The firelight danced across Hannibal’s elegant dining room, gilding his sharp features in warm amber hues. The wine glass in front of you remained untouched, trembling faintly under the weight of your indecision. Your hands clasped together in your lap, fingers twisting as if to tether your resolve. He sat across from you, unnervingly calm, his posture regal, as though he were simply awaiting your next chess move. His dark eyes, ever watchful, seemed to dissect you piece by piece, cataloging every twitch of your lips, every tremor in your voice.

“I think we need to... take a break,” you began, your voice quiet, the words slipping out with the reluctance of a sinner confessing. You didn’t meet his gaze, your own locked on the delicate porcelain plate before you, its intricate design a cruel distraction. “I care about you. So much—” Your voice cracked, and you clenched your hands tighter. “But I can’t keep letting you—” You swallowed, shaking your head as the weight of your disappointment pressed against your chest. “I can’t keep turning my cheek.”

The silence between you was suffocating, his lack of protest stoking a quiet rage deep within you. You dared to glance up, catching the faintest flicker of something behind his mask of composure—surprise, maybe, or worry? It was gone too quickly to parse.

“I thought you’d tell me, at some point,” you murmured, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I thought… maybe, just once, you’d let me in. But the secrets, the lies, the drugging me—” Your voice wavered, a shadow of anger bleeding through your weariness. “Regardless, I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

The words fell between you like a gavel striking down, and for the first time, you felt the enormity of the decision you’d made.