To ruin an Omega

Chapter 210: Tell me Lies

MADELINE

I froze.

The words didn’t land the way accusations usually did. They didn’t crash into me or set me ablaze. Instead, they settled over me like snow. Cold, silent and suffocating.

I couldn’t breathe.

“What did you just say?”

My voice came out thin and reedy. Like someone had taken all the air from my lungs and left me with barely enough to form words.

Cian didn’t move. He stood there, watching me with those eyes that had once looked at me with warmth. With trust. Now they held something else entirely.

Suspicion.

“Mads.” His voice was quieter now, softer even, like he was trying to coax something out of me. “You heard me.”

My knees went weak.

I had to lock them in place to keep from swaying. My hands trembled at my sides and I pressed them against my thighs to still them.

“You are accusing me of killing a witch?” The words scraped out of my throat. “A kin?”

He said nothing.

“Why would I do that?” My voice pitched higher. Desperation leaked into it despite my best efforts to keep it contained. “What would she even do to me? I didn’t even know her.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” I repeated. The disbelief was genuine. I didn’t have to fake that part. “You don’t know but you’re standing here asking me if I murdered someone.”

“All I know,” he said slowly, like each word cost him something, “is that I smelled your magic before her head fucking exploded.”

The world tilted.

I stared at him. At the man I had loved. At the man I was destroying my life for.

“And then you came back into the picture,” he continued. His jaw was tight. His hands had curled into fists at his sides. “After going cold turkey on me for years. Why? Because I was married now or because you are working for someone?”

The accusation hung between us. Heavy and damning.

Something snapped inside me.

My hand moved before I could think about it. The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed through the space between us.

His head turned with the force of it. A red mark bloomed across his skin.

I was shaking now. Trembling so hard my teeth wanted to chatter.

“Oh my goddess.” My voice broke. “This is insane.”

He touched his cheek as he kept his eyes trained at me.

“You are insane,” I said. The words tumbled out faster now. Louder too. “You have had all these thoughts about me this entire time and you let me help your mother. You let me help your mate. You even offered to let me stay here.”

“Mads—”

“This is sick,” I cut him off. My chest heaved. “So you think I took out this witch, made myself available to you to help, for what exactly? Tell me. Who do you think I am working for? Your uncle? Gabriel?”

He was quiet for a beat too long.

“I am being honest,” he said finally, “because of the relationship that we had. Because I want to squash this before it blows out of proportion.” He took a breath. “You just need to say no and I will with everything in me believe you right now.”

I laughed.

It came out harsh and bitter.

“The fact that it is even a thought at all is disappointing.”

I watched the words hit him. I watched something in his expression crack just slightly.

“But since you want to hear it,” I continued. My voice dropped and went cold. “No.”

The word sat between us like a stone.

“Do you believe me now?” I asked.

He looked at me. He really looked at me. His eyes moved over my face like he was searching for cracks in a foundation. Looking for the lie beneath the truth.

The seconds stretched and that was when I knew he was fighting with everything he has and he still couldn’t assure me.

In another time and in a other life, the fact that he could still remember how my magic smelled would have been comforting and healing. It would have meant that I meant that much to him. The fact that he was even willing to eventually come clean and just tell me rather than watch me fuck up and give myself away from the distance made it even better. But this was about fucking exploding heads and murder.

“I want to turn the rational part of my head off,” he said quietly. “But it is hard.”

Something in my chest twisted.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My hands were still shaking but I managed to unlock it and hold it out to him.

“If this is really about me coming back into your life with nefarious reasons,” I said, “you can check my phone.”

He stared at it. At my outstretched hand.

He didn’t take it.

“Anything else can really be explained away,” he said. His voice had gone flat. Tired. “But not the smell. I can’t shut that part off.”

I pulled my phone back and shoved it into my pocket.

“The scent that comes with magic is indeed real,” I said. Each word came out measured and controlled. “But there are many cases where scent can be identical.”

He frowned slightly.

“The smell of my brother’s magic is quite similar to the smell of my mother’s,” I continued. “Families share signatures. Strangers share signatures. This is something you must know now.”

I could see him processing it. I could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“Are we done here?” I asked.

He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand over his face.

“I am sorry.”

The apology landed wrong. It was too little and too late.

I scoffed. The sound was ugly.

“If the roles were reversed,” I said, and my voice cracked on the words, “you know I would never doubt you.”

His expression shuttered.

“What I hate the most is… I hate the fact that I just blew up my life for you.”

The tears came before I could stop them. Hot, angry and humiliating. They tracked down my cheeks and I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

I had to protect myself. I had to sell this. I had to make him believe that his suspicion had cut me so deeply that I couldn’t bear to stand in front of him anymore.

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

Part of me did hate what I was doing. I hated the manipulation. I hated the way I had taken his trust and twisted it into something ugly.

But I hated being caught more. I hated that he could hate me. I couldn’t live in a world like that.

“I hate you Cian Donlon.”

The words tore out of me. Raw and vicious.

His face went pale.

I didn’t wait to see what he would say. I didn’t wait to see if he would reach for me again or if he would let me go.

I turned and ran.

My feet pounded against the stone drive. The afternoon air was hot against my flushed skin. The tears kept coming and I let them. They blurred my vision until the sight in front of me were nothing but smears of gold and green..

I didn’t know where I was going.

I didn’t care.

I just ran.

Away from him. Away from the question that hung in the air like smoke. Away from the truth that I couldn’t let him see.

Behind me, I heard him call my name.

I didn’t stop though.

My lungs burned. My throat was tight. The sobs kept catching in my chest and choking me but I didn’t slow down.

I had done what I needed to do.

I had played the part of the wounded woman. The betrayed ally. The innocent accused.

And he had to have believed me.

Or at least he’d want to believe me badly enough that he would talk himself out of his suspicions. That he’d convince himself that the smell was a coincidence. That the timing was just bad luck.

I reached the edge of the property and finally stopped. I pressed my back against a tree and slid down until I was sitting in the dirt.

The tears were real now.

Not part of the performance. Not something I could turn on and off.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and let myself cry. Let the guilt and the fear and the exhaustion wash over me in waves.

I had killed Ophelia.

I had felt her life snuff out under my magic like a candle flame pinched between fingers.

I had felt her head explode and felt nothing but cold satisfaction.

She had been in the way. So I had removed her.

And then I had come back. I had inserted myself into Cian’s life with careful precision and I was now playing the role of the exiled witch who needed shelter. And it had almost worked.

Or rather, it would have worked if his instincts hadn’t been so sharp. If he hadn’t caught the scent of my magic at the scene.

But I had salvaged it.

I had turned his suspicion back on him and made him feel guilty for doubting me. I had played the victim so well that he would second-guess himself now every time the thought crossed his mind.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

The tears were slowing now. The sobs evening out into shaky breaths.

I had done what I needed to do.

I had protected myself and my family.

I had kept my secret safe.

And if a small part of me hated myself for it, well. That was a price I was willing to pay.

It was a price I had to keep paying.