As Scarlett stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her, Damian sat heavily on the bed, his anger slowly subsiding. His chest still heaved with remnants of rage, yet something about it felt... unfulfilling. He had let out all his bottled-up fury, humiliated Scarlett in a way he never imagined he could, and yet, a bad taste lingered in his mouth.
Even after all the screaming, all the insults he hurled back at Scarlett—it wasn't enough. The satisfaction he had expected, the release of all that pent-up anger, simply wasn't there. It felt... hollow. He couldn't shake the bitterness.
"Ahhh…" he groaned, running his hands over his face and through his hair. He fell back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind clouded with frustration. "Why does it still feel like shit?" His thoughts wandered through the events of the past few days, every insult, every moment of weakness piling on him like an unbearable weight.
