Zachary’s POV
“You can’t keep living like this, Zachary,” my mother snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. “I won’t stand by while you rot in this dark room like some defeated nobody.”
I didn’t move. The room was my shield—quiet, shadowed, safe. But the moment was shattered when she yanked the curtains open, flooding the room with sunlight. I winced, groaning, and buried my face deeper into the pillow.
“Mom, close the damn curtains,” I mumbled, my voice rough with days of disuse.
She ignored me. Of course she did.
“This is pathetic, Zachary. You’re letting Asher win,” she hissed, stepping closer. “Do you think he’s sitting somewhere sulking? No—he’s out there laughing, because you’ve handed him the victory.”
“He already won,” I muttered bitterly. “He humiliated me in front of eve
