth and merciless. "The reunion will keep until after the vows. Unless you'd rather ruin all your effort by being late." He said casually side hugging my Mom. Well casual for them, commanding for me.

My pulse stuttered. "Thank you—for Mom—I don't know what to say," I stammered, words crumbling. He gave so much, so much. i literally don't knwo how I would have survived without him. I would have, but it wouldn't be this easy as he made. However, he always takes the price. The price that is carved into me.

"Then don't say anything," he cut, cold and sharp. His eyes pinned me, leaving no room to breathe. "Move."

I nodded, my body obeying even as my heart clenched. Behind me, their warmth flickered like a fragile flame.  

I flinched at the spark in my eyes. Looking around for the source, I turned, my eyes landed on the knife on the desert table. The sunlight was reflecting from it.

Something churned beneath my ribs. I had tried to kill her. That was how far I'd gone. And still I couldn't stop.

You will not marry Jessica Hales, not until I am alive. My words that I said to Marcus echoed back, cold and impossible. Fingers trembling, I took the knife before moving inside.