Chapter ten -- Playing God
1246 Words
When I got home, the lights were still on.
That was the first sign that something was wrong.
The second sign was the sound — soft, broken sobs that didn’t belong in this part of the house.
I stood by the door for a second, rain dripping from my coat, the scent of her perfume faint in the air. Then I followed the noise to the living room.
She was there. Curled up on the sofa, knees drawn to her chest, mascara streaking down her cheeks. Her phone lay on the floor, the screen cracked.
“Beth.” My voice came out low, flat, almost bored — though a flicker of irritation slid beneath it.
She jerked her head up. Her eyes were red, puffy, wild. “You spent the night at the family hotel,” she said immediately. No greeting. No hesitation. Just accusation wrapped in heartbreak.
I didn’t answer. Not yet. I just loosened my tie and walked past her to the cabinet, pouring a drink. The burn steadied me.
“Beth,” I said again. “Who told you that?”
She stood, her hands shaking. “Does it matter? I know. You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I don’t notice when you disappear for the night?”
I let out a slow breath. Of course she found out. Beth was many things — delicate wasn’t one of them. When she wanted answers, she dug until the earth bled.
“She’s nothing,” I said simply. “It’s not what you think.”
Her laughter cracked in half, bitter and raw. “Not what I think? You were seen, Kai. With her. Carrying her into a hotel suite. Do you know how that looks?”
I took a sip. “Like I was being decent.”
“Decent?” She laughed again, tears spilling down her face. “You don’t do decent. Don’t you dare lie to me.”
The crystal glass hit the table harder than I intended. “Watch your tone.”
She flinched — not from fear, but from the sharp reminder of what I could be when pushed too far. The room went quiet except for her breathing — ragged, unsteady.
I rubbed my temples. “Beth, listen to me. She was drugged. Someone was trying to take advantage of her. I stepped in, nothing more. I brought her to the hotel because she needed help. That’s all.”
“Then why didn’t you come home?” she whispered.
Because I couldn’t. Because seeing Naya shake and burn under my hands had stirred something I didn’t understand — guilt, anger, hunger, maybe all three.
But I couldn’t say that.
“I stayed until she was stable. Then I left,” I lied.
Beth stared at me for a long time, her chest heaving. “You expect me to believe that?”
I met her eyes. “You’d better. Because it’s the truth.”
She sank back onto the sofa, her strength dissolving into soft, miserable sobs. “You promised me, Kai. You said you’d marry me soon and we'd leave everyone behind.”
I said, voice tight. “Beth, she showed up at Vlax, half-drugged, making a scene. If I hadn’t helped, the media would’ve had a field day.”
Her shoulders trembled. “It's just a matter of time before everyone starts to think she’s sleeping with you. ”
“Beth.” I crouched down in front of her, my tone softening, but my words cold. “You need to calm down. If anyone hears us like this, they’ll start asking questions. Questions we can’t afford right now.”
She nodded faintly, tears sliding down her throat.
“Good,” I murmured. “Now breathe.”
I took her wrists gently, prying her hands away from her face. Her pulse fluttered beneath my fingers, fragile and fast. “You know how people talk,” I said. “They want to break what we’ve built. Don’t give them a reason to.”
“But she”
“She’s nothing,” I cut in. “A problem I’ll handle. You have my word.”
Her eyes searched mine for something ...reassurance, maybe the version of me she used to love before she learned what I was capable of. Whatever she saw, it was enough. Her breathing slowed.
“Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise you’ll get rid of her.”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second long enough for my conscience to whisper that she didn’t deserve the storm that was coming. Then I silenced it.
“I promise,” I said.
She let out a shaky breath, and I pulled her close. Her body fit against mine perfectly, as if built for this, for being consoled, not questioned.
I stroked her hair absently. “We can’t be seen like this,” I murmured into her temple. “Not tonight. Go back, Beth. Rest. I’ll fix everything.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” she said weakly.
“You’ll do what I say.”
She stiffened, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”
When she finally lifted her head, I wiped her tears with my thumb, brushing away the streaks of mascara. “There,” I said softly. “No one needs to see you like this.”
She looked at me with those same watery eyes that used to make me feel something — once. “You still love me, right?”
I didn’t answer. I just kissed her forehead and whispered, “Go.”
She gathered her purse and left quietly, her heels tapping against the marble like the ticking of a clock counting down to our destruction.
When the door clicked shut, the house fell silent again. The kind of silence that exposes every thought you’ve tried to bury.
I poured another drink. The whiskey burned, but not enough.
Then I took out my phone and dialled.
The hotel manager answered on the second ring, voice crisp and rehearsed. “Mr Hadez, good evening.”
“Evening,” I said. “We have a problem.”
A pause. “What kind of problem, sir?”
“I don’t appreciate private matters being discussed outside the walls of my hotel,” I said. “Beth somehow found out I was there last night. I want you to find out who’s been leaking information.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Don’t understand. Handle it. Quietly. Whoever it is fire them. Today.”
“Yes, Mr. Hadez.”
I hung up before he could say more.
The glass in my hand was empty again. I poured another.
Outside, thunder rumbled. I stared at the reflection in the window my face half-lit, half-shadowed. The rain painted streaks down the glass, like the world was crying for a man who’d long stopped deserving sympathy.
Beth thought I’d betrayed her.
Naya thought she’d won.
Both were wrong.
I wasn’t the hero in anyone’s story not theirs, not mine. I was the storm that levelled everything in its path and still wondered why there was no one left to love it.
I leaned back against the wall, closed my eyes, and let the whiskey numb the faint echo of guilt clawing at my chest.
Tomorrow, I’d erase the leak.
Soon, I’d erase Naya.
But tonight… I just watched the rain.
And wondered how much longer I could keep playing God before the thunder finally struck me down.
- Writer
