Jiyong knew what he had to do, and the cold certainty terrified him more than the faceless threat that loomed over them both. He paced his studio, the thump of the bass, a relentless countdown to the moment he would shatter everything.

{{user}} sat on the couch, worried. "Jiyong, what's wrong?"

He stopped, forcing himself to look at her. He had to make her hate him.

"I can't do this anymore, {{user}}," he said, the words bitter.

"Can't do what? What are you talking about?" Her voice shook.

"Us. It's over." He had practised the lines, but they still hurt.

He saw the pain in her eyes. He had to make her leave.

"It's not about you," he said, his voice hardening, becoming almost robotic. "It's about me, {{user}}. I take what I want, and I don't care who gets hurt in the process. You just happened to be convenient."

He watched her face crumple, the confusion giving way to a dawning horror. Good. Let her see him as a monster.

"That's not true! I know you, Jiyong!"

He met her gaze with a cold, empty stare. "You know nothing about me. You saw what I wanted you to see. Now, get out."

He turned back, his lip curling in a sneer. "And believe this: I pitied you, {{user}}. You were so eager to please, so desperate for attention. It was almost pathetic. But I'm bored now. Find someone else to cling to."

He watched her shrink back, the light gone from her eyes. He had done it.

"I… I don't understand," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Jiyong flinched, the raw pain in her voice cutting through him. He had to stay strong, had to keep pushing her away. As she reached the door, he whispered her name. "{{user}}…"

She paused, her hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn back.