Page 59

Alexander

M y heart is pounding in my chest. Each footfall resonates with the chaos I’ve left behind; splintered glass from the shattered skylight crunches against my skin, the shards embedded like jagged trophies of a victory I refuse to let slip through my fingers.

Footsteps echo behind me. I don’t need to look to see who it is. I already know it’s her, like a bloodhound on my scent. The bitch has never been one to back down. Apparently, this time is no different.

It’s hard not to chuckle at her determination, even as I sprint out onto the balcony. Right now, she’s driven by her rage, fuelled by it, and it’s blinding her from the realities of the trap I’m about to lay.

Because this isn’t over yet. It’s so far from being over.

I leap down into the garden, the grass catching me as I land with a thud, but I roll with it, springing back to my feet. My mind whirls with a new plan.

The cliffs are close, looming in the distance like the final act of a tragic play. And isn’t this how I imagined it would play out? How I envisioned it so many times? I can almost hear the waves crashing against the rocks below, their rhythmic surge a mocking applause for what’s about to unfold.

Poor thing won’t see the end coming until it’s too late.

I glance back to see Scarlett gaining ground.

She’s fierce, a lioness in pursuit of her prey.

But lions can be led astray, and I feel that familiar rush of manipulation coursing through my veins.

The best hunters know when to show weakness as bait, so I stumble, feigning a misstep that sends me tumbling slightly into the path ahead.

The slight falter feels thrilling, a delicate dance of deceit, as if we’ve not been playing this game for months already.

I hear her shuffle to a stop, breathless.

“Alex,” she calls out, her voice laced with fury and concern.

I let out a laugh, low and mocking, and I hope it will drive her to act irrationally.

“Run, little rabbit,” I reply, my voice dripping with false bravado.

If only she knew how close I am to sealing her fate.

I can feel the chill of the cliff’s edge calling me, pulling me towards the edge like a dark promise.

Every move is calculated, every breath measured against the wind that whips around us

I rise slowly, making sure she sees the way I favour my right leg.

I want her to think I’m injured. I want her to believe she can win, to believe that she only has to reach out now to get her revenge.

And then, when she does, I’m going to savour that horror on her face, that shock when she realises I’ve beaten her, and not the other way around.

The moonlight catches the coloured glass still embedded in my skin, making me glitter like some twisted diamond. Blood trickles down my arm, but the pain is distant, secondary to the thrill of the hunt. Because that’s what this is, even if Scarlett thinks she’s the predator here.

The cliff edge is mere yards away now, and I can feel its deadly invitation at my back.

More glass works its way deeper into my flesh as I shift my stance, but I welcome the sharp reminder of reality. It grounds me, keeps me focused on the intricate dance of deception I’m weaving.

I take another stumbling step backward, watching as she inches closer, her guard dropping ever so slightly at the sight of my apparent weakness.

Just a little closer now, just a little more…

She calls out again, but I can hear the tremor in her voice, the uncertainty that’s always been there when she faces me. That’s her fatal flaw; she’s never quite sure of herself, never quite certain she’s right. I’ve spent years nurturing that doubt, and now it will serve its final purpose.

I take another careful step backward, watching as she follows, drawn forward by my words like a moth to flame. The cliff edge whispers promises behind me, and I can feel the spray of the ocean misting against my back. Perfect. Just perfect.

The wind picks up, carrying with it the scent of salt and my impending victory. I shuffle back again, making sure she sees how the glass in my leg causes me to wince. Her eyes track the movement, concern warring with fury on her face.

Does she sense that all of this is too easy? Too simple? Or is she so hellbent on winning that she still can’t see what’s been so damned obvious?

She lunges forward, exactly as I knew she would. Rage finally overwhelming caution, just as it always has.

But as she reaches for me, as her fingers grasp at empty air where I once stood, I realize I’ve made a terrible miscalculation. The ground beneath my feet isn’t as stable as I thought, and the edge is crumbling.

And we’re rolling.

Tumbling.

Both of us falling over the edge and to what could be both our deaths.