Chapter 10: The Fight Escalates

The bar's atmosphere was thick with the tang of alcohol and sweat. David stood rooted to the spot, his fists trembling as low, indistinct voices filled the room. His chest heaved erratically with nearly uncontrollable rage. Just a few feet away, Peter met his glare with unwavering eyes and a look of profound sadness instead of terror. In a low, biting tone, Peter had said, "You're immature," his words laced with anger—as though David were nothing more than a spoiled child throwing tantrums instead of a man confronting his own hypocrisy.

In that charged moment, something inside David broke. Strong hands seized his shoulders and pulled him back; before his fist could fly, Peter lunged, and David's muscles coiled with fury as his arm was drawn back to strike. "Release me!" David roared, wrestling against those restraining him. His voice dripped with venom, drawing uncomfortable glances from onlookers.

Peter's reply was cold and cutting, his eyes narrowing as he said, "You're pathetic. You're enraged because Emily treats you exactly as you treat her. And that's the cold, hard truth, David—you simply can't face it."

David spat out his retort, his tone trembling with anger, "That's because my wife cheated on me and made a fool of me!" Peter shook his head sharply and exhaled, "You made a fool of yourself the moment you thought you could cheat and never face the consequences. You don't get to be the victim, David."

David clenched his teeth until they ached. Though the grip on him loosened and his body began to relax, the fire in his eyes remained unextinguished. With a heavy, uneven stride, he turned and stormed out of the bar without another word. The frigid evening air hit him as soon as he stepped outside, but it did little to calm his simmering anger. Deep beneath it all, buried in the recesses of his mind, was a bitter remorse—a swirling maelstrom of anger, embarrassment, and self-betrayal that had taken root long ago.

Yet, the thought of Emily being with another man—of her laughing and touching someone else just as she once touched him—turned his stomach with an almost unendurable bitterness.

Clutching the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white, David drove aimlessly through the city's labyrinthine streets. Peter's parting words echoed in his mind, each syllable a relentless thump against his pride:

*"You acted a fool here. You cannot play the victim."*

He despised how accurately those words cut through him.

Eventually, his car slowed in front of the house he once shared with Emily—a house that now felt as hollow as his shattered hope. With heavy steps, he got out and made his way to the unlocked front door. His breathing was erratic as he entered, his fists still balled tight. Though the bitter conversation with Emily had left a sour taste, one fact was inescapable: his marriage was over, a truth Peter had ensured was seared into his mind.

With his jaw clenched, David returned to his car. Peter's voice still tormented him—a vulture's cry over carrion. His fury exploded anew, his grip on the steering wheel turning it white. "Screw it," he muttered. In a sudden twist, David turned around and began striding back toward Peter's home instead of driving away. His personal failures weighed him down, but an uncontrollable fury propelled him forward.

When he arrived at Peter's doorstep, he did not hesitate. His pounding on the door reverberated through the quiet night. Seconds later, the door swung open to reveal Peter standing there with an indifferent grin. Crossing his arms, Peter drawled, "Back so early?"

David's veins burned as he spat, "You can't look at me like that."

Peter sneered, "Like what? Like a man watching his disaster of a brother crumble under the weight of his own bullshit?"

David took a single, defiant step forward. "You think you're so righteous, don't you? You believe that because I was the first to mess up, that gives you a free pass to do whatever the hell you want."

Peter's gaze shifted, and he said, "Once again? Jesus, David, grow up. You started by cheating—by leaving your marriage. You're not here just to stand around looking like some kind of victim."

David's hands trembled so badly his nails dug into his palms. "I never expected to end up a victim, Peter. I never imagined that my own brother would be waiting in the shadows to take my place."

Peter stiffened. "I didn't hold back. Long before Emily and I, you dropped out of your marriage—do you even remember when? And don't even mention her name." He arched an eyebrow. "Why? Does it hurt? Good. Perhaps now you understand how she felt every awful moment you returned reeking of another woman."

David's breath hitched. Peter continued, his voice dripping with disgust, "You have no right to be furious, David. You don't get to point fingers when you started this cycle of betrayal."

In a burst of rage, David leaped forward and seized Peter's collar. His anger boiled over as his chest pounded, "You're my *brother*! There are rules—lines you *don't* cross!"

Peter, oddly, seemed to laugh rather than appear dangerous. "You think you can stand here and set the standards of behavior? After everything you've done? Grow up, David. You're upset about losing—only that."

David's insides crumbled. Without thinking, he swung his fist. Peter staggered back, crashing against the wall. He checked for blood, then let out a sarcastic chuckle, wiping his lips. "There it is—the real David. The one who can't even face his own reflection."

Gasping, fists aching, David felt an overwhelming urge to strike again—to tear Peter apart so he could share in his agony. Yet he couldn't. Deep down, he knew Peter was right, though he hated to admit it.

Staggering, David managed to choke out, "Go to hell, Peter."

Peter smirked, brushing stray blood from his lip. "Already there, brother. Already there."

Turning away, David walked off with his fists still clenched. But this time, he wasn't simply leaving Peter behind—he was leaving everything behind.

Barely three steps had passed when Peter shouted, "That's right: walk away. Just as you always say."

David stiffened and slowly turned back, rage blazing in his eyes. "What did you just say?"

Peter grinned and advanced. "You heard me. David, you've spent your whole life running—from your obligations, your problems, from the mess of your failed marriage. Some things never change."

David's pulse thundered in his ears, his breathing ragged, and his fists clenched so hard his nails dug deeper into his palms. "You think you're better than me? Huh? You think sleeping with my wife makes you a saint?"

Peter's sneer deepened as he replied, "At least I never pretended to be something I'm not."

That was all there was to it.

In a sudden burst, David dashed at Peter again, seizing his collar, but Peter was ready this time—pushing David back so forcefully that he tripped over a railing. "You want to fight me, David? Go ahead! It won't change a damn thing!" Peter yelled as he ducked just in time to avoid another wild swing, striking David's chest and sending him stumbling.

"You're pissed at me?" Peter shouted, "Fine! But let's be honest—you're just miserable because someone finally put you in your place!"

Enraged, David charged, and the two brothers tumbled over the grass. Fists flew as they wrestled. Peter landed a harsh blow to David's ribs, but David countered with a powerful right hook to Peter's jaw. "You fooled me!" David bellowed.

Peter shoved him off, hurried to his feet, and wiped the blood from his lip. "You were the one who broke her heart, David. You betrayed yourself first!"

Still panting, David spat, "She was my wife, Peter."

Peter shook his head gravely. "No more."

David laughed hollowly, a sound both weary and bitter. "You certainly don't give a damn, do you?"

Peter's gaze hardened. "I've got Emily covered—more than you ever did."

David felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His vision blurred with rage and something akin to regret.

"You're a true work of art, Peter," Peter murmured softly, his voice nearly broken. Then he sighed and shook his head, "And you're a hypocrite."

A thick, choking silence fell between them. The damage was irrevocable.

David turned and walked away, his jaw set as he cast one final glance at his brother—for now, permanently.

Standing there, panting with clenched fists, a sudden realization struck him like lightning.

*Why am I even fighting you, Peter? It's Emily I'm furious with. She was my mate. She chose just as you did.*

Frustration and weariness washed over him as he exhaled sharply and rubbed his face. Peter, still glaring with fists raised, prepared for another round—but David no longer craved war. "You know what?" David said, shaking his head. "Why the hell are we doing this? It's Emily I should hate. You and I—we're brothers. Real men don't throw punches like this."

Peter blinked, then let out a soft laugh. "Damn… you're right." He relaxed his posture and brushed his unkempt hair back. "We've been acting like idiots."

After a brief pause, Peter extended his hand. "Could there be a truce?"

David nodded slowly. "Truce."

In that moment, the anger between them subsided. Whatever had transpired with Emily was now behind them. They were still brothers, and no matter how much a woman might mean to them, none was worth tearing their bond apart.

As David walked away, he felt the bitter echo of Peter's words still ringing in his ears—a reminder of a lifetime spent running from his own failings. Though his fists remained clenched, a new resolve began to form. For now, he was determined to leave it all behind and head toward something entirely new.