Destiny's Game* Chapter 51: Acceptance or Death

Michael’s POV

Louis ca out of the room, finally dropping the mask he’d been wearing.

Honestly it seed like he’d changed overnight—but I knew better. This wasn’t sudden. This was the part of him he’d kept chained behind polite smiles and soft gestures.

Honestly, the only surprising thing was how long he’d managed to suppress it.

I an... we’re talking about a man who slept best to the moans and dying whimpers of his victims.

A man who always told himself this isn’t , while his actions scread otherwise. He’d built this fantasy of being "good," of being normal—of being soone Charles or Alistair could safely love.

But this?

This coldness in his eyes, this sharpness in his aura, the way the air itself bent under him...

This was Louis.

The real Louis.

The Louis who was heir to a family built on blood, betrayal, and power.

The Louis whose instincts were older and darker than any Alpha’s training.

And honestly?

It suited him.

As he walked past , I saw it—the faint tremor of bloodlust still fading from his fingers, the satisfaction he tried to hide behind calm breathing. He didn’t have to say a word; I could feel the storm settling inside him.

Finally... finally he wasn’t pretending anymore.

And the terrifying thing?

He looked peaceful.

Like slipping back into his true skin had quieted sothing that had been screaming in him for years.

"Michael, if Charles doesn’t like what I am, I’ll kill him."

Louis said it so casually—as if he were talking about weather, not murder.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "I don’t need dead weight at this point. And let’s continue with our plans... eradicating the useless mbers of the Alvara household."

He said eradicating the sa way others say cleaning the house.

I didn’t flinch. I’d heard worse from him, and honestly, this was the honest version of Louis—no guilt, no trembling morality, no second-guessing. Just clarity.

"Charles isn’t dead weight," I said, keeping my tone flat. Testing him, just a little. "You want him. That alone ans he has value."

Louis tilted his head, smile sharpening.

"That depends on whether he wants ... the real . If he hesitates, Michael—just once—he’ll die. I don’t have space for liabilities."

There it was: the truth, brutal and bare.

"And the Alvaras?" I asked.

Louis’ eyes glowed faintly, that ancient, dangerous light that ran through their bloodline. "They’ve pretended for too long. They’ve used , disrespected Father’s legacy, threatened what is mine."

He inhaled slowly, like soone savoring the thought of a future victory.

"I’ll wipe them out piece by piece. Betrayers, thieves, cowards... every last one. We start tonight."

His voice dropped lower.

"And Michael... I want you with . No more hiding my intentions."

He leaned closer, almost whispering. "No more pretending I’m sothing soft."

I nodded once.

Because this was Louis—

the heir,

the monster,

the one the Alvara line should’ve never underestimated.

I held his gaze for a mont longer, studying him.

His pupils were still just a little dilated.

His breathing too slow.

His aura too still.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t even excited.

He was calm—and that was the worst version of him.

Louis in a rage was predictable.

Louis in pain was reckless.

But Louis in perfect, icy calm?

That was when bodies disappeared without ever touching the ground.

I exhaled softly.

"You want with you tonight," I repeated, more a statent than a question.

Louis nodded once. "I need soone who won’t disappoint ."

I almost laughed.

Not at the threat—at the irony.

"You’re asking the wrong person if you want disappointnt avoided," I said lightly.

He didn’t smile, not really, but there was a flicker of amusent in his eyes.

"You never disappoint ," he said.

The words were warm.

The tone was deadly cold.

That was Louis: affection wrapped in knives.

I stepped beside him, matching his pace as we moved down the hall.

"So," I said casually, "who dies first?"

His answer was imdiate.

"Alvara René."

Ah.

Of course.

The one who ran his mouth the most.

The one who called Louis a defective heir behind his back.

The one who thought political connections made him untouchable.

Louis’s smile sharpened.

"He insulted my mate," he murmured. "And he touched what isn’t his."

"Touched?" I raised a brow.

Louis’ jaw twitched.

Just barely.

"His shoulder," he said quietly. "He grabbed Charles’ shoulder."

The way he said it...

like René had tried to snatch the moon out of the sky.

I huffed. "That’s it?"

"That’s enough."

We stepped out into the cold night air.

Louis lifted his chin, inhaling as if the darkness itself welcod him ho.

"Tonight," he said softly, "the Alvaras learn who they betrayed."

He turned to , eyes glowing like sothing ancient.

"And Michael... don’t hold back."

The wind shifted.

The sky felt too small.

And I realized—

The Alvaras had no idea what was coming.

---

Charles’ POV

I woke slowly—too slowly.

Like my mind was climbing out of deep water.

My body felt heavy, my heartbeat sluggish but steady. Soone had... suppressed .

And there was only one person capable of doing that without breaking a sweat.

Louis.

The mory snapped back like a rubber band:

His eyes glowing faintly.

His voice whispering it’ll be okay.

Then nothing.

I sat up too fast. The room spun, the air thick with his lingering scent—sharp, tallic, cold.

Sothing inside twisted.

He didn’t just knock out.

He cald , like I was panicking prey.

I pushed to my feet, anger and fear mixing like acid in my stomach.

The door opened.

Louis walked in.

Not rushed.

Not guilty.

Not even trying to act harmless.

He stepped inside like a man walking back into his own domain.

His aura didn’t slam into the room—it settled into it, like it missed the space.

His eyes found mine instantly.

"Charles."

Just my na—soft, steady, too controlled.

"What did you do?" I asked.

No greeting.

No hesitation.

Louis stopped a few steps away.

His coat was still unbuttoned, a faint scent of night air clinging to him—but underneath it, sothing darker.

tallic.

Like blood he hadn’t touched directly, but had watched spill.

He lifted his chin just slightly.

"Michael and I handled... business."

My stomach tightened.

"Whose business?"

"Mine," he said simply.

I took a slow breath. "Louis... look at ."

He did.

Imdiately.

I stepped closer until we were only a breath apart.

"You knocked out," I said quietly. "Then you left . And now you walk back like nothing happened."

His jaw tensed—barely.

"I didn’t want you hurt."

"That’s not an excuse—"

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

His voice wasn’t raised—but it was final.

A warning wrapped in silk.

I swallowed hard. "Louis... what are you doing?"

He didn’t look away.

He didn’t blink.

"Showing you who I am."

My chest tightened.

"And if I don’t like who you are?"

His expression didn’t change.

Not even a flicker.

"If you can’t accept ," he said softly, "I’ll kill you before I break."

"And if you’re wondering, you’re just in another room in our ho. Our everyday ho," he said. "You’re not trapped. Just don’t go anywhere without telling ."

The casual possessiveness in his voice made sothing tighten in my chest. Not fear. Not exactly. Sothing heavier.

I frowned and pushed myself fully to my feet, the last of the fog clearing from my head. I walked toward him slowly, deliberately, refusing to let him tower over like I was so fragile thing.

"Louis," I said, stopping just a breath from him, "I’m an Alpha."

His eyes didn’t flicker. Not even once.

"And so?" he replied, voice low and almost bored. "I like that fact."

The way he said it—

Like my dominance wasn’t a threat.

Like my strength wasn’t equal to his—just... sothing he found interesting.

Like being an Alpha made easier to want, not harder to control.

I grit my teeth. "You can’t just—"

"I can," he interrupted smoothly. "And I did."

His gaze dipped, tracing the tension in my shoulders, the stiffness in my jaw, the way I stood like I was ready to challenge him.

A slow smirk touched the edge of his mouth.

"Charles," he said softly, "your being an Alpha doesn’t make you less mine. It just makes you harder to break. And I like that even more."

My pulse jumped—annoyingly, involuntarily.

I hated how calm he was. I hated how sure he sounded. I hated how the room seed to bend around him like he owned the air.

He stepped closer, close enough that his breath brushed my cheek.

"You’re an Alpha," he repeated, "but you’re my Alpha. That’s all that matters here."

His fingers brushed my wrist—light, but firm enough that I knew it wasn’t an invitation.

It was a reminder.

"And if that bothers you," Louis murmured, "say it plainly. Don’t glare. Don’t posture. Don’t pretend."

His eyes t mine, unblinking.

"Tell you don’t want ," he said quietly. "Tell you want to walk away. Tell you’re not staying because you feel exactly what I feel."

My throat tightened.

He leaned in, voice dropping to sothing dangerously soft.

"Go on, Charles. Use your Alpha voice and lie to ."

"I’m not lying. I don’t want you, don’t need you, don’t love you."

The words scraped out of my throat, sharp at first... then cracking at the end.

Louis watched , eyes steady, unshaken.

"I hate you," I added, barely above a whisper, because the mont I said it, my chest tightened like sothing inside was tearing.

There was a long silence.

Too long.

Then Louis stepped closer—not rushing, not angry—just inevitable. He lifted his hand and patted my head, gentle in a way that felt crueler than any threat.

"I know," he said softly, almost fond.

His fingers brushed through my hair, slow, familiar.

"I love you too."

My breath caught.

When was the last ti he said that to ?

Months? Years? Before he started layering himself in masks and pretty lies? Before he tried to be soone he wasn’t—soone safer, soone softer?

My throat burned.

"You don’t get to say that," I muttered, but it ca out weak, trembling, pathetic.

Louis tilted his head slightly, studying like he could hear my heartbeat stuttering.

"I didn’t stop loving you," he said calmly. "I stopped pretending it looked normal."

His thumb brushed the tear I didn’t realize had slipped free.

"And you," he murmured, "are very bad at lying, Charles."

I shook my head, stepping back, but his hand slid to the back of my neck—warm, firm, grounding in a way that made the floor tilt under .

"Let go," I whispered.

"No."

His tone wasn’t harsh.

It wasn’t possessive.

It was simply a fact.

"You hate ?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on mine.

I nodded once.

He smiled—slow, knowing, devastating.

"Then why are you shaking?"

My breath hitched.

Why was I?

Why did hearing I love you too gut open like a blade to the ribs?

Why did my body lean into him even as my words pushed him away?

Louis lowered his forehead to mine, voice a bare whisper.

"Hate all you want, Charles. But don’t ever tell you don’t love ."

His fingers tightened just slightly at my neck.

"Your voice might lie," he breathed, "but your body never has."