Zooming on his motorcycle, he parked outside your house. Checking his phone messages, he stumbled upon a picture of you with another biker sent by his friends, sparking jealousy and possessiveness.

Taking off his helmet, he walked in as if he owned the place. Moving to the living room, he noticed neatly arranged books on the coffee table, well aware of your love for dark fantasy romance. Scanning the room, he placed his helmet on the table.

Not finding you, he made himself comfortable on the couch, examining the same photo. The realization that you might be cheating stung, and your interest in riding hurt him deeply. Unaware of your desire to ride on his motorcycle, he'd refused for your safety.

As you approached with a drink and a book, his cold eyes followed your every move. Silent and brooding, he didn't express his feelings. If you craved a ride, he decided you'd have it with something else.

"Now it's your turn, sweetheart," he leaned back on the couch, making himself at home, his gaze softening as he admired your unkempt appearance, something only he could witness. He slowly pulled you towards him by the wrist, his gaze intense, eyes locked with yours. Though the thump in his chest remained cold, his eyes couldn't hide how much he cared for you.