Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

62. Dont Fck With Her Cat

CHAPTER 62

DON'T F*CK WITH HER CAT

DEX

T he Sunset Cay feed hums with quiet chaos, the static hum of Margaux’s life playing out in real time. From the corner camera in the apartment, I watch her sitting on the bed, curled up with Sabre. She’s scrolling through her phone like it’s a magic eight ball that might give her answers she already knows but can’t accept.

Her movements are erratic—sharp swipes, constant unlocking and locking of the screen. Sabre shifts, stretching his legs against her lap, his little face tilted up as if to comfort her. She doesn’t notice.

Timmy’s nowhere to be seen, but I know where he is. He’s at the meth tents again. The phone tracker, the cameras, even a couple of social media posts from locals where my facial recognition software has picked him up in the background of their reels—it’s all confirmed.

What I wouldn’t give to put a permanent end to this circus.

Her texts to Alice flash up on my laptop screen. I should feel guilty for reading them, but guilt is a luxury I don’t indulge in anymore. She’s telling Alice about Timmy pouring boiling hot ramen water on her, and Alice—understandably—responds in shock, urging her to leave.

Margaux types back something about excuses and therapy, about how maybe Timmy’s ‘scared of his sentencing’. It’s classic Margaux—rationalizing his behavior even when it’s outright malicious. She’s smart, she knows better, but there’s something deep inside her, some crack that keeps her tethered to him.

I rub my jaw, my teeth grinding. It’s like watching someone drowning but refusing to grab the life raft because they think they deserve the waves.

From the back camera feed, I see Timmy stumble into the room, drunk or high—probably both. He’s slurring something about cigarettes, his wet board shorts leaving a trail on the tile floor.

Margaux glares at him but doesn’t say a word. I can see it in her face—she’s exhausted, completely worn down by his antics. Sabre jumps off her lap, trotting to the kitchen, where he stares up at Timmy, his ears pinned back.

If I didn’t already hate the guy, his treatment of Sabre would be enough—manipulating him with showers of affection and treats one minute, putting him in danger the next.

Margaux’s texts from earlier play in my head like a haunting refrain—he tried to take Sabre to the meth tents at 2AM.

Sabre almost certainly wouldn’t have made it back.

And then he shoved Margaux to the ground. She could have been paralyzed.

I was ready to act then—to fly to the Cay, knock down the door, and rip him apart piece by piece.

But I know Margaux wouldn’t have left, not yet. She’s not ready.

If I took her out of this now, it would only end in her going back to him, and I’d lose my chance to truly free her.

Still, the temptation claws at me every day.

Timmy moves toward her now, his hand outstretched, like he’s going to touch her shoulder.

Margaux flinches, and he freezes. The audacity of him.

He laughs, this sick, smug sound, then stumbles into the back room. The door slams shut.

Margaux slumps further into the bed, her phone in one hand, the other rubbing absently at her neck. I know she’s in pain. I saw her fall, saw how she hit the tile.

The rage in me simmers, sharp and bright, but I force it down. She doesn’t need a savior right now—she needs a mirror. She needs to see what he is, what he’s doing to her.

I need to find additional ways to plant other seeds of doubt in her mind. It’s not manipulation. It’s truth dressed in sharper clothing.

He’s behaved badly so many times, but she’s brushed it all under the carpet, defending and justifying and rationalizing—I need to find a way to make her face it… before it’s too late.

Her phone buzzes with a notification from Alice:

Alice:

Are you okay?

Margaux stares at the screen for a long time before typing back.

Margaux:

I don’t know. I feel so tired. Like I can’t fight anymore.

I close my laptop, my fists clenched. She’s breaking, and while that’s necessary for her to leave, it’s agony to witness. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s on the edge of something monumental. The question is, will she take the leap, or will she let him pull her back into the abyss?

It’s after midnight when the apartment finally goes quiet. I sit back, my eyes burning from hours of watching and waiting. Margaux is asleep, curled around Sabre like he’s the only thing tethering her to sanity.

I open my phone and type out a message from an anonymous number I created weeks ago.

Anonymous:

You don’t deserve this. You’re stronger than you think.

I watch as the message sends, wondering if it will land or if she’ll dismiss it as some random spam. Either way, I’ll keep watching, keep waiting. Because as much as I want to tear Timmy apart, Margaux has to make the first move.

Until then, I’ll do what I can to chip away at his grip on her.

One crack at a time.