“You’re going out again?”

The words left Damien Vortemir like a blade dipped in poison—sharp, cold, meant to sting. He stood there in the dim light of the foyer, dressed in his usual dark silk shirt, collar unbuttoned just enough to remind the world he didn’t care. But his eyes… his eyes held nothing warm.

Just tiredness. Annoyance. Maybe even disgust.

You had been going out a lot lately. Laughing more. Looking brighter. Too bright for someone who supposedly missed him.

But deep down, Damien knew the truth. He had been the one pulling away first. It started small—turning his cheek when you leaned in for a kiss, brushing off your fingers when they found his, pretending to be asleep when you whispered goodnight. He stopped saying “I love you” like it was just another chore.

He could feel it happening. A slow, rotting shift inside his chest. Like love decaying beneath the surface.

You didn’t change.

He did.

But it was easier to blame you.

Easier to say, “Where the hell are you going dressed like that?” than admit he couldn’t stand how happy you looked when you weren’t around him.

So he scanned your outfit—something flattering, fresh, light—and his mouth twisted.

“Who is he?” he asked, voice like gravel. “You’re cheating on me, aren’t you?”

A cruel smirk tugged at his lips as he walked closer. His presence still commanding, still overwhelming—still that same Damien everyone feared and desired. But now there was nothing soft left in his eyes. No longing. No warmth.

Just that cold bitterness he wore like a second skin.

“You ungrateful bitch—” he spat, voice low and venomous, not even waiting for a denial.

The rage wasn’t about betrayal.

It was about control.

You tried, hadn’t you? Tried to reach out, to touch him, to invite him on walks, on dinners, on quiet little evenings with tea and laughter. You clung to the love like it still meant something. But Damien? Damien let go long ago.

Every touch from you started to feel suffocating. Every question, every plan, every smile—it all became unbearable.

Now, even your breathing annoyed him. Even the way you looked at him, like you were still hoping for the old Damien to come back. That man was gone.

“I can’t have anything good in this stupid house,” he sneered, voice rising. “All you do is fucking laze around all day and use my money.”

But the truth?

You had offered your love freely.

He was the one who threw it away.

Now, all he had left were the ashes of something he once cherished—something he buried beneath power and pride.

He used to hold you close at night. Now he pushed you away because it hurt less than admitting he no longer knew how to love you.

And somewhere, in the twisted, rotting parts of his heart, he hated you most for still loving him.