Chapter 85
Chapter 85
The hallway exhaled once Pierre was gone.
Margaux didn’t realize she’d been holding herself together with sheer will until her knees softened and the space beside her suddenly felt too large. The music from the ballroom drifted faintly through the marble corridors—distant, unreal.
She turned toward William, and this time she didn’t brace herself.
She stepped into him.
Not hurried. Not desperate. Just instinct.
William’s body went still for half a second—surprised—before his arms came up around her, solid and immediate, pulling her against his chest. One hand settled between her shoulder blades, firm and anchoring. The other curved around her waist, protective without claiming.
Margaux pressed her forehead into the hollow beneath his collarbone. The warmth of him soaked into her, and for the first time all night, her breathing evened out.
She spoke so quietly he almost missed it.
“I’m going home.”
Her voice barely carried past his chest.
“You can come if you want to,” she continued, the words measured, steady despite the tremor beneath them. “But I’m leaving. I’m done for the night.”
William didn’t answer right away.
He rested his cheek against her hair, his thumb moving once—slow, grounding—along her spine. No argument. No questions. Just presence.
After a moment, he murmured, “Okay.”
The word was simple. It wasn’t surrender or command—it was acceptance.
She pulled back just enough to look up at him. His expression had changed—no sharpness left in it, no performance. Just quiet focus, like he understood exactly what this cost her.
“I’m not asking you to fix anything,” she added softly.
“I know,” he said. “You don’t need fixing.”
That did it.
Her throat tightened, but she nodded, stepping out of his arms before the feeling could spill over. She bent to retrieve her heels, gripping them loosely. She straightened, heels dangling from her fingers, and for a beat it looked like she might turn toward the exit.
Instead, Margaux pivoted and started walking the opposite way down the corridor.
William hesitated.
“Margaux?” he began, instinctively glancing past her shoulder. “Where are you—”
He stopped himself mid-sentence.
She didn’t look back. Didn’t explain. She simply kept moving, bare feet silent against the marble, posture set with quiet certainty.
So he followed.
They passed through a narrower corridor first, then another—doors, alcoves, half-lit passages that felt deliberately confusing, like the house was designed to disorient anyone who didn’t belong to it. Margaux never slowed. She turned corners without hesitation, ducked through a side hall that looked like it should lead nowhere, then somehow emerged into the grand hall as if by magic.
William exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“I know my way around this house,” Margaux said quietly, as if she’d felt his surprise without looking at him.
“I’ve noticed,” he replied, a faint note of something like awe in his voice. “You grew up here?”
“For most of my life,” she said. The words weren’t bitter. Just factual. “Long enough to learn all the exits.”
They reached the front steps. Night air slipped over her skin again, cool and grounding. Valets moved in the periphery, discreet and efficient, pretending not to notice anything at all.
Margaux handed over her keys.
“I’m driving,” she said, already moving toward her car. “I don’t want to wait.”
William didn’t argue. He paused only long enough to glance at the driveway where his own car was parked. “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll have my assistant come tomorrow and retrieve it.”
She nodded, like this was the most natural arrangement in the world.
The drive was silent.
Not awkward. Not tense.
Just quiet in the way that follows emotional exhaustion—streetlights passing in steady intervals, the hum of the engine filling the space where words would’ve been too much. Margaux kept both hands on the wheel, shoulders squared, gaze fixed ahead. William sat beside her, still, present, not trying to break the silence just to prove he could.
He watched her instead—the tight line of her mouth, the way she blinked more slowly now, fatigue finally catching up.
When she parked, the engine clicked softly as it cooled.
Neither of them moved right away.
William turned slightly in his seat. “If you want to be alone,” he said carefully, leaving space around the words, “I can go. Truly. If you need—”
“I don’t.”
The answer came too fast. Her voice cracked on the second word, the sound betraying her composure before she could stop it.
She stared straight ahead, fingers still curled around the steering wheel as if letting go might undo her entirely.
“I don’t,” she repeated, quieter now. “I just… I don’t want to be by myself.”
William didn’t touch her yet.
He let the moment settle, honored the weight of what she’d said.
Then, gently, “Okay.”
Not a promise. Not a demand.
Just staying.
“I can help with that,” William said quietly.
Margaux finally turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were glassy with exhaustion, lashes clumped just enough to betray how close she was to breaking. “Help with… what?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached for the door handle and stepped out of the car.
She frowned faintly, watching through the windshield as he rounded the front, his shoes crunching softly on the gravel. The passenger door opened, and cool night air spilled in.
William held out a hand.
She stared at it, then up at his face. “Okay, sir,” she muttered, the faintest hint of humor threading through her fatigue. “No need to get all Prince Charming on me.”
“Shut up,” he said, entirely without heat.
Before she could react, he leaned in, one arm sliding behind her back, the other scooping cleanly under her knees. In one smooth motion, he lifted her out of the car.
“William!” Margaux yelped, instinctively clutching his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Walking you home,” he replied calmly, already turning toward the building, “so you don’t have to step on concrete barefoot.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I can walk.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m still doing this.”
She huffed a breath, half laugh, half disbelief, then let her head fall back against his shoulder with a quiet groan. “You’re impossible.”
“Are you really going to complain about me today out of all days?" William asked with a certain tone.
Despite herself, a weak laugh escaped her. She shifted slightly, settling into his hold, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.
“Someone’s going to see,” she murmured.
“They’ll survive.”
He adjusted his grip as he walked, careful, deliberate, like this was something he intended to do properly. Margaux watched the familiar path to her door pass by upside-down and close all at once—the hedges, the low lights, the quiet safety of it.
By the time he reached her front steps, the tension she’d been holding since the ballroom finally began to loosen its grip.
William paused. “Keys?”
She fished them out of her clutch with one hand and held them up. “Left pocket.”
He managed the door one-handed, stepping inside before nudging it shut behind them.