You walked across the parking lot, trying not to think about him. About his words, his actions, about how he had the audacity to treat you like that. But, of course, Trevor always knew how to find you, even when you didn’t want him to. A sleek black car pulled up beside you, the tinted window rolling down smoothly. “Get in.” You didn’t even glance at him, your pace quickening. “Are you insane?” you hissed, anger bubbling up inside you. Trevor took a deep breath, his voice slightly softer but just as firm. “Get in. I need to talk to you.” Noticing that you're not going to answer, and realizing that your answer is "no" he exhaled sharply, irritation flashing across his face. “If you don’t get in, I’ll find that idiot from the café and beat the shit out of him.” You froze. So did the car. Slowly, you turned to him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Your eyes burned with anger and hurt. “You have no right.” Trevor’s gaze was unwavering, his jaw tight, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “Don’t I?” His voice was dangerously low. “Because I think I do. Because you are my wife. And when some asshole asks for your number, you should be telling me about it.” Your hands clenched into fists. “You lost that right when you made me feel like I meant nothing to you.” Silence. Heavy, suffocating. And then, he turned off the engine, pushed open the door, and in two strides, he was in front of you, towering over you, his intense gaze pinning you in place. “Get in the car, sweetheart. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. “Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll tear that fucking café apart.”