Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

9. The Tightrope Obsession, Strategy & Restraint

CHAPTER 9

THE TIGHTROPE: OBSESSION, STRATEGY & RESTRAINT

DEX

M argaux dominates my every thought. Her laugh, soft and melodic, plays on a loop in my mind. The way she brushes her hair back when she’s focused or nervous—it’s burned into my memory like a sacred image.

I’ve memorized every detail of her face, from the way her freckles dot her cheeks like constellations, to the tiny crease in her forehead when she’s concentrating. She’s everything. And she’s trapped.

It really pisses me off that he’s treating her like that.

Clearly, she deserves better. I mean, anyone does.

But I can see the games he’s playing with her mind.

The way he gives her just enough attention and then cruelly yanks it away.

He’s manipulating her, toying with her emotions, and she’s such a genuine person I’m sure it’s eroding her soul by now.

And while his physical abuse is enough to make me want to murder him five times over, it’s this mind-fuckery that makes me absolutely insane with my own rage.

I can tell that it leaves her feeling lost, lonely, confused, abandoned. To be in a relationship and feel lonelier than if you were by yourself is telling.

It means that something’s missing. That you’re not getting the companionship and camaraderie that you’d assume would be one of the highlights of being in a close relationship with someone.

And look at him, the piece of shit. Repeating the cycle over and over, dragging her further down with each move. Reaping joy from her misery.

But I can’t rush in like a hero from some poorly written romance novel. If I misstep, if I act too soon or too forcefully, she could see me as the enemy. Margaux is stubborn, and her pride is formidable. Push her too hard, and she might retreat further into Timmy’s grasp. And then? I’d lose her. Completely.

So, I balance on this tightrope, teetering between my obsessive need to save her and my calculated restraint. Every instinct in me screams to act, to end this nightmare for her, but I know I have to play the long game. It’s the only way to protect her without pushing her away.

The pictures of Margaux’s battered face are burned into my brain. Two black eyes, a swollen lip, bruises trailing her arms and legs like a roadmap of pain. My stomach churns as I study the photos she must have sent to someone—a therapist, a friend, maybe even just to document the evidence for herself. Evidence of what she’s enduring. A warning to herself of what could so easily happen again.

It doesn’t matter how I saw them. What matters is what I’m seeing. Bruises. Swelling. Fear.

Two black eyes. That’s not just abuse—it’s potential brain trauma.

My mind flashes to the research I’ve been doing on head injuries, and my chest tightens. What if she’s walking around with a ticking time bomb in her skull because of that human dumpster fire?

I double-check court records, desperate for a sliver of justice. Timmy was arrested. But the charges didn’t stick. Of course they didn’t. He’s slippery, a master manipulator. He’s probably already convinced the cops it was all a misunderstanding—and Margaux wouldn’t press charges. I understand why. She’s already been let down by the justice system before.

My fists clench. My jaw tightens. I want to kill him. Snap his neck and leave him for the meth heads he’s so fond of. But I can’t. Not yet.

I’ve hacked her webcam and phone camera—not to spy, but to protect. I need to know she’s okay. But the image of her sitting at her desk, shoulders hunched, eyes dim, cuts deeper than any blade could. She looks so tired. So drained.

I watch her text thread with her older sister, Amanda. Margaux glosses over the abuse, downplaying Timmy’s behavior.

Amanda presses gently, trying to reach her, but Margaux deflects, focusing on the rare ‘good moments’. Every time she defends him, it feels like a knife twisting in my chest.

I want to grab her, shake her, make her see the truth. But I know better. If I push too hard, she’ll only dig her heels in deeper.

Timmy’s a master manipulator, and he’s playing his part well. He pretends to be the man she fell in love with—charming, funny, attentive. I know it’s all an act. The real Timmy is a coward who gets off on destroying people.

The thought of him gaslighting Margaux, making her doubt herself, makes me want to put my fist through a wall. But I remind myself: patience.

He’ll slip up.

And when he does, I’ll be ready.

Timmy might think he’s untouchable, but I’ve been working behind the scenes, unraveling his pathetic excuse for a life.

I lock him out of his accounts and leave trails on the dark web for others to hack into. Soon, bizarre posts—‘Timmy Loves Twilight,’ ‘Live, Laugh, Love Enthusiast! DM Me for Inspirational Quotes ’, ‘Certified Clown College Graduate ’, ‘Official Rainbow Dash Cosplayer—Brony and Proud , ‘Bigfoot Fan Club President!’—begin to appear. His small number of followers mock him, and Margaux’s amused smirk is everything.

Timmy tries blaming her, but quickly realizes she has no part in it.

Packages from Timmy’s parents—tools and clothing he can’t afford on his own—get rerouted to random addresses. Watching him try to explain it to his parents is priceless. “It must’ve been stolen from the mailroom—the neighbors must be out to get me,” he insists, frustration oozing from his every pore as he paints himself as the victim once again.

If all goes well, this will eat away at his parents, sowing seeds of doubt that should have been there all along—I want them to wonder if he’s taken their gifts and sold them for booze and drugs.

His father’s ongoing secret ‘soda money’ deposits vanish, funneled into an untraceable account I control. Timmy flails, too stupid to untangle the mess. Watching him plead with his enabling father for more money, his voice dripping with entitlement, is sickly satisfying.

I tweak his phone settings to delay texts, sowing paranoia. He texts a dealer, desperate for his next fix, only to be ghosted because of a message I sent. The dealer’s ‘Don’t contact me again, loser,’ is just the icing.

The paranoia will eat him alive before the drugs do.

I craft an enticing fake email from a local employer needing help with construction work and offering to pay a premium hourly rate. The moment he leaves for his fake ‘interview,’ Margaux gets a few hours of peace. I picture Timmy standing at a locked office door, confused and frustrated, and it’s glorious.

Every move I make is calculated. If Timmy suspects Margaux, he’ll take it out on her. And if Margaux suspects me, I could lose her trust forever. So, I stay hidden, creating distractions and diversions, letting the chaos unfold as if karma itself is at work.

I send Margaux a care package—flowers and a gift card to Dock Bar, the place I know she loves in Downtown. Something small, something that says, ‘You’re not alone’—something that will make her feel special and get her out of the house. But when she receives it, she assumes it’s from Timmy.

Timmy, of course, takes credit. He grins like the Cheshire Cat, playing the part of the thoughtful boyfriend. “I knew you would just love it! It’s our special place, the first place we met and the place where we had our engagement party!”

Margaux flinches at the mention, clearly thinking about Parker and his threats that fateful night.

But I know better. I see Timmy later, through his hacked webcam, seething with jealousy. He’s convinced another man sent the package, and the paranoia is eating him alive.

For a moment, I feel a flicker of satisfaction. But then I worry.

Did I make things worse for her? Is she at greater risk because of my actions?

The thought twists my gut.

I’ve set the chessboard, and the pieces are moving. Every step I take brings me closer to ending this nightmare for Margaux. But I have to wait. I have to be patient.

Margaux is strong—stronger than she realizes. I see it in the way she picks herself up after every fall, the way she keeps going even when the world is crushing her.

But she doesn’t see it herself. Not yet.

I’ll wait. I’ll watch. And when the time comes, I’ll strike. Timmy won’t even see it coming.

But for now, I’ll stay in the shadows, protecting her from afar. Creating ‘inconveniences’ to chip away at Timmy’s carefully curated facade.

Because Margaux isn’t just someone I want to save—the more I watch, the more I know she’s the woman I want to spend my life with.

I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets the chance to live the life she deserves.

And I’ll make sure Timmy pays for all he’s done.