Destiny's Game* Chapter 42: Emotional Sabotage is a Valid Coping Mechanism

Charles’ POV

I woke up and needed a full ten seconds to rember where I was.

White ceiling.

White walls.

A faint sll of pine and whatever cologne soldiers drown themselves in.

Right.

Alexander’s house.

I’d co here myself — walked here actually — because my head felt too full and Louis had a way of taking up every corner of it. Alexander’s doorstep had always been the only place I could show up unannounced and still be t with, "Get in, dumbass," instead of questions.

I must’ve knocked, sat on his couch, and then... crashed.

I groaned as I pushed myself upright.

His guest room was simple, almost aggressively neat. A folded blanket at the foot of the bed. No personal touches. The kind of room that said: I might pack up and leave again tomorrow.

I swung my legs to the floor just as the door creaked open.

"Finally alive," Alexander said, voice low and rough from sleep — or training, or both. His broad fra filled the doorway easily, arms crossed over his chest.

"Shut up," I muttered.

He smirked, stepping inside. "You walk into my house, mutter sothing about needing space, and then pass out on my bed. I think I deserve at least a ’good morning.’"

"You put on your bed?" I asked, raising a brow.

"It was closer than the couch," he said simply, but sothing in the way he said it...

Yeah.

That tone.

That warmth he tried to cover with sarcasm.

Subtle. Too subtle.

But I wasn’t blind.

Alexander cared — more than he should.

I ignored it, leaning forward and rubbing my temples. "I just needed to get away from Louis for a bit."

Alex’s jaw ticked.

Barely.

But it was there.

He hated hearing Louis’s na. Always had.

---

Charles POV.

"Yesterday, I asked you about him. What he did to you. But till the end you kept shut."

Alexander sat beside , not too close, but close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him.

I sighed. "Because there’s nothing to tell."

"That’s a lie," he said, voice quiet but unyielding.

I frowned at him. "You think you know everything?"

"No," he said, eyes fixed on . "But I know when you’re hurting. And I know when it’s because of him."

I looked away.

His hand shifted just slightly on the mattress between us — he didn’t touch , but it felt like he almost wanted to.

"Charles," he said softly, "you showed up at my house past midnight, shaking. You didn’t even take off your shoes before collapsing on the couch."

I swallowed.

"I wasn’t shaking."

"Yes, you were."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "And you weren’t drunk. You weren’t tired. You were... overwheld."

My breath hitched.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

Alexander always noticed.

"Did he yell at you?" His voice changed — lower, angrier. "Did he bla you for sothing? Did he—"

"No," I cut in quickly. "He didn’t yell."

He stared at , eyes narrowing slightly. "But he hurt you."

"That’s not—"

"You looked like soone took sothing from you," Alexander murmured. "Like sothing you didn’t know how to get back."

My chest tightened painfully.

I hated how he could read when I didn’t want to be read.

"It wasn’t Louis," I said — too fast.

"Then who?" he asked.

I blinked.

Opened my mouth.

Closed it again.

Alexander waited, patient in the way a wolf waited outside a cave.

"I don’t want to talk about it," I finally whispered.

He didn’t push.

Not imdiately.

Instead, he exhaled and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

"You know," he said, "you never co to unless you’re drowning."

I winced.

"And you only stay when you’re scared."

"Alex—"

"You think that’s normal?" he asked quietly. "You think that’s healthy?"

My throat tightened.

"It’s not about Louis," I whispered.

"But it is about Louis," he shot back, finally turning to look at again. "Everything with you is."

Silence stretched thin between us.

He softened again, voice barely audible.

"Charles... if he broke you, I need to know."

"He didn’t," I said sharply — too defensively.

Alexander’s expression changed.

Not angry.

Not jealous.

Just... hurt.

A flash of sothing real before he masked it again.

"Then why are you here?" he asked.

I didn’t answer.

Because the truth tasted too much like desperation.

Because I didn’t want to be alone with the mory of Louis’s voice.

Or the way his eyes looked when he almost said sothing he wasn’t supposed to feel.

Because Alexander was the only person I could run to without explanation.

Because he cared.

Too much.

"Charles," Alexander murmured, leaning slightly closer, "what happened last night?"

This ti, his voice wasn’t jealous.

Wasn’t demanding.

It was gentle.

Worried.

Protective.

The kind of tone that made my chest ache.

I closed my eyes, hands curling into fists.

"It doesn’t matter," I whispered.

"It does to ."

I inhaled shakily.

He didn’t touch .

Didn’t crowd .

Didn’t force an answer.

He just sat there, breathing quietly beside .

Steady.

Solid.

Safe.

And sohow...

that made it worse.

I finally spoke up.

"I’ve never hidden anything from you," I said quietly. "Not about my bond with Louis. And I don’t want to start now."

Alexander’s entire body went still — not tense, not startled — aware. Like he’d been waiting for this exact mont.

I breathed in, then let the words fall out.

"He’s engaged," I said.

"To soone else."

Alexander blinked once.

"...His parents forced him?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"No. It was his choice."

This ti, the silence hit like a blow.

Alexander didn’t explode. He didn’t rant. He didn’t pace.

His reaction was far worse — quiet disbelief that slowly lted into anger he tried and failed to hide.

"He chose soone else," he said flatly.

"Yes."

"And all this ti—" His jaw clenched. "All this ti he’s been looking at you like—"

"Don’t," I whispered, shaking my head.

But it was too late.

Alexander had seen it. Always had.

"That’s not sothing you forget, Charles," he said, voice rough. "The way he looks at you. The way he feels you. You don’t... choose soone else after that."

A bitter laugh escaped . "Well, he did."

Alexander leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He stared at the floor for a long mont before speaking again.

"You and Louis share the sa parents," he said slowly. "Sa house. Sa family."

He paused, his voice tightening.

"And he still chose soone else over his mate?"

I nodded, swallowing the sting in my throat.

"He didn’t tell you," Alexander added quietly.

"No."

"And he didn’t consider how it would destroy you."

"Alex—"

"And even after you found out," he continued, cutting off, "he let you walk out. Alone. At night."

My chest tightened painfully.

"Please stop," I said. "I don’t want to think about it like that."

Alexander looked at then — really looked — and the fury in his eyes softened into sothing more painful.

"Charles," he murmured, "you ca here. To . Not to your parents, not to anyone else."

I didn’t respond.

"You ca to the one place Louis can’t reach you," he said. "The one person he can’t control."

The truth of that sat between us, heavy and obvious.

Slowly, carefully, Alexander lifted his hand — the sa way soone reaches toward a wounded animal — and hovered it near mine without touching.

"You know why I’m angry?" he asked softly.

"Because you hate Louis," I whispered.

"No," he said, voice low.

"I’m angry because he hurt you. Again."

My breath caught.

"And because every ti he does," Alexander whispered, "you co here trying to pretend you’re not breaking."

The bond between and Louis pulled tight in my chest — but sitting here in Alexander’s quiet house, with his steady presence, it felt muted... distant.

And that terrified .

Alexander must’ve seen the panic flicker across my face, because he dropped his hand and exhaled shakily.

"I’m not asking you to choose," he said softly.

"I know who you’re tied to. I know what he ans to you."

He looked away, jaw flexing.

"I just wish," he said quietly, "that for once... soone chose you back."

"I’m strong on my own," I said.

Alexander gave a look.

Not a soft one.

Not a pitying one.

A full-body, jaw-tight, eyebrows-raised, are-you-kidding- look.

Disbelief disapproval = Alexander’s specialty.

"Don’t give that look," I muttered, reaching out and dragging both his cheeks outward like he was a grumpy cat.

He didn’t even blink.

Just stared at with murder in his eyes.

I let go, flopping back dramatically.

"Look, I’m already taking my revenge on him."

Alexander’s arms folded instantly — big, intimidating, military-man posture activated.

"How," he said, voice flat, unimpressed, already preparing to disapprove.

I smirked and lay back on the bed, hands tucked behind my head.

"His fiancé seed neglected," I said casually. "So my presence just happened to worsen their relationship."

Alexander stared at like I’d just confessed to arson.

"You’re proud of that?" he asked slowly.

"Absolutely," I said.

"That’s not revenge," he deadpanned.

"Yes it is."

"That’s emotional sabotage."

"Exactly."

Alexander dragged a hand over his face in a long, exhausted wipe, like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him to being my friend.

"Charles," he said, "normal people don’t respond to heartbreak by destabilizing entire relationships."

I shrugged. "He talked to first. I simply existed beautifully."

"Beautifully?"

His brow arched.

"You have seen , haven’t you?"

That earned the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth — almost a smile, before he crushed it with discipline.

Still, his eyes softened.

"Even if you didn’t do anything," he said, sitting beside again, "Louis was always going to break it off with Him."

I frowned. "How do you know?"