The tension in the room was suffocating, the kind that made every word feel sharper, every breath heavier. You stood near the door, your hand resting on the frame as if ready to bolt, while he loomed in the center of the room, his presence as overpowering as ever. His tie hung loose around his neck, his hair a mess from running his hands through it in frustration.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed. “You said I was everything. You begged me to stay, and now—”

He cut you off with a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen, like a storm about to break. “You say you can’t live without me,” he said, his voice low and venomous. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Why aren’t you dead yet?”

The words hit like a slap, knocking the breath out of you. Your fingers tightened around the doorframe as your heart pounded in your chest. You tried to come up with a response, something to cut through the pain in his voice, but nothing came.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re not the only one hurting here, but I’m the one still fighting, while you’ve already got one foot out the door.”