Prime Video waited until midnight to commit mass murder and they did it with a smile.

The official trailer for My Fault: London Season 2 is two minutes and forty-seven seconds of pure, unfiltered torture disguised as television, and every single frame is designed to rip your heart out, stomp on it, and then hand it back still beating just so they can do it again.

You remember the way Season 1 ended: tires screaming, metal twisting, Noah’s blood on Nick’s hands while he screamed her name like the world was ending. We were promised “recovery.” We were promised healing. We were lied to. Because the Noah who steps onto Oxford’s ancient cobblestones isn’t the broken girl from the hospital bed. She’s something sharper, colder, and infinitely more dangerous. The soft smile she gives her new “friends” doesn’t reach her eyes, and when Briar slides up beside her with that serpent-sweet voice, you can practically taste the venom in the air. This isn’t a fresh start. This is a chessboard, and Noah just became the queen who’s done pretending to be a pawn.

Across town, Nicholas Leister is drowning in marble hallways and million-pound expectations. His father’s empire isn’t just a business anymore; it’s a cage with gold bars, and every meeting feels like a slow execution. Then Sophia walks in: heels clicking like gunshots, red lipstick sharp enough to draw blood, fingers lingering on Nick’s cufflinks while she murmurs something that makes his jaw clench so hard you hear it through the screen. The camera cuts to Noah watching from the shadows, and the look on her face isn’t heartbreak. It’s the moment before a storm tears the sky apart.

The underground races are back, but they’re faster now, meaner, engines snarling like they’re possessed. Neon streaks across rain-slick streets while Nick floors it like he’s trying to outrun every promise he ever made. Blood drips onto Italian marble. A knife presses against warm skin while lips hover inches apart, breath mingling in the dark. Every touch feels stolen. Every kiss tastes like goodbye.

And then the final fifteen seconds happen.

Nick’s fingers find the scar hidden beneath Noah’s sleeve, tracing it like he’s reading braille that spells out every sin they’ve committed together. She whispers something we don’t hear, but his eyes go black, the kind of darkness that swallows light whole. The screen cuts to black before we even get to breathe.

That’s it. That’s the moment the entire internet collectively forgot how lungs work.

Ashleigh Boals and Matthew Gallo aren’t acting anymore. They’re weapons. Their chemistry isn’t just electric; it’s catastrophic, the kind that leaves cities in ruins and viewers emotionally bankrupt. Prime Video didn’t drop a trailer. They dropped a declaration of war on anyone who still has a functioning heart.

We were promised recovery. What we got was revenge dressed in cashmere and vengeance. What we got was two people who would rather burn the world down than live in it without each other.

Season 2 isn’t coming. It’s hunting us.

Watch the trailer before someone spoils that last frame and ruins your life forever. Link in stories, Reels, everywhere, go, run, suffer with the rest of us.

Because Noah and Nick aren’t done breaking our hearts. They’re just getting started.