Mitchelle’s POV:
He took a step closer. “This is different,” He hissed. “I know you’re up to something. You’ve been acting strange for weeks, and now you won’t even tell me where you’ve been.”
I laughed, but it was bitter and hollow. “You think I’m acting strange? Have you looked in the mirror lately, Ken? You’ve been distant, distracted-like you’re hiding something. So don’t lecture me about secrets.”
Ken’s face twisted and before I could react, he threw the glass he was holding against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces, and the sound echoed through the room like a gunshot. My heart jumped in my chest, but I refused to flinch. I stood my ground, even as he took another step toward me, his eyes blazing with rage.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” he growled, his voice shaking. “You owe me respect.”
“Respect?” I shot back, my voice rising. “Respect goes both ways, Ken. You don’t get to treat me like I’m some possession you own. I won’t be controlled by you, not anymore.”
“Then why are you still here?” He roared, grabbing a vase from the side table and hurling it to the floor. The porcelain exploded into fragments, scattering across the room. “Why did you beg to stay if you hate me so much?”
I felt a hot, angry tear slip down my cheek, but I quickly brushed it away. “Maybe I’m here because I’m still waiting for the man I loved to come back,” I said, my shaking. “Or maybe I’m here because I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Ken’s face fell for a moment, and for a split second, I thought I saw a flicker of regret in his eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold, unrelenting anger. He turned his back on me, raking a hand through his hair.
“Just get out of my sight,” He muttered. “I can’t even look at you right now.”
I stood there, my chest heaving and my nails digging into my palms as I fought to stay in control. Every instinct told me to scream back at him, to throw something, to make him feel the same pain I did. But I was too tired-too drained to keep fighting.
“Fuck you, Ken!” I cursed. “I’m going upstairs.”
I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the living room. As I climbed the stairs, I heard him curse under his breath, and the sound of another object being thrown made me flinch. But I kept walking, refusing to look back.
In my bedroom, I finally let the tears fall, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep pretending that my life wasn’t falling apart-piece by piece, just like the shattered glass littering the floor downstairs.
Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe I had lost my grip on everything I thought I had. Or maybe it was already too late to save what little we had left.
Mirabelle needs to die!