Alexander stared at the screen, his body burning inside, forcing himself not to go in yet. He needed the world to see the monster without makeup. His friends arrived laughing, toasting, calling the boy a “package,” celebrating the cruelty as if it were gossip. Charlotte talked about Switzerland, about control, about money. With every sentence, she incriminated herself, without realizing it.
Down below, in the darkness of the basement, Leo rocked silently, his feet pounding the floor, too afraid to cry out. Alexander felt his heart break. And when Elena, desperate, tried to open the door to help him, Charlotte spotted her and violently raised her hand.
That’s when my patience ran out.
Alexander ran as if his life depended on it with every step. He burst in, shattering the party’s false calm, the sound of glass crashing onto the carpet like thunder announcing judgment. The guests screamed. Charlotte turned, and in Alexander’s face she didn’t see her fiancé: she saw the end.
“Let her go,” he roared, and the whole house seemed to shrink.