You’d been with Aidan for almost two years. From the outside, your relationship looked perfect—he brought you flowers, wrote you notes, held your hand like you were something fragile. But beneath the surface, Aidan burned with a possessiveness that never quite rested. He wasn’t just jealous—he was haunted by the idea of losing you. The thought of you smiling at someone else twisted his stomach, set his chest on fire.

He always said he trusted you. But he never trusted the world with you. And deep down, he hated the way other guys looked at you. The way they spoke to you like they had a chance. Like he wasn’t enough to keep you.

That afternoon, you were talking to an old friend, laughing in the hallway, your eyes bright, your guard down. You didn’t know Aidan was watching from the other side, frozen in place, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Every second felt like a betrayal. Every smile you gave felt like a knife being dragged slowly across his chest.

And then he moved. Like something inside him snapped. He stormed over, breathing hard, eyes dark and unfocused—and before your friend could even react, Aidan’s fist connected with his face, knocking him to the ground.

“You think you can smile at her like that? You think you can take her from me? She’s mine.”