The Breaking Point

ETHAN’S POV

One second I was half-dozed.

The next, I was tumbling over with the chair.

Damian didn’t give me a chance to breathe. His fists came down. Brutal. Everywhere.

I tried to stay calm. I couldn’t.

“Why did you do it?” he spat, each word landing with another blow.

Why did I do what?

My head was spinning. I was genuinely confused. Or maybe he’d finally found out about the affair—earlier today, with his wife.

Did Rain tell him? Or the private chef? A hundred thoughts hit at once.

Whatever it was, I wasn’t going to let him win.

I moved. Fast. Like a flash, I twisted, flipped him, and took charge. I hit back. Punched. Choked. Heat poured out of us. The walls felt like they were closing in—hot, airless.

We crashed into each other with heavy blows, anger speaking through our fists.

Chains of memory snapped. The last time I’d been this furious was the day our father named him successor—sent me to rehab like I was nothing. First son, passed over for him.

I’d cursed then. Threatened hell. But this? This was different. These punches were heavier, real.

We were on each other, furious. One punch, then a retaliation with twice the heat and hatred. He slipped my grip. In one swift move, he yanked my TV off the wall and slammed it down. The screen burst. Glass shattered—frame, everything.

Fury ran through my veins. I lunged, grabbed him, and tried to stop him from wrecking more. His elbow drove into my belly. Sharp pain crawled up and squeezed at my abdomen.

I doubled over, gasping. Before I could force the pain down, he was already at the home theater—wires torn, speakers smashed.

Then he moved to the bar cabinet. He swept his arm across it. Bottles of foreign wine, whiskey, gin—they all hit the floor and shattered. Liquor pooled and splattered across the rug. The smell burned my nose.

That was it. I aimed for his eyes. He dodged. My fist landed on his throat instead. The impact was heavy, deafening.

I saw his throat twist. Saw red on his lips.

Satisfied, I moved on to his face—slap after slap. I let go only when his cheeks were red and a corner of his lip was split.

My apartment was a ruin: broken bottles, shards of screens, wires from destroyed appliances clogged in the corner like dead snakes.

He stepped closer, blood on his teeth. “You’re a traitor. A jealous, bitter coward.”

A wicked grin cut across his swollen face before he spat blood directly into mine.

How dare he call me bitter?

Jealous? Yes. But bitter—that word lit an old wound. Buried rage, years of spite I’d nursed in silence came flooding back all at once.

I wiped his blood off my face with the back of my hand. Then I caught him by the waist, my other arm locking around his neck. I hauled him up across my shoulder.

With the last strength I had, I lifted him.

He clawed at my hair.

“Fuck you... fuck you, Damian!” I growled, rage burning.

I twirled him and let him crash down right onto the pile of destroyed appliances.

He tumbled, groaning.

Then a scream cut through the room.

Rain.

In the doorway. His wife. My ex. Chest clutched, shaking, sweat running down her face.

She must’ve been standing there for minutes. Shouldn’t she be asleep? Did she come with him? Right—same mansion. She must have heard the noise, the yelling, the breaking.

And then she was on me—dragging, beating, screaming. I didn’t stop her.

“You’re a devil!” she cursed.

Yeah, I am. I’m screwed. My whole life has been pain and rejection on loop: the unfortunate son, the addict, the betrayed lover, the jealous brother. She could pick up a shard and stab me, and I wouldn’t move.

Let it end. Let me smile and walk out of this fucking shithole I call life.

Something shifted in her. She left me and ran to him—to Damian’s almost lifeless body on the floor.

She must’ve stepped on glass, on metal, because her voice broke—sharp, animal, raw, excruciating. And when she saw her own blood, it got worse.

I reached for her. She jerked away and dropped to her knees beside him.

“Damy... No, Damy, please...” Breathless. Blood running down her leg. “Ethan, what have you done?”

What have I done? Ask your greedy, inconsiderate husband.

“You’re a devil, Ethan... I hate you.”

The words hit harder than any of his punches. But I’ll take them. I deserve them—every single one.

My head was clearing. Get the car. Hospital, now. She’s losing blood. And as much as I hate him, Damian is still my brother.

I turned for the door.

Metal hit the back of my skull—once, twice, again.

Pain detonated down my skull, into my ribs. Liquid iron ran hot down my neck. My vision blurred; my breath shook. The room tilted and dragged me with it.

I tried to turn toward the hit. All I saw was black rushing in.

I hit the floor. Rain’s shrill, helpless scream was the last thing I heard before the dark took me.