Chapter 84
Chapter 84
The sound of her name was like a bucket of ice water. Margaux gasped, her body jerking back as she practically shoved William away. Her bare feet scrambled for purchase on the cold marble, her hair a mess, her pulse thundering in her throat.
“Pierre,” she breathed, her hands flying up as if to physically ward off the judgment. “Pierre, listen—”
Pierre stood ten feet away. He didn’t look angry; he looked weary. He stood with his hands in his pockets, the warm, open expression that usually reminded Margaux of her father now replaced by a chilling, quiet clarity.
A slow, wry smile spread across his face. “I mean... I can’t say I didn’t imagine this. I should have known the second I met you both.” He looked at William, then back to Margaux. “He’s been staring at you with that starving-dog look since the day we were introduced. I just thought you had better taste.”
“Pierre, please,” Margaux started, her voice trembling. "Let's talk calmly."
“No, it makes sense now,” Pierre interrupted, his voice smooth and bitter. “I spent months thinking you were different. You talk about your mother like she’s a monster, you talk about this world like it’s a cage... and yet, here you are. Reaching for the golden bars.” He took a step closer, his gaze hardening as it landed on William. "But I do have to say, you chose the worst out of all of them."
William chuckled, "May your success be as large as your jealousy, Pierre."
“You’re such a fucking prick, De La Roche. Truly. You have no morals, no code. You’ve been through half the women in London, and now you’ve decided to sink your claws into the one girl who actually kept herself apart from all this?” Pierre said, his voice dropping to a sharp, clinical edge. “Raph hinted at a few things—he gave you the same warning he gave me, didn't he? Is that the draw? Is it the thrill of being the first? Is she just the last trophy on the shelf for you?”
“Watch your mouth,” William warned, his voice dropping into a lethal, low register. He stepped toward Pierre, but Margaux’s hand shot out, catching William’s forearm to hold him back.
Pierre laughed, a sharp, hollow sound. “Or what? You’ll have me blacklisted at the golf club? You’ll buy my hospital?” He shook his head, looking at Margaux with genuine disappointment. “He’s exactly like your stepfather, Margaux. The power, the arrogance, the backhanded compliments as a love language. You spent your whole life trying to prove you weren’t like your mother, but look at you. You’re going to marry a rich Englishman, play politics over champagne, and spend the rest of your life wondering which debutante he’s sleeping with on the side.”
Margaux flinched as if he’d slapped her. The comparison to her mother’s life—to the very cycle of betrayal she feared most—cut deeper than any insult William had thrown at her.
“Pierre... Why—?” she whispered, but the words felt thin.
Pierre’s expression shifted then, a flash of realization crossing his face. “Raph and Archie… they set me up, didn’t they? This whole thing was a theater production. I was just the prop they used to make William jealous enough to finally snap. I was the bait.”
He let out a long, heavy sigh and looked at the floor, then back at her. The warmth she had adored in him was officially gone.
“Rich kids always get what they want in the end, don’t they? No matter who they break along the way.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick stack of cash. "From your mother, she paid me to leave." He explained, then he set it down on a nearby console table with a finality that sounded like a door slamming shut.
“Be happy together. If that's even possible for people like you.” Pierre’s voice went soft, and that was the part that broke her. “I know I just lost a friend. But I realize now you’re not who I thought you were, Margaux. You’re just another part of this machine.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, his silhouette disappearing back toward the ballroom.
Margaux stood frozen, her bare feet aching against the stone. She felt small—not just because of her height, but because Pierre had just stripped away the one thing she prided herself on: her integrity.
Beside her, William’s hand moved to her shoulder, his touch heavy and warm. “Margaux, he was just lashing out. He doesn't know—”
“It makes sense because your mother only knows me on paper, Margaux,” he said, his voice a low, rough, urgent thing. “And who cares if the man on paper looks like a prize or a disaster? That person doesn't exist. My father told me today that you would ruin me, and God, he was right. I’m ruined. I haven’t stopped thinking about you for months. I think about you when I go to sleep, when I’m in the shower, when I’m at work trying to pretend I give a damn about anything else.”
He took a jagged breath, his forehead dropping to rest against hers, his eyes searching hers with a vulnerability that looked almost painful.
“We’re far too complex to be put into the same box as our parents—not me, and definitely not you. You’re the only person who has the balls to put me in my place. You correct me. You make me open up when I’ve spent my life staying shut. You make me laugh. Hell, I even enjoyed cleaning your fucking puke off your kitchen floor, Margaux, because it was your puke and it was your floor, and I was there with you.”
He shook his head, his voice dropping to a raw, fierce whisper. “I’m not with you because I want something quick or easy. I stopped doing that a long time ago. I want to be with you because, fuck, you turn my life into something worth living. Adeline doesn't know that man, not even Raph does."
He pulled her a fraction closer, his gaze unyielding. “So let Pierre think what he wants. I’m a douchebag, I’m a prick—fine. But I’m the prick who isn't going anywhere. Do you hear me?”