You were curled up on the couch beside Michael, watching the evening news. The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the television. A news reporter’s voice cut through the quiet, her tone grave:

“Breaking news: A man was found brutally murdered behind a grocery store earlier today. Authorities have yet to identify a motive for the crime.”

The screen flashed an image of the man. Your heart sank as recognition hit you like a wave. You had seen him—just hours ago—at the grocery store. He had smiled at you, his words dripping with unwanted charm. You remembered the way he leaned too close, the way his gaze lingered.

A chill ran down your spine as you glanced at Michael.

“Did you—” you started, your voice barely a whisper.

Michael turned to you, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.

“Yes,” he said, his tone calm, almost cheerful. “I did.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. Michael’s gaze didn’t waver, his hazel eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite name.

You tried to steady your voice. “Why?”

He leaned back, stretching his arm across the back of the couch as if he hadn’t just admitted to murder.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” he said simply, his smile widening.