Chapter 48: Forget me nots
MARGAUX
I didn’t trust Laurent. Not even a little bit. But something in his expression made me pause long enough to give him a single nod.
"Good." He glanced back at the closed study door. "As much as he’d like to sell you the whole ’I hate you’ storyline, I believe we can both see through his bullshit."
"No." The word came out flat and certain. "I cannot."
Laurent’s eyebrows rose.
"I see and feel his hatred as deep as it goes." My hand pressed against my stomach where the bond sat coiled tight. "He is not pretending. He does hate me and now... Now... He intends to hurt someone who is innocent in this matter."
"Well, I am not so sure about that."
The casual dismissal made my eyes roll hard enough that it hurt. I turned to walk away. I was done with cryptic men who thought they understood situations better than the people actually living through them.
"But—"
The word stopped me mid-stride. I stood frozen for a heartbeat before pivoting back to face him. "But what?"
"He does not intend to hurt this... Chris." Laurent’s voice dropped lower. "He only intends to use him to get the files on his family."
A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Chris takes his role as a Beta of the pack seriously. He would never give information like that out."
"Do you really believe that?" Laurent tilted his head. "One thing I have learned is love tends to make people quite stupid."
He looked back toward the study door. The morning light streaming through the hallway windows painted his profile in sharp relief.
"Look at Étienne for example. By all accounts, he should hate you to the bone."
The statement landed like a physical blow. I opened my mouth to argue, but Laurent continued before I could form words.
"You needed to see the state he was in when Alpha Dorian brought him in."
Something in his tone made my chest tighten. I swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in my throat. "How did he really end up here?"
"I am not a blabbermouth." Laurent’s expression shifted into something more guarded. "But what you do need to know is his face was marred and he was buried alive in the rain to die. That was years after being..." He paused. The silence stretched uncomfortable and heavy. "You know. By tens and probably hundreds of men and women."
The world tilted sideways. I grabbed at the wall behind me for support while my stomach twisted into knots that made breathing difficult.
"He is in a better headspace now." Laurent’s voice seemed to come from very far away. "But he should hate you. He should hate you so much. But he cannot bring himself to hate you enough."
The SA situation... Hearing it confirmed in such casual terms made bile rise in my throat. My vision blurred at the edges. Because it was the one thing I was keeping away from my mind. No matter how much it killed me to do it.
"How bad was it?" The question came out barely above a whisper.
Laurent’s jaw tightened. "Even till today, he hates being touched in a certain way."
I turned away from him. My hand covered my mouth as tears burned hot behind my eyes. My uncle did that. My own family had orchestrated torture so systematic and cruel that Étienne still carried the scars years later. Not just physical ones. The kind that lived under the skin and changed how someone moved through the world.
I shook my head. I could not bear it. I could not reconcile the image of the boy I’d known with what Laurent described. I could not accept that people who shared my blood... Much less, my uncle, had been capable of such calculated cruelty.
"That is a heavy topic I am sure." Laurent’s voice pulled me back from the edge of whatever spiral I’d been about to fall into. "A topic you are still finding it difficult to grasp at."
"I should go." I pushed away from the wall on legs that felt like they might give out any second.
"Go to the garden and clear your mind." He gestured down the hallway. "The flowers are nice."
"The last thing I need is fucking flowers."
"Really?" Something mischievous crept into his expression. "You do not have favorite flowers?"
The question caught me off guard. I frowned at him. "What? Why?"
"Étienne happens to love forget-me-nots."
"No he does not." The correction came automatic. "Étienne does not like flowers. He had a sensitive nose when we were younger."
The memory surfaced unbidden. Étienne sneezing his way through the Beaumont gardens during one of our childhood visits. Complaining that everything smelled too strong. Making faces at the roses my mother and his mother had been so proud of.
"My favorite flowers happen to be forget-me-nots." The words left my mouth before I’d fully processed what I was saying.
Then it clicked.
I turned to Laurent so fast my vision swam. "He likes forget-me-nots?"
The mischievous smirk that spread across Laurent’s face told me everything I needed to know. "Love. I suggest you should check the heart of the garden. You might like what you see."
He walked off before I could respond. His footsteps echoed down the hallway until they faded into silence.
I stood alone in the corridor. My heart hammered against my ribs in a rhythm that felt too fast and too irregular. The garden. The one I’d seen from the window in Étienne’s room. The carefully manicured paths and ornamental trees that had looked so beautiful and so much like a prison.
My feet started moving before my brain caught up with the decision to go there.
The hallways blurred past. Down one flight of stairs then another. Through corridors I half-recognized from my escort to the infirmary yesterday. The estate was massive, but the path to the garden seemed obvious now. Like it had been waiting for me to find it.
Glass doors appeared at the end of a long gallery. Sunlight streamed through them in golden bars that painted the floor. I pushed them open and stepped outside.
The garden spread before me in sections divided by low hedges and flowering bushes. Exactly how I’d seen it from above but more vibrant up close. Colors exploded everywhere. Reds, purples and yellows that seemed almost too bright to be real.
But I’d only seen this from the window. I hadn’t ventured into its center. I hadn’t explored past what was visible from that external view.
I moved deeper along the main path. My bare feet pressed against smooth stone that had been warmed by the morning sun. The dress I wore whispered against my legs with each step.
Flower walls rose on either side as I walked. Climbing roses created natural barriers between different sections. Their thorns caught the light in ways that made them look dangerous and beautiful at the same time.
The path curved left then right. I followed it through sections dedicated to different blooms. Past beds of dahlias and clusters of lavender. Through an archway covered in wisteria that smelled sweet enough to make my head spin.
Then I saw the gate.
It stood at what had to be the true center of the garden. It was made of wrought iron that had been twisted into intricate patterns that formed shapes I couldn’t quite identify in the dappled sunlight. The gate itself was closed but not locked. I was tempted... Because it felt like it was just waiting for me.
I approached slowly. My hand reached out to touch the cool metal. Then I looked through the bars.
That Beta had been right. Forget-me-nots.
There were thousands of them. Maybe more. They covered every visible surface in waves of blue so pale they almost looked white in certain light. The delicate five-petaled flowers clustered so thick they created what looked like a living carpet.
My breath caught in my throat.
This could not be a coincidence. This could not be anything except deliberate cultivation. Years of work to create something this extensive. This perfect.
My favorite flowers. The ones I’d mentioned casually in conversation with Laurent not five minutes ago. Growing here in abundance like someone had been tending them with careful attention for longer than I could calculate.
I pushed the gate open. The hinges made no sound. Someone oiled them regularly. Which meant that this space was maintained with the kind of dedication that spoke to importance beyond simple aesthetics.
I stepped inside and the scent hit me immediately. It was subtle but sweet. Not overwhelming like roses or as sharp as lavender. It surrounded me in softness that made my chest ache for reasons I could not name.
My eyes burned with tears. Though, I refused to let them fall.
"No one is allowed here."
The voice came from behind me. I spun around to find a sentinel approaching. His expression was stern beneath the sun. His hand rested on the weapon at his hip in a way that suggested he knew how to use it and would not hesitate to do so.
I turned to face him fully, swallowing hard against the emotion threatening to choke me. "Why?"
"It is the Alpha’s rules."
Of course it was. Everything in this place came back to Étienne and his rules and the systems he’d built to maintain control over every aspect of his territory.
"Interesting." The word came out steadier than I felt.
The sentinel’s expression shifted into something confused. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more.
Then he was lifted into the air.
It happened so fast I barely processed the movement. One second he stood on the ground. The next he hung suspended three feet up with his legs kicking at nothing.
His neck twisted.
The sound was wet and wrong. Like branches breaking but worse. So much worse. Then his head separated from his shoulders in a spray of crimson that caught the sunlight as it arced through the air.
Blood hit my face in a hot wave that temporarily blinded me.
I screamed.
The sound tore from my throat raw and terrified. My hands came up to wipe at my eyes. To clear the copper-smelling wetness that made it impossible to see. But before I could process what had happened or where the threat was coming from, something closed around my throat.
Pressure.
It was immediate and crushing. Like hands squeezing with intent to kill.
But like before... there was nothing there.
I blinked through the red that still clouded my vision and then clawed at my neck where invisible fingers pressed into flesh hard enough to cut off air. My nails scraped skin and drew blood from myself because there was nothing else to fight against.
My legs lifted off the ground.
Panic exploded through every nerve. I kicked at the empty air, punched at nothing. I even tried to scream again but the pressure on my windpipe made it impossible to draw breath let alone force sound past my lips.
Then my head slammed into the iron fence.
Pain burst white-hot behind my eyes. The world spun. I barely registered being pulled back before my skull connected with metal again. Then again. Each impact sent shockwaves through my brain that made thinking impossible.
Blood ran down my face from somewhere above my hairline. I could taste it now mixed with the sentinel’s. Copper and salt and the metallic tang that meant serious injury.
My vision started to tunnel. Black crept in at the edges while my lungs burned for oxygen they could not get. The pressure around my throat never lessened. It never gave me even a second to draw breath or fight back effectively.
I was going to die here.
In a garden full of forget-me-nots that Étienne had apparently grown for me. Killed by something I could not see or understand. My body would be found among flowers that symbolized remembrance and true love. The irony would have been funny if I’d had enough air to laugh.
My struggling grew weaker. My hands dropped from where they’d been clawing uselessly at my throat. The black edges of my vision expanded inward until only a pinpoint of light remained.
Then that went dark too.