Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 271

271 What Did You Really Do for Me? 3

James’ POVO

“You poisoned everything around me,” I said. “Maybe you didn’t hold the whip. Maybe you didn’t give every single order. But you poisoned everything. You made Arya look like the problem. You fed the lies. You pushed the fear. You kept pressing until I was too blind to see what was right in front of me.”

Marcel sneered.

“You are emotional,” he said.

That did it.

“Emotional?” I said. “Yes, I am emotional. My child is dead. My mate is gone. My pack is fractured. My life is filth. What exactly should I be? Calm?”

He said nothing.

Good.

“I should have waited for Maxw

That one hit him.

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I saw it.

I saw the shift in his face.

Good.

Because I meant it. I should have waited for Maxwell. I should have gone to Dragonclaw. I should have chosen the cleaner path. I should have swallowed my pride. I should have done a lot of things differently. But I didn’t. I chose fear. I chose control. I chose the route that made me feel like I could still keep everything under my hand. And that was how Marcel got in. Fear and pride. That was all he

needed from me.

“I should have never listened to you,” I said.

“You ungrateful fool,” Marcel spat.

Fool.

Maybe.

But not blind anymore.

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Whew

Leah looked shaken now. Properly shaken. Not because her father and I were arguing. But because the way he was speaking no longer sounded like a loving father defending her marriage. It sounded like a man angry his plans were failing. Maybe she was finally hearing it too. Maybe too late, just like

She reached for him.

“Daddy, please,” Leah said.

He jerked his arm away from her with open irritation. She flinched. I saw it. And for one second I thought, there he is again. The real him. When the act is stripped off. When the soft fatherly mask falls. When his daughter stops being useful to the room.

I should have felt pity for Leah then. Maybe some part of me did. But it was buried too deep under everything else. Buried under Arya’s blood. Buried under my child. Buried under my own disgust.

“What exactly did your help help me keep?” I asked Marcel.

He frowned.

I stepped back and spread one hand through the office, through the pack, through my whole wrecked

life.

“What did your help help me keep?” I asked him. “My child? No. My mate? No. My pack? No. My dignity? No. So what exactly did you help me keep?”

He had no answer.

Again.

Nothing.

Because there was nothing to say. That was what made me feel both triumphant and sick at the same time. Triumphant because he finally had nowhere to hide. Sick because hearing him exposed changed

nothing for me. Arya was still gone. My child was still dead. My decisions were still mine.

I was breathing hard now. My chest hurt. My hands wanted to shake. I wanted him out. I wanted

silence. I wanted to be left alone with my regret because at least that pain was honest.

“You should leave,” I said.

He looked insulted.

“I have not finished,” Marcel said.

“I have.”

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271 What Did You Really Do for Me? 3

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