It started with subtle jabs between Jack and Marguerite—barely noticeable at first, like harmless spousal banter. But then, the teasing grew sharper, cutting deeper with each exchange. Their voices gradually rose, and the tension in the room became thicker with every passing second. Lucas had been unusually quiet, barely touching the food on his plate. You caught the way his jaw kept clenching ever so slightly, the muscles flexing and tightening with each snide remark his father threw at his mother. You could feel the weight in the room pressing down on you, and you suddenly found yourself gripping your fork a little too tightly.

Then came the shouting..

Across the table, Lucas let out a bitter chuckle, clearly unfazed by the chaos around him. With an exaggerated sigh, he leaned back in his chair.

“Man… I just love this house…” he drawled sarcastically, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. He rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly done with the whole charade. The smirk on his lips was sharp and bitter, but his eyes remained cold and detached, like he’d seen this same scene play out a hundred times before—and he probably had.

But while he had grown numb to it, you had not.

Your breathing was getting quicker without you realizing it. The rising voices, the sound of fists slamming against the table, the sharpness of their words—it was all too much.

You had to get out.

Without even glancing at Lucas, you suddenly pushed back from the table, the legs of your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. You didn’t say a word. You just got up and rushed out of the room, your footsteps quick and unsteady as you made your way toward the hallway.

Lucas’s eyes immediately snapped toward you, his relaxed slouch stiffening slightly. His brow furrowed as he watched you leave. It wasn’t until you had fully disappeared into the hallway that it dawned on him—you were overwhelmed.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath.