Simp No More

There was a dull, sickening thud as my already bleeding forehead struck the edge of the table.

Rhyn let out a shrill scream.

Under the harsh, white light, I turned my head slightly and looked at Charles.

His eyes were cold—steeped in shadow and something crueler. His face, sharp-edged and handsome like a sculpture, remained frozen. But when his gaze landed on me, it was the way one might look down at a filthy insect crawling near their feet.

"Let me ask you again," he said, each word clipped. "Where were you last night?"

I was weak—my whole body hollowed out by illness and injury. The blow had left me dazed, my senses drifting. I had no strength left to fight back.

But years of being crushed underfoot had left something twisted inside me—something that no longer wanted to stay quiet.

I knew exactly what would make him lose control.

"I slept with a stranger," I said slowly and clearly. "Wanted to see if it felt good. To know if someone like you—who screws like a stud horse—actually delivers any pleasure at all."

Something inside his bloodshot eyes cracked.

Then, without a word, he grabbed the cold water jug off the table, yanked out the wooden stopper, and poured the entire bottle over my wounded forehead.

Ice-cold water ran down my face in a shockwave, stinging the raw flesh like needles.

When he was done, he tossed the empty jug backward without looking. It hit poor Rhyn square in the chest.

Another scream.

She was so loud. Always screaming.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, stubbornly silent. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes but didn't fall.

"Mindy," he snarled. "You think you can leave me now? After all these years—eating my food, living in my house, wearing clothes I paid for—you're no better than the dog in the backyard. Except even the dog knows loyalty."

He grabbed at my clothes, trying to tear them, as if looking for evidence—proof of betrayal marked on my skin.

Seven years of buried emotion finally broke loose in me like a dam collapsing.

I lashed out with everything I had, wrenching myself free, screaming and grabbing anything within reach to hurl at him.

"You're insane, Charles! A true lunatic! Why wasn't it you who died?! You're nothing—nothing—compared to Grayson!"

He didn't flinch. Didn't even raise a hand to block.

Just stood there, silent and still, as objects hit and shattered around him.

His dark eyes burned into mine, something feral moving in their depths.

"So you admit it now?" he said. "You're done pretending? All these years, you've been next to me, but who were you looking at? I loved you for so long—do you even know who I am to you? Was I ever myself? Or just a mirror of him? You clung to me like a dog. All because of this face… this face that looks just like my brother's?"