Chapter 116
Dominic POV I sat in the cold, metal chair, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it felt like my molars might crack under the pressure. The room smelled like old carpet, burnt coffee, and bullshit. It was bare-bones—gray walls, one crooked clock ticking louder than it needed to, and a semicircle of folding chairs filled with men who looked like they either regretted being here… or didn’t give a damn. Anger management. What a f*****g joke. Most of these guys didn’t look like they had “anger issues”—they looked like they were the issue. One dude two chairs down still had a busted lip that hadn’t fully healed, another was twitching like he needed a hit just to stay grounded. A few avoided eye contact altogether—guilt painted across their faces. The kind of guilt you don’t get from punching
- Writer
