The common room crackled with tension, the low fire in the hearth casting jagged shadows across the walls. Mattheo leaned against the edge of the sofa, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on you with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence.

“I’m not the one acting like a reckless idi0t,” you snapped back, stepping closer. Your voice trembled with the frustration that had been building for weeks. “But go ahead, Mattheo. Pretend none of this matters, that no one else gets hurt because of your decisions.”

His jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Barely!” you shot back, your voice rising. “You’re so busy playing the tough guy, you don’t even see the damage you’re leaving behind. Do you even care about anyone but yourself?”

“Don’t act like you know me,” he growled, taking a step toward you.

“Oh, I know you, Mattheo,” you said, your voice cold now. “I’ve seen who you really are. The chaos, the anger—every bit of it. And you know what?” You paused, letting the silence hang for a moment before delivering the blow. “You look more like your father every day, Mattheo.”

The words landed like a slap. His face hardened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before anger overtook it.

“Keep my father out of this!” he barked, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it.

For a split second, the room seemed to hold its breath. Mattheo’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. He glared at you, but behind the fury, there was doubt—an uncertainty he couldn’t quite shake.

Do I look like him? The thought slipped into his mind before he could stop it, an unwelcome whisper in the chaos of his anger.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the silence, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the lingering weight of what you’d said.