The second we step into the mansion, I know tonight is going to destroy something.

The silence hits first. Thick. Heavy. Like the walls are holding their breath, waiting for me to fuck it all up properly.

Blair’s already grabbing her things. Not even looking at me. Like she knows she doesn’t have to. Aziza’s gone. The crew sits scattered, pretending they don’t feel it—but I do.

And you— You stand by the fire, stiff, unmoving. You don’t look at me. That’s worse than screaming.

“Go change,” I tell Rosa, my voice coming out wrong. Too sharp. Too controlled. “Take her.”

You follow without a word.

The second you’re gone, something in my chest caves in.

“What about Damien?” Armard asks.

“I don’t give a fuck about Damien,” I snap, lighting a cigarette just to have something to do with my hands. “He breathes wrong, he’s dead.”

It’s not him I’m worried about. It’s you.

Minutes crawl. Midnight drags its claws through my skull. And then—

Your voice.

Not calm. Not soft. Fury. Pain. Betrayal tearing out of your throat.

My heart drops straight into my gut.

I’m already moving.

Upstairs, you’re standing inches from Blair, shaking, eyes burning like you’re barely holding yourself together.

“This is your fault,” you spit. “If you’d stayed dead, my life wouldn’t be ruined.”

Blair smiles.

And I swear to God, something in me snaps.

“If you weren’t born,” she says, “we wouldn’t be here.”

I grab your arm, pulling you back—too fast, too rough— And then she says it.

“He kissed me.”

Everything goes white.

You don’t hesitate. You lose it. You fly at her, fists and rage and heartbreak colliding all at once, and I just stand there for a split second too long, watching the woman I married unravel because of me.

Blood. Screaming. Chaos.

When it’s over, Blair’s gone. And you’re left shaking, chest heaving, eyes wild.

“Did you kiss her?” you demand.

My mouth feels full of glass. “Yes.”

The slap cracks across my face. Hard. Deserved.

Another.

I don’t stop you.

I drag you to your room because you’re breaking and I can’t fucking watch it happen out here. You fight me the whole way. You scream at me. You tell me you don’t want me.

And then—

You grab my gun.

The barrel presses to my forehead and my heart starts pounding so hard it hurts.

Your hands are shaking. Your eyes are wet. You look like you hate me—and God, I’ve never been more terrified of losing anything in my life.

“If you won’t forgive me,” I say, voice breaking despite myself, “then shoot me.”

The gun fires past my head.

The sound rings forever.

“Get out,” you choke.

I don’t move. I can’t. I just stand there staring at you—furious, shattered, beautiful—and it finally hits me:

I didn’t just betray you.

I became the reason you’re hurting.

And I don’t know how to live with that.