From the moment he laid his beloved wife, Sophia, to rest, something within Felix shattered beyond repair. He had returned home, but home was no longer the sanctuary it had once been. Now, it was nothing but hollow walls that echoed with memories of her laughter and love, memories that mocked his anguish. Felix sat alone in his dimly lit room, his head buried in his hands, fighting the torrent of emotions that coursed through him. His breaths were ragged and slow, his hair damp from a recent shower, though the water had done nothing to wash away the grief that clung to him like a second skin. His lips quivered as he whispered to himself, repeating words over and over, words only he could hear.
"I am… I am… I AM… FELIX," he murmured, his voice filled with a chilling resolve. "They will pay for what they did."
It was then, at that very moment, that Felix felt something stir inside him—a raw, unyielding need for vengeance, for justice, for retribution. His love for Sophia had been the center of his world, and with her gone, his heart was a desolate wasteland of grief and fury. He rose from his chair, a man possessed, and with steady hands, he reached for his jacket. The weight of the gun in his hand felt like an extension of his own rage, a weapon forged by his loss and sharpened by his heartbreak. He moved with purpose, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he made his way to the garage, a determined gleam in his eyes.
This was the path he had chosen, the only path left that would silence the storm within. Felix could not live in despair any longer, could not bear the agony of knowing he hadn't been able to save Sophia from a cruel fate. He would make the ones responsible suffer; he would bring them to their knees, just as they had brought him. Tonight, his heart would find peace—not through forgiveness, but through the finality of revenge.