As Anthony stepped into the kitchen, the cool, smooth white tile felt slick beneath his worn-out shoes. The heavy black marble table in the center was laden with a feast: fluffy pancakes, glistening sausages, steaming scrambled eggs, and golden-brown toast slathered with vibrant strawberry jam. The rich aroma filled the air, mingling with the tang of freshly squeezed orange juice and the savory scent of sizzling steak and shrimp. Multiple lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room, illuminating the colorful cartoon drawings adorning the walls—a testament to his hard work and artistic dedication.
But as he surveyed the vibrant details of his artwork, a chilling realization struck him: each piece bore a signature scrawled at the bottom—"Alexander." Betrayal washed over him like icy water, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Yeah, drawing has been a nice factor in my life, especially when I *steal* yours," Alexander snickered, his voice laced with malice, each word sending a chill down Anthony's spine.
The distinct *click-click-click* of the gun echoed ominously in the quiet kitchen as Alexander toyed with it, his finger tracing the cold metal muzzle just inches from Anthony.
Instinctively, Anthony recoiled, seeking refuge near a sturdy brown cabinet. He caught his reflection in the mirror atop it, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Blueprints and million-dollar ideas lay scattered around—a tangible reminder of his dreams, now plastered on the walls like trophies, mocking his aspirations. A wave of nausea churned in his stomach, a desperate longing for the perceived safety of the basement flooding his senses.
"Hello, Anthony buddy, you're not going *anywhere*," Alexander scoffed, reveling in Anthony's helplessness. "It really sucks, doesn't it? You didn't care about any of this, so I decided to take it for myself. Someone like *me* deserves it more."
"Why would you do this, man?!" Anthony's voice trembled with desperation, echoing in the tense silence. *This isn't the friend I knew,* he thought, searching Alexander's eyes for a flicker of camaraderie.
"Dude, come on, did my ex-girlfriend put you up to this? You know she's crazy! You have to stop her before it's too late!" His words tumbled out, heavy with urgency.
Alexander's laughter sliced through the tension, a harsh sound that sent unease through Anthony's gut. The empathy he once saw in Alexander's eyes had vanished, replaced by cold indifference. Anthony's weary gaze met Alexander's, whose smugness was a stark contrast to the glint of malice in his eyes.
"You know she's not yours, right? She's called an *ex*-girlfriend for a reason," Alexander sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.
"She's *mine*," Anthony shot back. "And she's not crazy. What *you* did to your family…" His words faded, the accusation heavy in the air.
The rhythmic *clack, clack* of the gun tapping on the marble table punctuated the silence, each sound a sting. Alexander's intense gaze bore into him, forcing Anthony to lower his eyes, shame burning in his chest.
"You distanced yourself from everyone who cared about you," Alexander taunted. "It was easy for me to get back at you for everything you've got. So sad."
"I helped you clean up your act so you could live in this lovely mansion, surrounded by people who cared. You were just a trial subscription, and now I've taken what I'm owed." Alexander's cruel snicker echoed, shattering any illusion of their former bond.