Playing Heart Games

Level 52: Have Your Heart Broken (Again)

AXEL

The one thing I hated more than school was fancy dinners. The ceiling of the glass conservatory was lined with miniature bulbs of white light. I watched the Reynardians stream around circular tables, sipping from champagne flutes and laughing.

I'd been to almost a thousand of these events. I didn't think it was possible to hate them more.

My eyes locked on the other side of my table. Mom, decked in pearls, beaming, as she spoke to Kelsey Williams—the woman sleeping with Vincent Ryder. The woman smiled, laughing at my mom's jokes. There was no hint on her face that she was screwing her friend's husband.

I swiped a champagne flute from a passing waiter, swallowing the entire glass in one gulp.

"Stop drinking," Brielle hissed.

And there was the other reason I hated this event.

I grabbed another glass.

"Axel—"

Before she could deliver her threat, the Traitor turned to us. She smiled. "Don't you two look adorable?"

Mom lit up. "They are so cute, aren't they?"

Instantly, Brielle was beaming, everything about her expression innocent, kind. "Thank you."

I swallowed the rest of the champagne.

Beneath the table, Brielle's nails dug into my thigh.

It had become clear that Brielle was determined to make us look like the perfect couple. Right down to the clothing. She'd picked out my outfit so it matched hers. Styled my hair, hidden my tattoos.

Dear Violet,

Did you hate it when I picked out your clothes?

Love,

Axel

I caught another champagne glass.

Brielle was too busy preening for my mother and her traitorous b*tch friend to stop me.

My eyes drifted over the party as I drank—the lithe frames, the silk dresses, the expensive suits, the laughing faces.

Everyone here was a pretender. Pretending to be perfect. Pretending that their husbands weren't fucking their secretaries, or their wives' best friend. Pretending they were someone else.

I hated it.

And yet wasn't I the exact same?

Hadn't I tried to make Violet more like them? I'd made her dress in clothes she hated, made her go to parties she hated. Made her pretend she was something she wasn't.

And it had backfired.

Maybe I'd wanted to corrupt her. Maybe I'd wanted her to be like them. It would have hurt less than falling in love with her.

"If you take another glass," Brielle hissed into my ear, "I will send that video to your mother."

I stiffened. "You're a b*tch."

She laughed, as if I'd told a joke. Across the table, mom smiled.

"You will not do this in public," Brielle hissed.

I put down the glass. I forced a smile. I loudened my voice, so mom could hear, "I'm going to go check on Asher."

I felt Brielle's glare on my back.

She would give me sh*t about it later, but it was worth it. Just to piss her off.

It took me a few minutes to find Asher. He was talking to a middle-aged man. As I approached, I heard the words 'football' and 'half-time.'