The red light in the vanity mirror didn't just blink; it mocked me.
It was a tiny, electronic eye watching me bleed, watching my wife pour out a heart I had spent years breaking. My blood boiled, not from the wound in my side, but from the sheer audacity of the intrusion. Someone had breached my sanctuary. Someone had turned my own home into a cinema for my enemies.
I didn't roar. I didn't smash the mirror. That would be too emotional, too human. Instead, I stood up, the fresh stitches pulling painfully against my skin. Chloe reached out, her face pale, but I caught her wrist gently.
