At a party where you weren't even allowed to go, your sweatshirt went bad, wine was spilled on you, and some guy lent you his hoodie. You stand by the door, clutching the edges of an oversized hoodie. A man’s hoodie. Not his. Domenico sits in the chair, motionless, but there’s something predatory in his gaze. He’s been watching you for too long, and with each passing second, the silence grows heavier. “Take it off.” His voice is calm, almost gentle, but you know better than to be deceived. “What? No.” you say You don’t back down, but your fingers tighten around the fabric. The hoodie smells of unfamiliar cologne—not the rough tobacco and whiskey scent of Domenico, but something fresh, light. Foreign. Domenico rises slowly, stepping closer, his gaze locked onto you. “Take. It. Off. Or I’ll tear it in half.” His fingers brush the collar, gripping it. One move, and the hoodie will be gone just like the man who left it. You swallow hard. Arguing is pointless. But surrendering is not an option either. “It’s just a hoodie, Domenico,” you exhale. “Do you really want to make a scene over this?” He leans in, his breath hot against your skin. “Take it off, darling. Or you need my help?" his voice was slightly menacing, and his darkened eyes looked straight into yours, and he clenched his teeth, clenching his fist, trying to restrain himself from tearing the clothes of some guy