Ethan stood near the window, his bandaged nose stark against a flushed face, eyes blazing with indignation. Across from him, James slouched in a brown armchair, his face lined with fatigue. Artemis, perched on the sofa, clutched a glass of water, his expression a mix of concern and exasperation.
"I'm pressing charges," Ethan's voice cracked, raw with fury. He pointed a trembling finger toward his swollen nose. "Axel did this to me, Dad. You can't just ignore it."
James rubbed his temples, his graying hair dishevelled. "Ethan, I wasn't there. I stepped out to the bathroom—felt dizzy again." His voice was low, strained, as if each word cost him effort.
Ethan's fists clenched. "Do you think I'm making this up? Look at my face! He punched me, and for what? I barely touched Lolita."
James's eyes narrowed, cold and skeptical. "Barely touched her? I heard she was crying, Ethan. Said you grabbed her wrist hard enough to leave a mark."
"That's a lie!" Ethan shot up from his seat, his chair scraping against the floor. "Lolita's blowing it out of proportion. I was trying to calm her down, and Axel just snapped!"
Artemis set his glass on the end table with a soft clink. His voice was calm but firm. "Ethan, your father's going through enough. This party was meant to lift his spirits, not drain them. Let him breathe."
Ethan spun on him, rage flaring. "You don't get it. You don't know Axel—he's a damn loose cannon." His voice wavered, caught between anger and desperation. "I'm the one who got hurt. I'm the victim here."
A shrill ringtone pierced the tension. James fumbled for his phone, glancing at the screen. "It's the doctor," he muttered, rising stiffly. "I need to take this." He shuffled out of the room.
Ethan's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to Artemis. "I'm done trying to explain. I'm calling Maxwell. He'll know what to do."
He strode out, his footsteps echoing into the hall. Axel's punch had shattered more than his nose—and Ethan wasn't about to let it go unanswered.