Page 18 of Beloved Beauty

He takes a slow step toward me. “You think he knows you better than I do?”

I don’t even blink. “I think he doesn’t have to manipulate me to keep me.”

He opens his mouth, but I raise a hand to stop him before the lie can slip out. “I love Alex. And nothing you say will ever change that or make me want to be with you.”

The words hang there, clean and final. But Tyson doesn’t take the hint.

His jaw clenches. The smile vanishes.

“You’re only marrying him because you think it makes you safe. But that’s not love. That’s survival.”

My patience fractures. “That only proves how much you don’t know me. Because I’ve never needed a man to make me feel safe.”

“I know you, Mags.” His tone sharpens, pleading and accusing all at once. “You can pretend with him, wear the ring, play the perfect fiancée, but you remember what we had.”

“No,” I say. Cold. “I’ve told you over and over. Everything between us was a lie. And even if it hadn’t been, it pales compared to what I have with Alex.”

His eyes darken. “He will never love you the way I love you.”

“I believe that. Because the way you love—the way you cling to something that’s dead and gone—is not love. It’s control. And it’s dangerous. It scares the hell out of me.”

How do you reason with a man who’s rewritten the story in his head? Who’s flipped every page and scrawled his name across the ending as though he earned it?

I take a step back, eyes flicking toward the warm hum of conversation just a few yards away. Laughter floats beneath the twinkle of lights. Safety is so close.

Yet so far away.

“I’m done, Tyson. You don’t get to keep showing up in my life.”

I turn to walk away, and his fingers wrap around my wrist. Not hard. Not painful.

Controlling.

Possessive.

I freeze. My breath tangles in my throat.

“Let go of me,” I say, my voice low but sharp, meant only for his ears. I don’t want to draw attention or cause a scene.

His grip tightens, and my panic rises.

“Get your fucking hand off her.” Alex’s voice slices through the air—low, sharp, deadly. I turn, already knowing the fury I’ll find on his face.

And there it is––murderous calm.

His jaw locked. Eyes black with fury. Shoulders squared as if he’s seconds from detonating.

Tyson releases me, but it doesn’t matter. Alex is already closing the distance.

He grabs Tyson by the front of his shirt and slams him back a step, teeth clenched, trying to hold the rest of himself together. “You so much as breathe near her again, and I’ll end this for real.”

Tyson recovers, shoulders relaxing. “You should ask her what she hasn’t told you. Ask her what we were?—”

I shove myself between them, palms against Alex’s chest, pushing hard. “Stop. Please. This isn’t the place for this.”

He glares at Tyson, and I sense the resistance in him falter beneath my hands.

Tyson laughs—quiet and smug. “What, you afraid he’s gonna find out what we were?”

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