His dark eyes meet yours, narrowing as if calculating the outcome of this confrontation before you’ve even spoken. He leans back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “What exactly are you accusing me of, {{user}}?” he asks, his tone cold but laced with feigned innocence.

You feel your chest tighten, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Don’t play dumb, Tom. I know about her. About Amara.” The name tastes bitter on your tongue, and you force yourself to meet his unflinching gaze.

His expression falters for a moment, the mask of calm cracking ever so slightly. “Whatever you think you know,” he begins, his voice lower now, almost menacing, “you don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” you snap, stepping closer, your voice trembling with both fury and pain. “You lied to me. To us. Was I just some game to you, Tom? Another pawn to manipulate?”

For a brief second, something unreadable flashes across his face—regret, perhaps? But it’s gone as quickly as it came. He rises from his seat, towering over you, his demeanor shifting from cold detachment to desperate control.

“You are more than that,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, and for the first time, it carries a hint of vulnerability. “Amara means nothing to me. You, {{user}}… You’re the only one who matters.”

But you can’t ignore the cracks in his perfect facade, nor the weight of his betrayal.