No Way We Can Be Friends

The rain outside pounded harder, as if the skies themselves were mourning what was about to be lost.

Victor stood rigid near the balcony, back half-turned toward her, armor gleaming under the dim flicker of the torches. His cloak billowed around him like a specter.He was silent — too silent — and that silence was a thousand knives against Amira’s heart.

"You summoned me," Amira said, her voice cracking slightly despite her best efforts to stay composed. "Now you won't even look at me?"

At that, Victor’s fists clenched at his sides, trembling once before he forced the movement still.

"You shouldn't have come," he rasped. "You shouldn't have answered."

"You made me answer!" she shot back, stepping closer, the air between them sparking with everything unsaid. "You called for me knowing I would. You knew, Victor."

He turned then — slowly, painfully — and when their eyes met, it was like the breath was ripped from her lungs.

Victor von Doom, king, conqueror, unbreakable tyrant... looked utterly broken.

"You think this is easy for me?" he snarled, but there was no true anger behind it. Only anguish. "You think I wanted this?"

"I don’t know what you want anymore," Amira whispered. "I don’t even know if you know."

Victor stalked forward, closing the distance between them until she could see the tension shaking his hands — hands that once touched her like she was something sacred, now fisted and helpless.

"I know exactly what I want," he said through gritted teeth. His chest heaved once, violently, like the words physically hurt to force out.

"I wish I never fell so deep in love with you. And now... there ain't no way we can be friends."

Amira blinked, stunned by the rawness of it.It wasn’t just pain in his voice.It was pleading.

He was begging her — without pride, without dignity — to understand what he couldn't bring himself to say aloud:

Stay. Stay with me anyway.

Her hand lifted on instinct, reaching for him — but he flinched back before she could touch him, as if her fingers would burn right through the steel he wrapped himself in.

That was Victor's curse. He could build empires, tear down gods, command entire nations. But he could not bear to be vulnerable.

Not even for her.

Especially not for her.

"I..." Amira began, but the lump in her throat cut her off.

Victor turned away sharply, his cloak snapping like a wound opening anew.

"Go," he said, voice cold and cracked. "Before I make a mistake I can't undo."

Tears blurred her vision, but she forced herself to nod — forced herself to walk away even though her soul screamed to stay.

Behind her, she heard him whisper something so quietly that the storm nearly swallowed it: "I already have."

And then she was gone —

—and for the first time in Victor von Doom’s life, he let himself fall to his knees.

Alone.

Unloved.

Unforgiven.