Chapter 13 Cracks in the Crown

Chapter 13 Cracks in the Crown


There are moments when masks slip, when people stop performing and the truth crawls out in all its ugly shapes. Most of the time, you miss them—people are too good at hiding. But sometimes, if you’re patient, if you’re lucky, you catch it.

And tonight, I catch Jace Langston.

It happens by accident. I’m not supposed to be anywhere near the Langston estate. But curiosity is a dangerous itch, and after days of staring at files and scraps of evidence that lead nowhere, I need more.

So when I see his car parked by the east gates after school, engine running, and he disappears inside, I follow. Not close enough to be obvious—just enough to track the path, memorize the twists of the driveway, the towering hedges, the iron gates that look more like prison bars than decoration.

I don’t know what I expected. Something cold and elegant, maybe. A mansion with spotless windows and silence heavy as gold.

What I find instead is noise.

The shouting starts before I even get close enough to the back garden. Deep, booming, unmistakably male. And then another voice—sharper, younger, angrier. Jace.

My heart spikes.

I duck behind the stone wall bordering the property, finding a small gap where ivy hasn’t fully grown in. Through it, I see the back patio lit by warm yellow lamps. And there they are.

Chief Langston, broad and towering, in a crisp suit even though it’s night. And Jace, facing him down, fists clenched at his sides.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Jace is saying, voice rough with something I’ve never heard in him before—raw, ragged anger. “You can’t keep pretending no one sees through you.”

Chief Langston’s reply is low but sharp, like a knife slicing through air. “Watch your tone.”

Jace laughs, but it’s hollow. “Tone? That’s what you care about? Not the fact that people are whispering, not that your perfect little empire has cracks in it—”

“Enough!”

The word cracks like thunder. Jace flinches—actually flinches—and something in my chest twists at the sight. I’ve seen him cruel, smug, terrifying. I’ve seen him control entire rooms with a glance. But this?

This is different.

Here, he looks… small. Not weak, exactly, but pressed down, like the weight of his father’s voice is too heavy to stand under.

For a second, silence stretches. Then Jace’s voice comes again, softer, but laced with venom. “One day, someone’s going to expose you. And when that happens, don’t look at me to clean it up.”

Chief Langston steps closer, crowding his son, towering over him. “You forget yourself, boy. You’re nothing without this family. You’d be nothing without me.”

Jace’s jaw tightens, his fists trembling. And then he says it, low, almost breaking.

“Maybe I’d rather be nothing than be you.”

The words hang in the air, sharp and dangerous. For a heartbeat, I think his father will strike him. The tension is so thick I can taste it, bitter and electric. But instead, the Chief straightens, eyes narrowing, lips curling into a cruel smile.

“You’ll never escape me,” he says simply. Then he turns and walks inside, slamming the glass door behind him.

Jace stays frozen on the patio, chest rising and falling like he’s holding back an explosion. His fists loosen slowly, like it takes everything in him not to put one through the nearest wall.

And for the first time since I came to Blackridge, I see him without the crown.

Not the golden boy. Not the charming liar.

Just a boy.

A boy breaking under the weight of a father who will never see him as enough.

I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady myself. I shouldn’t feel this way—not pity, not sympathy, not whatever ache twists inside me as I watch him drag a hand through his hair, eyes shut like he wants the whole world to vanish.

Because this doesn’t change what he’s done. It doesn’t change Noah. It doesn’t change the blood on his hands.

And yet… it shakes me.

The Jace I’ve built in my head, the villain I’ve sworn to destroy, isn’t supposed to look like this. He’s not supposed to crack. He’s supposed to be untouchable, heartless, the perfect mask.

Not human.

I tear myself away from the gap in the wall before I can drown in the image. My legs feel unsteady as I make my way back down the dark street, keeping to shadows until I’m far from the estate.

The night air is sharp, biting against my skin, but I can’t shake the warmth in my chest—the echo of his voice, the tremor in his fists, the look in his eyes when he said he’d rather be nothing.

It’s dangerous, this feeling. Sympathy is a crack in my armor, and cracks spread if you don’t patch them fast.

By the time I reach my dorm, I’ve convinced myself to bury it. To pretend I didn’t see. To remind myself who the real enemy is.

But when I close my eyes, I don’t see Chief Langston.

I see Jace.

And the truth in his eyes.

I roll onto my side, heart pounding, telling myself it’s just another angle. Another weapon. Knowing your enemy’s weakness is power.

That’s all this is.

It has to be.

Because if it’s anything more, if I let myself feel for him…

I’ll burn before I ever get the chance to strike.