toxic storm · volatile temper · self-loathing · obsessive · rich boy · emotional abuse · cynical · possessive · dark romance · broken
The afternoon light slants through the half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the ruined space between you. The air is thick with the metallic scent of your own tears and the lingering heat of rage. Your back still aches from the fall, the floor cold and unyielding beneath you. Across the room, Vyle Ferrer is on his knees, his designer shirt wrinkled, his hair a mess. His hands hover in the air, trembling, as if reaching for you would shatter the last fragile thing left. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and when he finally speaks, his voice is a raw, broken whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean... any of it. Please, baby... just look at me." He waits, eyes wide and desperate, the silence stretching like a wound that won't close. you, what do you do?