CHAPTER 30: SILENT TEMPTATIONS.

Alistair’s POV

For a while, neither of us said anything. The show played on, laughter echoing from the screen — a sound that somehow made the silence between us louder.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That waiting for Louis wasn’t weakness — it was loyalty. But the words didn’t come. Maybe because even I didn’t believe them anymore.

Charles leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the screen but clearly not watching either. "He’s not the only one who matters, you know."

"I know," I said quietly.

And I did. I knew it better than I wanted to.

He looked at me then — really looked — and whatever he saw must have softened something in him. He gave a small, almost invisible smile, then shifted closer, shoulder brushing mine. "You think too much," he murmured.

"Someone has to," I said, voice faint.

He laughed under his breath, a sound that felt like warmth and chaos all at once. "Yeah, well, maybe tonight you don’t have to."

For a second, I thought he meant nothing by it — just another one of his attempts to pull me out of my head. But then his hand brushed against mine, deliberate and unhurried.

The touch was brief, but it left sparks in its wake — a reminder that there were still parts of me alive enough to feel.

I didn’t pull away. Not immediately.

Outside, the rain had started again, soft and steady against the windows. It made the room feel smaller, quieter — like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of us and the fragile truth hanging between us.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe I didn’t have to wait anymore.

As always, I sighed and pretended I didn’t feel anything. The next day came with its usual share of troubles, starting off simple — a cup of coffee, a couple of sandwiches, the same dull routine.

It was supposed to be a calm morning.

But then I made the mistake of turning on the news.

And there it was — Louis’s company, plastered across every screen, accused of a crime so heinous it didn’t even seem real.

For a second, I just stared at the screen, my coffee halfway to my lips, heart slowing to a crawl.

At first, I thought I’d misheard the reporter. Maybe it was another company — a coincidence. But the logo on the screen said otherwise.

Alvara Industries.

The Alvara Industries suspects an illegal shipment cause flashed across the bottom of the screen in bold red.

My chest tightened. The mug in my hand felt heavier.

The reporter’s voice droned on — details, statements, numbers — but it all blurred into static. All I could see was Louis’s face from the last time we spoke, his calm composure, the way he’d said, "Trust me, everything’s under control."

Control.

He’d always been so sure of it.

The world spun differently when you realized the person you believed in might have been lying to you — not once, but for years.

Charles must have noticed my silence because he turned down the volume, his expression cautious. "You okay?"

I forced a breath, setting the mug down before my hands could betray the tremor building in them. "Yeah," I said — but it didn’t sound like me.

The truth was, I wasn’t okay.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted Louis to be innocent... or if I was terrified that he wasn’t.

I didn’t have the confidence to confront Louis at all. Just the thought of calling him made my stomach twist — what would I even say? "Are you guilty?" No. I wasn’t ready to hear the answer.

Charles and Louis’s mother looked worried, but clung to belief — belief that Louis couldn’t have done something like that, that the world was just trying to drag down a man too successful for its liking.

Their father, though... he couldn’t care less. He didn’t even pretend to. He read the headlines with a bored expression, turned the page, and went about his day like nothing had happened.

But Charles — he was something else entirely.

He smiled like always, cracking jokes, keeping the air light, but I could see the strain in his eyes. Every few minutes, he’d check his phone for updates, pretending it was nothing, pretending he didn’t care, that he wasn’t affected, he acted like we were overreacting .

And me?

I just stood there — between their faith and my fear — wondering which of us was right.

Sometimes, I’d hear Charles mumbling to himself, words half-swallowed between sighs and forced laughter.

I couldn’t catch everything, but once, I heard him clearly enough —

"Louis will come out of this... and if he loses, it’s because he wants to."

Then his voice dropped, bitter and shaky —

"Why am I even worried?"

He frowned after that, the kind of frown that didn’t belong on his face — like he was trying to argue with his own heart.

Still, he was the first to yell, voice echoing through the house with unrestrained excitement.

"Have you seen the news? Alvara Industries is innocent! The real culprits are being investigated!"

His voice cracked near the end, trembling with relief, but within seconds he was back to his usual self — acting like he’d known it all along.

Mother was overwhelmed with joy; you could see it in the way her hands shook and how she kept repeating Louis’ name.

Even their father — cold, distant as always — wore a faint, proud smile.

I should’ve felt relieved — maybe even happy.

Louis was innocent. The name that had been dragged through headlines and whispers was finally cleared.

But as everyone celebrated, I couldn’t shake the weight pressing against my chest.

Maybe it was because I’d seen how easily everything had almost fallen apart.

Or maybe it was because I realized how much power Louis still had over us — over me — even when he wasn’t here.

Charles was still talking, laughing too loudly, replaying the news clip like it was proof that faith always pays off.

Mother kept calling relatives, her voice bright with pride.

And I just stood there, cup of cold coffee in hand, watching the screen fade into another story.

For a second, I caught my reflection in the dark glass — tired eyes, a ghost of a smile.

"Welcome back, Louis," I whispered.

Though I wasn’t sure if it was a greeting... or a warning.

---

Charles’ POV

I could say my attempts with Alistair were working — maybe too well.

He was finally letting me in, even if just a little. A look here, a sigh there — tiny cracks in his walls that I couldn’t help but notice.

But the more it worked, the more I started to wonder how strong their relationship really was. Or maybe... how strong mine with Louis had been.

Every time Alistair smiled, I felt that strange twist in my chest — satisfaction tangled with guilt. This wasn’t supposed to feel good.

He was Louis’s fiancé, for crying out loud. Louis, my fated mate. The bond still hummed beneath my skin like a secret I couldn’t shake.

But Louis chose someone else.

He made his choice, and I’m just... reminding him what happens when you play with fate.

Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Because sometimes, when Alistair looks at me like he’s searching for something — I start to forget which one of us is supposed to be getting hurt.

Anna always said my impulsiveness would get me in trouble one day — that I let emotions lead before logic could even catch up. Maybe she was right.

Because every time I looked at Alistair, I could feel him — his doubt, his confusion, the quiet ache he tried so hard to hide. The questions he never said out loud pressed against me through the bond I wasn’t supposed to have: Did Louis really care? Was I not enough?

And that’s when it hit me — maybe I wasn’t just toying with Louis anymore.

Maybe I was playing with Alistair’s heart too.

Was I really any better than the man I was trying to punish?

---

Alistair’s POV

The house had finally quieted down. Charles’ parents had retired to their rooms, Charles himself lounging on the sofa with a phone in hand, scrolling through updates as if reading about Louis’ innocence could somehow make everything okay.

I stayed in the kitchen, pretending to wash the dishes, though my movements were half-hearted. The clink of porcelain against porcelain was sharp in the silence, each sound a reminder that even in peace, my chest felt tight.

"Don’t tell me you’re actually enjoying washing dishes," Charles said from the living room, voice teasing but soft.

I paused, hand on the sponge. "Someone has to do it," I replied without turning, though a part of me wanted to lean against him instead.

He appeared in the doorway, leaning casually but watching me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His presence made the air heavier, like static before a storm.

"You look... tense," he said, stepping closer. "Even with your coffee gone cold, you’re still stiff as a board."

"I’m fine," I said, but my voice cracked before I could stop it.

He laughed softly, a sound that felt like chaos and warmth at once — the same way it always did — and before I could think, he was behind me, hand brushing mine as he reached for a plate. The contact was brief, deliberate, and it left sparks crawling up my arm.

"Maybe you don’t have to be," he murmured, close enough that I could feel his breath, and the impossible pull in the space between us made my stomach twist.

I swallowed. My gaze fell to the counter. "Charles..." I whispered, though the word felt dangerous on my lips.

"Yeah?" His hand lingered near mine, hesitant but unyielding, and my pulse betrayed me, racing at a pace I couldn’t hide.

"I... I don’t know what to do," I admitted. Not with him. Not with Louis. Not with any of it. The confession was small, fragile, and yet it carried everything I couldn’t say to anyone else.

He didn’t answer immediately. He just let the silence stretch, letting the words settle, letting me breathe them out without judgment. And somehow, that made it worse.

Because in that moment, I wanted him. Not like a distraction, not like a substitute. I wanted him for himself — for the chaos he brought, the warmth he offered, the dangerous familiarity that reminded me I was still alive.

And I hated myself for it.

Charles leaned closer, just a fraction, enough that our shoulders brushed. "You’re not alone," he murmured, voice low. "Even if everything else... falls apart."

I closed my eyes for a second, feeling the weight of it, the forbidden truth simmering between us. And I realized — I couldn’t step back anymore. Not without breaking something. Not without losing myself in the attempt.

The kitchen lights flickered, or maybe it was just my heartbeat echoing too loudly in the quiet. Either way, I knew one thing: nothing would ever be the same.