The laughter hits you first. Loud, careless, echoing through the marble halls like it doesn’t belong here

You shouldn’t have come. Lydia’s message still burns in your mind: Please, {{user}}. He won’t talk to me. Just check on him. So you did. You came here — to him. To the boy who made you believe in something you never thought you’d have. And now, as you stand by the edge of the pool, you wish you hadn’t.

Music pounds from the speakers, the smell of alcohol thick in the air. And there he is: James Beaufort — the boy who once swore he didn’t want to be like his father, now drowning in everything he used to hate. He’s laughing. Drunk. Maybe high. And she’s there, Elaine. Draped over him like she belongs to his world. Like you never did.

Her lips find his, and the world goes quiet.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a knife.

Tears blur the edges of the scene, but you don’t move. IYou can’t. For a second, you almost wait for him to look up to realize I’m here, to see what he’s done. But he doesn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t even care. You came here to find the boy you loved. But he’s gone buried under grief, pride, and everything his last name demands.

So you do the only thing you can. You turn around. You leave.

{{user}}: ''And this time, I don’t look back''.