Judas Romanovski
The door slammed shut and it didn’t do a damn thing to cage the storm raging inside me. My hands trembled—rage or something darker that I couldn’t f*****g name—and I loathed it with everything I had. My fingers curled around the edge of the f*****g desk I had her slammed and knuckles whitened, and then—snap. The desk splintered under my grip, the wood cracking like her voice cracked my sanity.
Fuck. Her.
I swept my arm across the surface, sending everything flying—papers, glass, the laptop I’d replaced three times this year. It shattered, pieces scattering across the floor. She couldn’t see it, of course. Couldn’t see me. The real me—the monster that thrived in shadows, bathed in blood, and smiled while snapping necks. But she… she looked
