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The hardest battles are fought in the quiet of our hearts, where acceptance meets resistance and the past refuses to let go."
Author's pov
In the pitch-black room, the only light came from the flickering of a solitary candle, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of alcohol, mingled with the acrid scent of anger and despair.
In the dim glow, a figure sat hunched over in the corner, the shadows stretching grotesquely behind him as he clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.
His breathing was heavy and erratic, each gasp a sharp intake of breath that matched the wild, unfocused look in his eyes.
He took another swig from the bottle, the amber liquid burning down his throat, igniting a fire that seemed to fuel his rage.
With a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the bottle against the wall, watching with a grim satisfaction as it shattered into a thousand pieces, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the room.
Shards of glass fell like rain, catching the candlelight in jagged fragments that reflected the chaos within.
His eyes were a tempest of fury and pain, a mix of rage and despair that twisted his features into a mask of barely contained violence.
He reached for another bottle, uncaring of the mess, his fingers trembling as he unscrewed the cap.
Another swig, another bottle smashed against the wall, this time aimed at the mirror.
The mirror, once pristine, now lay in pieces on the floor, each fragment reflecting the man's madness back at him.
It was a battlefield of destruction, the floor littered with the remnants of his fury.
The young man moved like a force of nature, smashing everything in sight - furniture, vases, anything that could break was shattered under his onslaught.
The room became a graveyard of splintered wood and broken glass, each piece a testament to the storm that raged inside him.
He was a hurricane of destruction, unstoppable and unrelenting, his every move fueled by a darkness that consumed him.
As he continued his rampage, the door creaked open slowly, and the silhouette of an older man appeared in the doorway.
His face was lined with the marks of age, but his eyes were sharp and calculating, taking in the scene with a disapproving frown.
He stepped into the room, his movements controlled and deliberate, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded him.
"Stop this madness," he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative, cutting through the silence like a knife.
YOU ARE READING
Veiled Hearts : A Journey Of Love
Fanfiction✨Behind every cold exterior lies a heart that longs for warmth. ✨ In a world of power and prestige, he is known as the ruthless, unapproachable CEO, a man of few words and even fewer emotions. Yet beneath this tough facade lies a heart quietly year...
