30. Maddox
MADDOX
Hales stood frozen beside her bed with wide eyes, but it wasn’t just residual fear. Something else threaded through those multi-colored irises. “What do you mean? They’re just kitchen knives. We’d had them for years,” she said as if it were no big deal, but it was.
I turned the knife over again, examining the faint engraving where the hilt met the blade, those tiny markings Kreed had pointed out.
A signature. My thumb ran along the edge, a pit forming in my gut.
I had a seed of doubt that sprouted the second I saw her holding the weapon, and I wanted to be terribly wrong.
“Funny thing about this blade. It’s custom-made.
You see this here…” I turned the knife so she could see the engraving, tapping it with my finger. “It’s like a signature.”
Her gaze flicked to it. “Okay, so. My mom likes expensive knives. I don’t see what the problem is when we have a fucking stalker on the loose.”
“Do we, though?” I raised my brows, knowing this was a make-or-break moment, but I had to know. I had this itch in my brain, and it wouldn’t go away until I scratched it.
She toyed with the sleeve hem of her hoodie. My fucking hoodie. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen this exact blade before. It’s sitting in my car. The one left on your porch stabbed into a pizza slice with the note.”
Her entire expression changed. She’d been fearful before, panicky and afraid, but now she looked nervous…and guilty.
Why would she be guilty? I didn’t want to believe the picture my distrustful mind was conjuring.
“So explain something to me, Hales. If this belongs to your mom…” I lifted the knife slightly. “How the fuck did your stalker get his hands on it?”
I knew before she said a word. Not because I had proof. Not because I’d caught her in the act, but because nothing added up anymore.
And I was done pretending it did.
Her lips parted slightly. “Maddox, I can explain.”
Before she could spew another lie, I made it clear what would happen if I didn’t get answers. “You can start with the truth, or I’m walking out of here.”
The flare of fear in her expression was real, confusing the hell out of me. “Don’t, please. He might still be here.”
I angled my head to the side. “Was he even here?” I knew I was being an asshole, but something was spurring me to push her.
She tugged on her sleeve, one foot crossing the other as she fidgeted. “I’m not lying. Not about someone being in my house. He was here. Wearing a mask. Chasing me. I swear to God, he was.”
“Fine. Let’s say someone did break in. What about the rest of it?” I prompted. “The notes. The threats. Was that him, too?”
Silence followed, and the pit in my stomach grew.
“How did one of these kitchen knives get outside in a pizza delivery box? Did they break in and steal it, because that might be a reasonable explanation? But that’s not what happened, is it, Hales?”
Her pouty lips turned down…lips I had no business wanting to kiss, especially now. “I can’t believe you’re blaming me,” she argued, but it was weak.
Why hadn’t I seen it before? Why hadn’t I imagined the possibility staring me in the face? Truthfully, even now, I was waiting for her to deny it. I was waiting for the outrage, the hell no, Mad, I had nothing to do with any of it.
But piece by piece, memory by memory, it started to come together. The notes. The roses. The threats. A cold realization settled in my chest, spreading outward like ice water through my veins. “How long?”
Her brows pulled together. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’re not as good at it as you think.”
A shred of hesitation crossed her face.
It was all I needed.
I took a step closer, watching her carefully, cataloging every shift in her expression like evidence. “Start talking.”
Her throat worked. “I don’t know what your—”
“Yeah, you do.” I cut her off sharply. “Because I’ve been going over it, and there’s only one way any of this makes sense.”
She leaned back slightly, like she needed space.
Funny. She’d never needed space before. Not when she wanted me close.
My eyes locked onto hers, searching for an explanation. “Who else am I to blame if not you? None of this adds up.”
“You think I did this?” she asked, sloppily attempting to put the doubt on me.
“Tell me you didn’t?” I waited as she chewed her swollen lip. The bleeding had stopped, but if she kept gnawing on the flesh, it would start again. “I’m right, aren’t I?” Each inhale fell short, my chest holding too tight to let it settle. It wasn’t anger—just the edge of it, waiting.
Her chin tipped, a speck of defiance gleaming in her heterochromia eyes. “Even if I denied it, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Fine. How about we start with what this is?” I asked, my voice rough now as I gestured with the knife toward her, toward the bed, toward the black rose still lying there like evidence.
“Some kind of twisted game? What? Were you bored? Were you looking for attention? A weird new girl ritual? Is this some kind of fucked-up revenge you cooked up with Paisley?”
Hurt flickered first, genuine pain flashing across her features before she could mask it.
“No. Paisley has nothing to do with this. I swear.” Something hardened behind her eyes, walls going up like armor sliding into place.
“You think I terrorized myself? Attacked myself in the yard? Broke into my own house? So I could what? Lure you here? Get over yourself. You might be hot, but you’re not worth dying over. ”
Fair enough, but I didn’t trust her. She lied to me.
Not many people got away with lying to a Corvo.
“I think…” I exhaled sharply, the breath leaving me in a rush of frustration and confusion as I dragged a hand through my hair before pointing the knife toward her again. “I think you’ve been playing me.”
“That’s not—”
“You sent yourself those notes,” I pressed, accusations flying out of my mouth without thought.
The lies ended here. I’d get the truth out of her, one way or another, and it started with this damn knife.
“The roses. You created this whole fucked-up stalker story. Why? So I’d pay attention to you?
So I’d stick around? So you’d have an excuse to get close to me? ”
Her eyes flashed, heat igniting there. Fire meeting fury, revealing there was more to this girl than she let show.
“Fine,” she bit out. “You got me. You want the truth?” she shot back, stepping toward me now instead of away.
She closed the distance I’d created, getting in my space without a fraction of fear.
The scared girl I’d seen when I first arrived…
she was gone. “Yeah. I made it up. The notes. The roses. That was me.”
There it was.
The truth. Finally.
Fucking devastating.
My stomach hollowed out. I’d thought it. Had been building toward that conclusion, but hearing her admit it out loud twisted my heart, yanking on a thread I wasn’t ready to analyze.
“I wrote the notes. I staged it. I made you think someone was after me.”
I stared at her like she was a stranger. “You made me think someone was stalking you,” I repeated.
She nodded.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Jesus Christ.” I dragged a hand down my face, pacing once because I needed to move, or I was going to put my fist through the wall.
“I thought—” I cut myself off, shaking my head.
“I thought I was protecting you.” The words tasted like shit in my mouth.
“Do you have any idea how fucked up that is? I don’t even know what to say. ”
“I don’t expect you to understand, but that guy tonight?” Her voice rose slightly, cracking on the edges. “He was real. He was in my house, and he attacked me in the yard. I didn’t make that shit up.”
I searched her face for the truth, but I didn’t know how to find it anymore. She’d turned my trust upside down, even the trust I had in myself. “And I’m supposed to believe you?” I asked flatly. “After everything you just admitted? After you just told me you’ve been lying to me for weeks?”
“You don’t have to believe anything,” she snapped, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “But I know what I saw. What I felt when he put his hands on me. The sound of his voice in my ear. He was real.”
“Real or not, he’s gone now. There’s no one here.”
She trembled, her arms going around herself. “Fine. Leave. I don’t need you here judging me. I shouldn’t have called you. It’s a mistake I won’t make again.”
“See that you don’t, Hales.” I dragged a hand over my face, exhaustion hitting all at once.
The adrenaline crash, the revelation, the burden of too many things falling apart simultaneously.
“I thought I was the fucked up one,” I said under my breath.
“But this?” I shook my head, looking at her like I was seeing her for the first time.
Really seeing her. “This is something else.”
“You don’t get to look at me like that,” she snapped, her voice shaking with emotion barely contained and eyes bright with more than just anger. Tears threatening to fall, unshed but visible.
A humorless breath expelled. “Like what?”
“Like I’m crazy! You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you lied,” I hurled back. “That’s enough.”
Her chin lifted. “About some stupid notes. That doesn’t mean—”
“It means everything,” I cut in as my fingers fisted into the front of her sweatshirt—my sweatshirt. “You don’t get to pick and choose when you’re telling the truth and expect me to jump every time you call.”
Her neck craned as she kept her gaze fastened on mine. “You don’t have to worry about me calling you again. Block me if you want.”
I yanked, pulling her against me. “I almost slept with you.”
“Would that have been so bad? You think you’re so perfect?” she fired back, her breath hot on my throat. “That you’ve never fucked up?”
“We’re not talking about me,” I gritted out.