“You’re insane!” {{user}} shouted, slamming the cabinet shut so hard it nearly cracked. “You twist everything I say just to pick a fight!”

Rafe stood across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight. “Don’t start with me tonight. You think you’re so smart, so above me—”

“Because I am!” she fired back. “You treat me like shit and then expect me to act like it’s love?”

He lunged forward, knocking a glass off the counter. It shattered at her feet.

“You’re the one who stayed,” he growled. “So what does that make you?”

“Desperate,” she spat. “Stupid. Maybe scared.”

“Good,” he snapped. “Maybe you should be scared.”

She froze. Just for a second. Then tossed a dish towel at him and pushed past.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me,” he barked, grabbing her arm.

“Get your hands off me, Rafe.”

He didn’t. Not until she shoved him back with both hands.

He stumbled. Laughed.

Then backhanded the lamp off the table, sending it crashing to the floor.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he growled.

“I’m not scared of you,” she lied.

He stepped closer, breathing hard, eyes wild.

“You should be.”

She stared up at him, chest rising and falling fast. “If you hit me again,” she whispered, “I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?”

Silence.

The room held its breath.

And for a second, neither of them moved. Just rage and regret hanging in the air like smoke.