Victor had barely slept. The restless nightmares had plagued him all night long—jumbled images of Damien, of Lana, of his own suffocating rage. Every time he closed his eyes, the sharp echo of his breathless confrontation with Damien replayed in his mind, each scene more intense than the last. His heart ached, a constant throb in his chest, and he couldn't escape the paranoia that crept into every corner of his thoughts.

Was Damien really the person he thought he knew? Had he always been playing him? Or was there something deeper at work? Something Victor couldn't yet understand?

Victor lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The harsh light of morning filtered through the blinds, but it only made the oppressive silence in his apartment feel worse. His head was pounding, his stomach tight with anxiety. The lines between reality and his mind's labyrinth were starting to blur. His phone—still lying abandoned on his dresser from the night before—seemed to mock him with its stillness, as if waiting for another message from Damien or, worse, from Lana.

But it was more than that. The walls felt like they were closing in. Every shadow seemed like a figure lurking just out of sight. Every sound outside his apartment door felt like a threat. His breath came in short bursts, and the soft scrape of the air conditioning vent above his bed sounded like footsteps.

His fingers tightened around the blankets, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead as he tried to steady himself. It's just paranoia, he told himself. You need to breathe. You need to calm down.

But the peace never came.

Then came the knock on the door.

At first, Victor froze. His blood turned to ice. The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough to stir the nerves that had been frayed and trembling all morning. Someone was at his door. His first thought was that it was Damien, the person who had made him feel both alive and betrayed. But Damien wouldn't come here after what had happened. Would he?

Another knock.

Victor's heart slammed in his chest. He scrambled off the bed, mind spinning. Was it him? Or was it someone else? His pulse raced in his ears, drowning out everything else. The apartment seemed too quiet, too empty for what he was feeling.

He moved towards the door cautiously, every step slow and deliberate. He couldn't see through the peephole, but he could feel something—someone—on the other side.

"Victor," a voice called from the hallway, muffled but familiar.

Damien's voice.

Victor's breath caught in his throat. His hand trembled on the doorknob. Damien? What the hell is he doing here? His thoughts spiraled—I didn't invite him. Why is he here now?

His instincts flared up. His pulse quickened. Without thinking, Victor yanked open the door.

And there, standing in front of him, was Damien. His expression was worried, his brow furrowed, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Victor, I just want to talk about what happened—"

But Victor's mind, already unraveling, saw only a stranger. A threat. He saw the shadow of someone who had betrayed him, someone who had twisted his emotions and now stood before him, uninvited, without any regard for what he had done to Victor's fragile state of mind.

Victor didn't hear Damien's words anymore. He acted purely on instinct, fueled by the storm inside his chest. With a guttural cry, he shoved Damien backward, his hands firm against his chest. Damien staggered, caught off guard, but before he could steady himself, Victor lunged forward.

"What the hell do you want?!" Victor screamed, his voice jagged, raw with emotion. His fists clenched, his body trembling, but his mind was a blur of confusion and fear. Damien's presence was all too much, the betrayal echoing in his thoughts like a drumbeat. The adrenaline surged, blocking out every ounce of logic or reason.

Damien, taken aback, raised his hands, trying to ward off the frantic aggression. "Victor, please, stop!" But it was too late. The last shred of restraint broke within Victor.

The force of the shove threw Damien off-balance, and before he could recover, Victor swung. His fist connected with Damien's jaw with a sickening thud.

Damien grunted in pain, stumbling back, and his own instincts kicked in. He tried to grab Victor's arms to stop him, but Victor was faster, more feral in his desperation.

Damien's voice, strained and panicked, broke through Victor's haze. "Victor, it's me! It's me, Damien!"

But Victor barely heard him. His mind had gone completely black—every inch of his body screamed in anger, in confusion. Every part of him felt like it was being suffocated, drowning in the noise of his own emotions.

Damien's chest heaved as he dodged another punch, but he was too slow. The next blow landed harder, knocking him sideways into the hallway. In that moment, Victor saw nothing but the shadow of the betrayal in Damien's eyes. He wasn't just a person anymore—he was the embodiment of everything that had hurt Victor.

Damien crashed into the wall, his head snapping back, the force of the hit dazing him. He groaned, trying to regain his footing, but before he could react, Victor grabbed him again, this time by the collar, and yanked him back toward the door.

And that's when it happened.

Damien, caught off guard by the intensity of Victor's rage, reacted instinctively. His hands went up to push Victor off, but in the struggle, their bodies collided with a violent force, and Damien's head slammed into the doorframe. The world spun.

Victor stood over him, chest heaving, body trembling. He barely even registered what had just happened, his mind still locked in the grip of a fear that left him disoriented. Damien's body crumpled beneath him, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he lost consciousness.

Victor blinked. The haze of rage began to lift, and for the first time in what felt like forever, clarity cut through the fog. His hands shook as he stepped back from Damien's limp form on the floor. His pulse was still racing, his breath ragged, but his thoughts were clearer now.

What the hell had he done?

Victor dropped to his knees beside Damien, hands hovering over him, unsure of what to do. The cold realization hit him hard in the chest.

He had attacked him. He had hurt him. He had made a mistake.

But what scared Victor the most was how much it had felt like the only thing he could do. How his own fears, his own paranoia, had driven him to a point where he couldn't even recognize the person standing in front of him.

Victor stared down at Damien, eyes wide, guilt clawing at him with every passing second.

What had Damien done to him? What had he done to Damien?

And more importantly—what came next?