The Styles Triplets

Chapter 28

I pushed through the front door without even knocking. "Where is he?!" I demanded, breathless. "Where's Marcel?"

Harry was already waiting in the living room, sitting forward on the couch like he hadn't moved in hours. "He's upstairs," he said quickly, standing. "I'll go with you."

I rushed toward the staircase, but Harry caught my arm gently. "Alex... wait."

I turned back to him. His expression alone made my stomach twist. "I just want to warn you," he said carefully. "It's... pretty bad. He doesn't look great."

My throat tightened. "O-okay," I whispered.

This time I climbed the stairs slowly. Each step felt heavier than the last. Before I even reached his door, I heard him—soft crying mixed with low groans of pain. My heart shattered.

"Marce?" I called quietly as I pushed the door open. I froze. "Oh my God..."

Marcel lay propped up on stacks of towels, dark stains already soaking through them. Blood covered most of his face, dried in places and fresh in others. His nose looked swollen, his lip split deeply, and bruising had already begun to bloom around his eye. His glasses sat broken on the dresser. Again.

"Alex..." He whispered.

I crossed the room slowly, like moving too fast might hurt him more. "Marcel," I breathed, sitting beside him. "Oh my God..."

"It's not that bad, babe. I-I'm fine."

Tears blurred my vision. "No, you're not."

"I know." He frowned, "I just don't like seeing you cry."

"Well, I hate seeing you like this," I said, my voice breaking.

He reached for my hand, squeezing gently. "I'm sorry you have to see me this way."

Behind me, Harry remained in the doorway, silent and rigid. His expression wasn't just angry—it was furious, controlled rage barely held together. "Do you need anything?" Harry asked.

Marcel shook his head slightly. "I'm good."

"Are you sure?" I asked immediately.

He nodded. "Yeah. You should go home and rest. You're sick."

I let out a disbelieving laugh through tears. "You're clearly worse off than I am."

He smiled faintly, leaning forward just enough to kiss my cheek. "I'll call you tonight," he promised.

Reluctantly, I stood, squeezing his hand once more before letting go. Leaving the room felt wrong. Like abandoning him.

---

Later That Evening

"Hey, kiddo."

I looked up as Dave stepped into my room.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," I said, though my mind was still upstairs in Marcel's room.

"Well... your mom and I actually have something we want to tell you."

Something in his tone made me sit up straighter.

"Come downstairs."

I followed him, confused.

Mom was already sitting at the table, smiling wider than usual, hands folded in front of her like she was trying not to burst.

"So?" I asked, taking a seat. "What's going on?"

She handed me a folded document. "See for yourself."