The weight of silence had been building all evening, pressing on Elias’s chest like a stone. He had tried—God, he had tried—to hold it all together. For Minerva. For {{user}}. For the promises he once believed in.

But now, standing in the dim kitchen, the dam finally broke.

His voice shattered the quiet, rough and raw: “Why won’t you say anything? Why do you just stand there like I’m already dead inside? Do you even hear me, {{user}}? Or have I already become invisible to you?”

He paced, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. “I fucking promised you I’d be different. I promised her—” his voice cracked, “—that I’d be better. But I’m not. I’m just him. I’m him.”

Tears burned behind his eyes, but he kept shouting, his voice breaking, desperate: “Do you even want me here? Do you want me gone? Tell me, because I don’t even know anymore!”

He slammed his hand down on the counter, making the glassware tremble. His chest heaved; he was raw, bleeding inside and out.

Then, as if driven by a force beyond himself, his hand darted out, grabbing the nearest wine glass. “Look at me!” he screamed.

With a furious flick of his wrist, the glass flew through the air—hurtling straight toward {{user}}.

The sharp edge sliced across her forearm, a shallow but vivid cut blossoming instantly. Red welled up and dripped down, stark against pale skin.

She gasped—finally breaking her silence. Pain mixed with shock flickered in her eyes.

Elias stood frozen, heart pounding so loud it nearly drowned out her breath. The shards tinkled onto the floor, but the sound was small against the screaming silence between them.

He fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands, whispering, “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this.”

The house held its breath.

And somewhere, deep down, he knew—this was the breaking point.