"Don't fucking tell me to calm down," Nate snaps, barely containing his rage.

"Watch your tone, boy," Scott growls, advancing on Nate. "We both know what happens when that smart mouth runs. Don't forget whose house you're still under."

Nate's fists clench tighter, knuckles white with strain. He gestures violently toward the house. "You think I give a fuck about any of this? Your money? Your name? It means nothing to me." His voice cracks with years of accumulated pain. Scott laughs, cold and bitter, the sound like ice cracking.

"Spoon-fed your whole life, and you still don't appreciate what I've done for you. You're exactly like your mother."

I see the exact moment something fundamental breaks in Nate—a fault line finally giving way. His eyes darken to obsidian, holding years of repressed pain and rage. He's on Scott in an instant, pushing him back, every muscle coiled with barely contained violence. When he speaks, his voice is raw, stripped of everything but pure, distilled fury.

"What you've done?" The words tear from his throat like they're ripping him apart. "All you've fucking done is destroy this family. Destroyed her." His voice cracks on 'her,' and the sound splinters something in my chest.

"You're a coward, a piece of shit who can't own up to anything. So you know what? Burn it all to the ground. Or better yet, watch me do it for you."

Scott's face hardens into something brutal. "You ungrateful little cunt," he growls, grabbing Nate's shirt with a savagery that makes my blood freeze.

I move before I can think, instinct driving me between them.

"Hey!" My voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

They both turn to look at me, and the contrast is stark. Scott's expression is unreadable, a mask of cold indifference, but Nate—God, Nate's face is an open wound. Anger twists with something deeper, more vulnerable. Pain, maybe. Or shame. The kind that comes from having your deepest fears confirmed in front of everyone you love.

Scott releases Nate's shirt with deliberate slowness, smoothing the wrinkles as if this were nothing more than a minor disagreement. His eyes, when they meet Nate's, hold nothing but contempt.

"I should have given you up when I had the chance," he mutters, the words precise and purposeful, designed to draw blood.

Then he's striding to his Porsche, gravel crunching under expensive shoes. The engine roars to life, and he peels away without a backward glance, leaving nothing but dust and devastation in his wake.

"Nate," I call out, my voice catching on his name. I reach for him, but he's already retreating, building walls I can almost see materializing around him.

He shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is stripped raw, barely holding together.

"Nora, don't. Please... just don't. Not right now. I need… I just need to be alone."