The world was spinning.
Not from the wounds—I was used to pain.
Not from the blood loss—I had survived worse.
But from the mories.
Samuel's mories.
Painful, suffocating, and cruel—like chains I never asked for.
I took another long swig from the Jack Daniels bottle, the burn in my throat a welco distraction.
"Damn it... why now?" I muttered, stumbling forward.
The villa's lights were dim, shadows stretching long across the walls as I dragged my half-dead body inside.
Blood trailed behind , a silent witness to the battle I had just endured.
I barely made it to the couch, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh.
"At least Abigail isn't here," I murmured bitterly, tilting the bottle up again. "Probably with Joshua... where she belongs."
Then, the worst part—
The mories ca flooding back.
"Samuel, buy so condoms on your way ho."
"I'll be bringing soone over tonight."
"Make sure the sheets are clean."
I laughed—a bitter, hollow sound.
Then I slamd the bottle down on the coffee table, the glass shattering from the force.
"Damn it, Abigail!" I growled, my chest aching in a way no wound ever could.
My fists clenched, the veins in my arms pulsing with rage and grief.
"Why does it still hurt?! After everything... why?!"
I buried my face in my hands, my breaths ragged.
"Just let die already."
Then—
The back door creaked open.
My entire body went still.
Footsteps.
Soft, hesitant.
I lifted my head slowly, my bloodshot green eyes locking onto the figure in the doorway.
Abigail.
She stood there—staring at .
Her eyes widened in horror as they trailed over my bloodied form, the empty bottle beside , the shattered glass at my feet.
"Samuel—"
I laughed again, this ti softer—broken.
"Heh. What a surprise." I muttered. "Thought you'd be with Joshua."
She flinched. "I wasn't—"
"Save it." I exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand through my hair. "You don't owe an explanation. Not anymore."
She took a step forward. "You're hurt."
I let out a slow, humorless chuckle. "You've never cared about that before."
Her lips parted, but no words ca out.
Good. I was too damn tired for her lies.
I leaned my head back against the couch, my vision swimming.
"Go to bed, Abigail," I muttered, my voice hoarse. "This isn't your problem."
The room was heavy with silence—the kind that suffocates, the kind that drowns a man from the inside out.
I laughed bitterly, the whiskey bottle in my grip shaking as I took another long, burning gulp.
"Three fucking years," I muttered, voice raw. "Three years of humiliation. Three years of watching you bring other n into our bed—our bed, Abigail!"
My voice rose, hoarse with rage, pain, and sothing deeper.
I slamd the bottle onto the table, the force shattering the glass beneath it.
Abigail stood frozen, her face pale, her lips slightly parted—but she didn't speak.
She never did when it mattered.
I staggered to my feet, gripping my Desert Eagle from the holster, the weight familiar. Comforting.
Then—
I turned to her and shoved it into her hands.
"Go on." My voice was eerily calm as I grabbed her wrist, forcing the gun against my forehead. "Do it."
Her breath hitched. "S-Samuel—"
"Kill ." I whispered, my erald eyes dark with sothing hollow. "You want dead, don't you? After everything—you already killed once. Might as well finish the job."
Her hands shook violently, her fingers trembling against the trigger.
"Stop it," she choked out, tears welling in her eyes.
I laughed again—a sharp, bitter sound. "Stop? Why? This is what you wanted, isn't it? You made watch you fuck other n. You made buy the fucking condoms so you could moan their nas in our bed!"
She flinched, as if my words had physically struck her.
I took another step closer, pressing the barrel of the gun harder against my forehead.
"You took my ring—my grandmother's ring—and gave it to that bastard." My voice cracked. "You let him wear what was mine."
Tears slipped from her eyes. "Samuel... I—"
"DO IT!" I roared, my patience snapping, my soul fracturing.
She gasped, her knees buckling, but she didn't pull the trigger.
She couldn't.
Her fingers trembled so violently that the gun slipped from her grip, clattering onto the floor.
She fell to her knees.
Her head hung low, shoulders shaking.
And then—
She sobbed.
For the first ti in three years, Abigail Bardot broke.
"I'm sorry."
I fell to my knees in front of her, my body weak, broken, and drained of everything except the agony inside .
The gun lay forgotten on the floor between us, but its weight still pressed against my soul.
Our eyes t.
For the first ti in three years, she truly looked at .
And for the first ti—she saw the ruins of the man she had destroyed.
Tears of blood streaked down my face as I choked on my own breath.
I wanted to speak—but the words felt like razor blades against my throat.
Then, finally—I spoke.
"When you said... bringing those n into our bed, those moans... were all a setup... I wanted to believe that."
My voice was hoarse, a whisper of a man who had already died too many tis.
"But I know I can't."
She shook her head violently, her own tears streaming down her face as she reached toward .
"Samuel, I never—"
I cut her off.
"I took high doses of sleeping pills every night, just praying I wouldn't wake up the next day."
Her eyes widened, pure horror flashing across her face.
"Samuel... no..."
I let out a shaky laugh, one that sounded more like a sob.
"But it was worthless."
I wiped my bloodied face with my trembling hands, my fingers digging into my skin.
Then I looked at her—truly looked at her.
The woman I had once loved.
The woman who had torn apart.
"Look at , Abigail."
She hesitated—terrified—but she did.
And when she saw the emptiness in my eyes, she gasped.
"You got what you wanted."
My breath hitched, my chest burning as I spoke my next words.
"Your family's revenge was successful. You made suffer. You won."
She sobbed, shaking her head. "No, Samuel, I—"
"Just tell one thing."
My voice cracked.
My hands clenched into fists.
"Was it worth it?"
She froze.
I swallowed the pain lodged in my throat.
"Was it worth it... to bring those n into our bed?"
I let out a broken, shaking breath.
"To moan their nas while I was in the next room—just to give suicidal thoughts?"
She covered her mouth with her hands, her entire body trembling.
She covered her mouth with her hands, her entire body trembling.
But she didn't answer.
Because she knew—
There was no answer that could ever undo what she had done.
The room felt heavy.
The weight of three years of tornt, betrayal, and silent suffering pressed down on , making it harder to breathe.
I watched her—Abigail, the woman who once ant everything to .
Now, she was just a ghost of the love I used to believe in.
Her lips trembled, her hands still clasped over her mouth as if trying to stop the sobs from escaping.
But I didn't care.
I was too tired to care.
A sharp, searing pain tore through my chest.
The world around tilted as my body finally gave in.
My legs buckled.
The room blurred.
And then—
I collapsed.
"SAMUEL!"
Abigail's scream felt distant, as if I were sinking into a place where her voice could no longer reach .
I could feel my body hitting the cold floor, but the pain barely registered anymore.
I just... wanted to sleep.
Maybe this ti, I wouldn't wake up.
"No, no, no—Samuel!"
She was beside in an instant, her hands shaking as she tried to lift .
"Stay with !"
I let out a weak chuckle, coughing up blood in the process.
"Why?" I rasped, my voice barely above a whisper. "So you can watch suffer a little longer?"
Her eyes widened, fresh tears spilling down her face.
"I never—Samuel, I swear, I never wanted this!"
I forced out a bitter laugh.
"Then why did you do it, Abigail?"
She couldn't answer.
She never could when it mattered.
Her arms wrapped around , desperately trying to stop the blood from pooling beneath .
"I'll call an ambulance! Just—just stay awake!" she sobbed, frantically reaching for her phone.
I caught her wrist midair, gripping it weakly.
"Don't."
Her breath hitched. "Samuel, please—"
I shook my head slowly, my vision darkening at the edges.
"I'm tired, Abigail."
A single tear of blood slid down my cheek as I closed my eyes.
"Just... let go."
Then, everything went black.
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