ChapterTwo Hundred And Sixteen

ChapterTwo Hundred And Sixteen
Miles’ POV

She stepped slightly to the side so I could see her face around Theo’s shoulder. Tears had gathered in her eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“Miles,” she said, and there was a strange gentleness in her voice that cut deeper than any insult. “I did love you. Once.”

The words went straight through me.

“But that version of you is dead,” she continued. “I mourned him. I mourned us. And then I moved on. You should have too.”

Moved on.

Moved on to him.

My gaze dropped to Theo’s hand resting at her back, firm and steady. The way he stood in front of her. The way she trusted him enough to hide behind him and not even flinch.

That was supposed to be me.

It was supposed to be my hand, my body, my future at her side.

“And you think this is better?” I asked, voice rough. “You think he’s better? You think this marriage is going to save you?”

“It already has,” she said.

The guests were silent. No one dared move. No one dared speak. It was like the whole hall was holding its breath, waiting to see who would break first.

It wasn’t going to be me.

I straightened my shoulders. The world had taken too much from me to back down now. My father had turned on me. His people had abandoned me. Sonia was dead by my hands. The organization had cut me off.

This was all I had left.

“You think I came here alone?” I asked slowly, letting my words sink into the silence. “You think I didn’t plan for this? I know how you operate, Theo. I know you’ve got dogs at every door, eyes in the ceiling, guns under the tables. You think that scares me?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

But I saw something in his gaze shift. Alert. Aware. Calculating.

Good.

“Here’s the truth,” I said. “You may have the guards. You may have the pack. You may even have my father back on your side. But you don’t have what I do.”

“And what’s that?” Theo asked quietly.

“Nothing to lose.”

For a moment, we just stared at each other.

King and failure.

Winner and man who’d thrown everything away.

“You’re not taking her,” Theo repeated, as if he wanted to carve the words into the air itself. “You’re not leaving here with her. You’re not leaving here at all if you keep this up.”

I heard chairs creak as some of the men finally dared to look up. The guards at the back of the hall tightened their grips on their weapons, waiting for any sign from their king.

It would take one move from Theo for them to rush me.

So I decided to move first.

Everything inside me snapped into a single, clear line.

“If I can’t have her,” I said, my voice sounding far away to my own ears, “no one will.”

I lifted the gun higher, this time not at the ceiling, not at the crowd.

At him.

At the man standing between me and the only thing I had ever wanted.

People gasped. Someone sobbed. Somewhere, glass rattled from the trembling hands holding it.

Theo’s eyes didn’t flicker. He stepped half a pace more in front of Camille, covering even more of her, his body shifting into a shield.

Of course he did.

Always the hero.

Always the king.

“Last chance,” I said to him, even though some part of me already knew there was no chance left for any of us. “Move. Let her come.”

“No,” he replied.

The word was quiet. Final.

Somewhere in the crowd, I heard a child crying. A woman whispering a prayer. Someone begging under their breath for this to stop.

It wouldn’t.

Time stretched.

My hand tightened around the trigger.

For a second, I saw everything at once.

Camille in my arms the first time we danced.

Camille laughing on the balcony, hair blowing in the wind.

Camille crying the night I threw her away.

Camille now, in white, behind him.

“I loved you,” I whispered, and I wasn’t sure if I meant her or the man I used to be.

Then I pulled the trigger.

The gunshot exploded through the hall again, louder than the first, meaner, hungrier.

The recoil slammed up my arm. The flash burned my eyes. The smell of gunpowder wrapped around my face.

The bullet flew.

For a split second, all I could see was the path it was taking and the man it was aimed at.

My hand shook.

The sound echoed off marble and glass.

And the world held its breath, waiting to see who the bullet chose.