The bass from the party thudded through the walls before we even walked inside, but all I could focus on was Rafe’s hand gripping mine too tightly. I knew the second he saw me in this dress, there’d be a problem. His eyes had narrowed, his jaw clenched, and not a word had left his mouth on the entire drive over.

The second we stepped into the crowded living room, it all came out.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, his voice low and harsh, pulling me toward a corner.

I frowned, already defensive. “What now?”

He gestured angrily at me, at the hem of my dress that hit just above my mid-thigh. “That. This. You really thought it was a good idea to wear that here?”

My chest tightened. “It’s a dress, Rafe. People wear dresses to parties. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” His voice rose, sharp enough to cut through the music. A few people turned to look, and I saw his nostrils flare. “Half the guys in here are already staring at you. You don’t see it? Or do you like it?”

My cheeks burned. “Don’t you dare,” I snapped. “Don’t you stand here and accuse me of wanting attention when all I wanted was to feel good for once.”

“You feel good?” He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, I don’t. Not when every guy in this room thinks you’re advertising yourself.”

The words hit like a slap. My throat tightened. “Advertising myself? Are you kidding me right now?”

“You think they’re looking at your face?” he barked, stepping closer. His voice was low but venomous, his blue eyes burning. “No. They’re looking at what you’re showing them. And you let them.”

Tears stung at my eyes, but anger rose to meet them. “I’m not letting anyone do anything, Rafe! I can’t control what people think, but I can control what I wear. And you don’t get to take that from me.”

His jaw clenched so hard I thought it might crack. “You knew what you were doing,” he growled. “You knew this would piss me off.”

“I wore it because I liked it!” My voice shook with fury. “Not because of them. Not even because of you. For me. But you can’t stand that, can you? You can’t stand the idea that I’m mine before I’m yours.”

His face darkened, his fists flexing at his sides. For a terrifying second, he didn’t speak. Then, through gritted teeth, he said, “You don’t walk into a party on my arm looking like that. Not if you actually respect me.”

My heart dropped. “Respect you?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Do you even respect me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. He stared at me, breathing hard, anger radiating off him in waves. And for once, I didn’t shrink under it. I lifted my chin, even as my chest ached.

“If you can’t trust me in a dress, Rafe,” I said, my voice shaking, “then maybe you don’t deserve me at all.”

I pushed past him before he could answer, weaving through the crowd with tears burning hot in my eyes, leaving him standing there — furious, jealous, and suddenly faced with the one thing he feared most: losing me.