Darius's POV
I'm going to kill her. It's certain.
My head is raging, a storm of emotions swirling as I stand at the edge of the bed, watching Allison mumble incoherently into the pillow. I'm seething, barely able to contain the mix of anger and disbelief coursing through me. How did things spiral so completely out of control? I never asked her to drink! Sure, I was a little amused—curious to see how she'd handle a bit of champagne—but I never expected this. Not the spectacle she made at the party, her wild accusations slicing through the air like daggers, and certainly not the drunken tirade that followed, each slurred word chipping away at my patience.
"Happy birthday to you!" she yells, voice muffled by the pillow. "But you didn't think to tell me, yeah!? How nice! You must think yourself a god!"