He looked at the glass near our feet.
Then he looked at them.
“You will not throw things in this house,” he said evenly. “You will not put your hands on each other. And you willdefinitelynot do this in front ofher.”
His voice didn’t waver. Didn’t shake. Didn’t ask.
Muriel blinked first.
Maddy followed a half-second later.
“You don’t get to tell me—” Maddy started.
“Yes,” Archie cut in quietly. “I do.”
The room went still.
Even Jeremy seemed momentarily stunned.
Archie took another step forward — subtle, deliberate — forcing space between me and the wreckage.
“If you want to destroy each other,” he continued, eyes hard, “do it somewhere else. But you don’t get to turn this house into a battlefield.”
Muriel’s mouth opened — then closed.
For the first time since we’d walked in, she looked at him like she was seeing something she didn’t expect.
Maddy looked furious, and embarrassed.
The silence stretched.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Mrs. Standish,” he said calmly. “Ms. Curtis. I believe this discussion has concluded.”
Muriel smoothed her hair slowly, regaining composure molecule by molecule. “This isn’t over.”
“It is for tonight,” Jeremy replied.
Maddy shot Muriel one last venomous look before stepping back, adjusting her blouse like dignity was something she could put back on. Not that she could cover the bloody marks on her cheek.
I realized my hands were shaking.
Archie turned to me immediately.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
But my throat felt tight. My stomach twisted.
Because this wasn’t just a fight.
It was the dark history between them, an old wound that had festered and festered. Raw. Ugly. Violent.
I couldn’t imagine how much worse this had to be for Archie. This was his house. His mother. We were the interlopers. He slipped his hand into mine again — gentler now — but still firm.
“Come on,” he murmured.
Jeremy stayed between them, encouraging distance.
