Hundred and twenty one

Hundred and twenty one

Third-Person POV

The air in the bedroom turned suffocating. Alexandra stood frozen, wrapped in the silk sheet, her heart slamming against her ribcage. The scent of sweat and sex still lingered in the air, mocking her.

Tristan’s face was pale, his jaw clenched, as he slowly stepped toward Harry.

“Harry, listen—”

“No.” Harry’s voice cracked like a whip. “Don’t even try.”

His gaze flicked between the two of them Alexandra with disheveled hair and flushed cheeks, and Tristan with no shirt on, pants half-zipped, standing like a guilty criminal. Disgust twisted across his face.

“I knew something was wrong with you,” Harry spat at Alexandra. “You acted perfect. Loyal. And yet you crawl into bed with him?”

“Please,” Alexandra whispered, stepping forward, trembling. “Let’s talk—”

“No!” he thundered. “I’m telling Henry. Tonight.”

He pulled his phone from his coat pocket, tapping the screen with shaking fingers.

Tristan lunged Forward. “Harry, don’t—”

Harry stumbled back, holding the phone up like a weapon. “He needs to know what kind of filth he surrounds himself with. His best friend, Tristan, the guy he trusts with everything fucking his girlfriend?” Harry scoffed in disbelief.

The words sliced through the room.

Tristan's voice dropped. “Don’t do this.”

“Why?” Harry snapped. “Afraid of consequences? You don’t deserve Henry’s loyalty. Neither of you do.”

Tristan’s eyes darkened. “You think you’re better than us? You’ve been nothing but a leech, Harry. Henry’s little shadow, living off his money, his protection, his name. You think outing us makes you a hero? You’ve been a burden your entire life.”

Harry’s hands shook with rage.

“And you,” he hissed at Alexandra. “You’re even worse. You used Henry. You let him fall for you, while sneaking around with this asshole. What, wasn’t his love enough? His loyalty? Or was it the power that turned you on?”

“Shut up,” Alexandra whispered, tears brimming.

Harry’s jaw flexed. “You think I won’t do it? I’ll ruin both of you. You don’t deserve his forgiveness—”

Tristan moved first.

A surge of fury, fear, and self-preservation exploded all at once. His fist collided with Harry’s face, sending him crashing into the wall.

“Tristan, stop!” Alexandra screamed, but her voice was drowned by the sound of fists hitting flesh.

Harry fought back. He was younger, stronger. He landed a hard punch to Tristan’s gut, then elbowed him in the jaw.

Tristan slammed Harry against the dresser. A lamp shattered.

They tumbled to the floor, grappling. Curses filled the room. Blood slicked Tristan’s knuckles as he landed blow after blow.

And then it happened.

Harry reached for something, maybe the phone, maybe something else.. but Tristan’s hands locked around the back of his head, and he slammed it once… twice… a sickening third time into the hardwood floor.

Silence... Harry’s limbs twitched once... Then stilled.

Tristan froze, gasping for breath. Alexandra, crying now, dropped to her knees beside Harry. She pressed her fingers to his neck. Her hands trembled.

“No…” she whispered. “No, no, no…”

She looked at Tristan.

“He’s dead.”

Everything stopped.

Tristan stumbled back against the wall, his chest heaving. “I didn’t mean to kill him. He wouldn’t stop.”

Alexandra's mouth quivered. “We need to call someone—Henry—”

“No!” Tristan snapped. “We call Henry and what? Tell him I killed his brother after screwing his girlfriend? You think he’ll believe this was an accident?”

“But we can’t just—”

“Yes, we can,” he growled. “We have to.”

They stared at each other. Two lives shattered. A body cooling at their feet. And a truth that could never be undone.

Tristan’s mind raced.

“No cameras in this suite,” he muttered, pacing. “The staff knows not to ask questions. But if they find his body here…”

Alexandra sank onto the edge of the bed. “We’re finished.”

“Not if we make this look like an accident,” he said. “A car accident. A hit and run.”

Her brows furrowed in disbelief. “Are you insane?”

“I’m thinking about survival.”

She stared at him, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re serious.”

Tristan grabbed a blanket from the bed and dropped it over Harry’s body.

“Help me wrap him up.”

She hesitated, then nodded. The next fifteen minutes felt like an eternity. They wrapped Harry’s body tightly, covering the bloodied back of his skull. Tristan cleaned the floor quickly but thoroughly, while Alexandra stuffed both their clothes in a bag and wiped down every surface they touched.

They took the service elevator, avoiding cameras, moving with cold precision. In the garage, they loaded the body into the trunk of Tristan’s SUV. The silence between them was heavy with dread.

Then, as they turned out of the alley and onto the quiet street, they saw her.

A young girl, stumbling out of a noisy bar across the street. Laughing. Alone. Wasted. She dropped her phone, cursed loudly, then fished out her car keys. Tristan slowed the SUV.

They watched as she climbed into a small silver convertible.

“Is she—?” Alexandra began.

“Drunk as hell,” Tristan muttered.

The engine sputtered to life. The girl reversed crookedly, then shifted into drive. Her car wobbled as she pulled forward, swerving slightly. An idea formed in Tristan’s mind, so quickly and violently it almost startled him.

He looked at Alexandra. She looked back.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “This is crossing a line.”

“We already crossed it,” he said. “We just need her to hit him. The timing. That’s all.”

“Tristan…”

“It’s either this, or we both go to prison.”

The convertible crept down the block, gaining speed.

Tristan pulled the SUV around the corner and stopped. They dragged the body out of the trunk and onto the edge of the dark alley, where the lane curved slightly. It would look like he was crossing the street and the car didn’t see him.

They positioned the body. Alexandra couldn’t stop shaking.

The sound of the engine grew louder. The convertible came into view.

“Now,” Tristan whispered. The car turned the corner.

And then... THUMP. A shriek rang out.

The car screeched to a halt. A scream tore from the girl’s throat. She stumbled out, barefoot now, staring at the body she just hit. Her hands trembled. “Oh my god… oh my god… oh my god…”

Tristan and Alexandra melted into the shadows, heartbeats thudding in their ears. From the alley, Tristan whispered, “We’re safe now.”

Alexandra clutched his arm, barely breathing.

“You sure?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “But it’s done.”

They walked away from the chaos, shadows swallowing them whole.

And behind them, a drunken girl sobbed into her hands unaware that she’d just become the perfect scapegoat for a murder she didn’t commit.