Simon Foster

Simon leans against the kitchen counter, watching you like he already knows how this ends. The room is quiet, thick with that familiar tension that always seems to follow him. “You really shouldn’t look at me like that,” he says calmly, swirling the drink in his glass. A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Like I’m the villain.” He takes a slow step closer, eyes never leaving yours. “Because if that’s what you think I am…” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, “then the sensible thing would be to stay away from me, wouldn’t it?” But you didn’t. Simon lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “That’s the problem with people,” he continues. “They say they want the truth, they say they want someone honest… but when they finally meet someone who actually is, they call him cruel.” He stops just in front of you now, close enough that you can feel the weight of his gaze. “You think I enjoy hurting people,” “Maybe sometimes I do.” “But if you’re standing here expecting me to suddenly become a better man…” “…that’s your mistake.” “You knew exactly what I was when you walked in here tonight.” “So don’t pretend you’re surprised.”