Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

22. Apples Dont Fall Board Shorts and Betrayal

CHAPTER 22

APPLES DON'T FALL: BOARD SHORTS AND BETRAYAL

DEX

I monitor Margaux’s trip to Montana like a silent sentinel, watching the events unfold through her text updates, her emails, and the subtle shifts in her body language I catch through her phone camera.

While they’re away, I arrange for cameras to be installed throughout their apartment. Top-tier devices, tucked into innocuous corners, with the resolution to pick up every flicker of movement and detail.

They’re not for voyeurism—they’re insurance. A way to ensure she’s safe and that if Timmy escalates, I’ll have irrefutable evidence. It’s not exactly legal, but when has that ever stopped me?

Margaux’s safety comes first. That’s my rule, my purpose. And right now, she’s navigating Timmy’s chaos like a captain steering a ship through a hurricane.

It’s not just the cameras, either. I use the trip as a chance to tweak Timmy’s world just enough to unsettle him.

First, I have an associate shorten the drawstrings on his board shorts—just enough to make them look ridiculous. He’s too vain to notice right away, but eventually, he’ll feel the discomfort and assume he’s putting on weight—a nightmare for someone as vain as Timmy. I make sure the knots will tighten in the washer, making them impossible to adjust without cutting.

Next, I replace his shampoo with a near-identical bottle of a brand that smells like old bananas and burnt rubber—subtle, but distinct enough to make him wonder if something’s off.

His shoes? I swap them with the same brand and style but one size smaller. I even replaced the tags inside to match his actual size, so when he puts them on, they’ll pinch and feel too tight. He’ll think his feet are swelling, or that his body is betraying him in ways he can’t explain.

These aren’t grand gestures. They’re small, calculated moves designed to wear him down, to make him feel like the universe is subtly turning against him. His little poor-me victim brain will gravitate eagerly toward these slights, hopefully distracting him from Margaux.

While I prepare for this chaos to unfold back at the apartment upon their return, I track Margaux’s updates from Montana.

She tells Alice about Timmy’s latest tantrum before the trip—the screaming, the vodka bottle clutched like a lifeline, the way he’d stormed out and refused to pack.

She downplays it, as she always does, but I know the truth. I see the fatigue in her eyes when I see her through her phone’s camera, the way she massages her temples as if trying to rub the tension away.

But then she texts Alice about Montana itself. The family seems kind, welcoming even. She describes Phil’s calm demeanor and her relief at finally meeting people who don’t immediately drain her energy.

I can hear the tiny spark of hope in her voice when she tells Alice about Timmy’s good behavior, his sudden transformation into the ‘good son’ in front of his parents.

She doesn’t know that I’ve already researched Phil—the man’s record is clean, but his temper isn’t.

I recognize the patterns in his tone from the snippets Margaux relays—the sharp edges beneath his polite words, the quiet undermining of his wife, the way he subtly asserts control.

It’s like looking at a roadmap to Timmy’s dysfunction.

I know Margaux hasn’t seen my posts on Becky’s social media yet—after all, she’s blocked. It’s better that way. Becky deserves the humiliation, and Margaux deserves the satisfaction when she finally stumbles upon it.

But my pettiness doesn’t distract me from the bigger picture.

Montana is a temporary reprieve, but I know Margaux will return to Sunset Cay.

She’ll return to Timmy’s manipulations, his tantrums, his escalating instability. And I’ll be here, watching, waiting, and protecting her from the shadows.

I sit back in my chair, flipping through the live feeds. Nothing out of the ordinary yet, but the trip isn’t over.

Timmy might be on his best behavior now, but the moment he’s back in his comfort zone, the cracks will show. They always do.

And when they do, I’ll be ready.