The Tattoo That Started the End

Gareth's POV

Everyone in the city knew that Marjorie and Silas were sworn enemies.

Every time they crossed paths, it turned into a fight.

Back in school, it was brutal. Silas once laced her lunch with poison, and Marjorie had someone throw a sack over his head and beat him half to death.

Eventually, they made a truce that as long as neither crossed the line, they’d stay out of each other’s way.

And yet, that same man, whom she hated most, walked in today, humiliated me in front of everyone, and still, somehow, she turned on me.

“Gareth,” she said, her face tight with anger. “You went too far this time. Silas was just joking. Don’t make it look like we can’t take a little fun. Apologize to him.”

I almost laughed. But the ache in my chest made it bitter. With a shaky voice, I asked, “Did you forget everything he’s done to you? To us?”

“I broke his collarbone for you, and that scar’s still on his chest. What more do you want?” Her expression was one of disbelief, like I was the unreasonable one.

And for a moment, I forgot why I’d even risked my life pulling her from the wreckage that day when he rammed her family’s car.

Back then, her body was covered in blood, too weak to stand, but she clung to my waist with everything she had. She whispered that she hated him and that she was lucky she still had me.

Back then, I believed her.

But now, I just felt exhausted.

As such, I stood, phone in hand, ready to walk out.

But her grip clamped down on my arm, sharp and painful.

I wrenched free and slapped her.

The crack echoed through the room, making everyone freeze except Silas.

A red mark bloomed across her cheek.

While she didn’t say a word, the look in her eyes said she was truly angry this time.

But why? Why was she allowed to be angry when I was the one betrayed?

My hand throbbed from the strike. Yet, I still grabbed my bag and left the private room.

Behind me, I could still hear them talking.

Silas, toweling his hair dry, clapped her on the shoulder and sneered. “Doesn’t look like the man you once nearly killed me for is worth much after all.”

Then he chuckled, “But hey, seeing how pathetic you look now, I’ll make it easy for you. Go run after him before he leaves. Don’t wait until he’s gone for good and you have to break my collarbone all over again.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the redness in his eyes. Just a trace. But it was enough to make Marjorie frown.

Paying no further attention to it, I closed the door behind me and silently counted one to three.

I was foolish enough to believe she still remembered that I told her once that no matter how angry I was, no matter how much I wanted to leave, I would always wait for her three seconds.

But then, I heard her say, “Silas, I’m sorry for what happened back then.”

I froze.

I thought Marjorie would never, in her lifetime, say those words to him.

After all, Silas killed her father in that crash and tied me up, forcing her to sign a settlement agreement.

Back then, he gave her two choices. Either sign the paper and he’d let me go, or kill him.

Her eyes were bloodshot back then as she chose a third way. She grabbed a knife, hacked through his collarbone, and shattered his knee with a kick.

Then she signed and told him coldly, “If you survive today, consider it your luck. But I won’t ever show you mercy again. A madman like you doesn’t deserve a prison cell. It’d just be a waste of resources. One day, I’ll make you kneel and beg forgiveness.”

With his hateful glare burning into her, she had walked me out that night.

It was the first time I ever saw her cry. She whispered “sorry” over and over, clinging to me like I was her only anchor.

But tonight, on the cab ride home, my phone stayed silent. Not a single call from her.

Instead, I saw through her friends’ posts online that she was laughing, bantering, and even drinking with Silas.

It turned out their atmosphere didn't even tense up even after I left.