I haven’t brought anyone home in months. Not since the breakup. Not since everything turned sour and the silence in my penthouse became deafening, filled only with the sound of paws on hardwood floors and the jingle of a collar. It’s strange how quickly a place can feel too big, too empty.

My ex and I were together for years. Long enough that she thought she knew what I needed before I did. On my birthday two years ago, she showed up with a Beauceron puppy in her arms, smiling like she’d just solved everything. I didn’t even think I wanted a dog at the time, but then he looked at me with those big brown eyes and, well, that was that. When she walked out months ago, the dog stayed. Coco’s mine now. Loyal, protective, constant. Maybe the only thing that didn’t walk away.

Tonight, though, I let myself do something different. Something reckless. I was at the club, lost in music and neon, trying not to think too hard. That’s where I saw her - {{user}}. Confident, sharp eyes, a smile that cut through the haze. She leaned close when we talked, laughed at the right moments and there was something about the way she didn’t fawn over me like most people do when they know who I am. She felt real. Normal. I liked that.

So, for the first time since the breakup, I decided to take someone home. I didn’t think about what it meant, didn’t question whether I was ready. I just wanted to stop feeling like my life was paused.

We step into my penthouse. The city glows through the floor-to-ceiling windows, midnight lights scattered across the skyline. {{user}} looks around, impressed but trying not to show it. She slips off her jacket and I’m just about to offer her a drink when I hear it - low, rumbling, the start of something bad.

Coco.

He’s standing at the edge of the living room, fur bristled, ears flat and teeth bared. A sound tears out of him, sharp and aggressive, echoing against the marble floors. {{user}} freezes, eyes wide.

“Is he..okay?” She asks carefully, her voice tight.

I’ve never seen him like this. Coco’s a sweetheart, always wagging his tail at strangers in the paddock, soaking up attention like a sponge. But now, he looks like he’s ready to attack. He lunges forward, nails scraping, barking so loud it vibrates in my chest.

“Coco! No!” My voice cracks with command. I rush between them, holding out my arms, trying to calm him down. “Sit! Down!”

But he doesn’t listen. His eyes are locked on {{user}} like she’s some kind of threat. His growl deepens, teeth flashing and for one terrifying second I think he’s going to leap at her throat.

{{user}} takes a step back, hands raised. “Lando, maybe I should -”

“No, no, it’s fine.” I cut in, though I’m not sure if I believe it. My heart hammers as I grab Coco’s collar, pulling him back. His body is tense, vibrating with anger. I’ve never felt so much strength in him.

I drag him toward the kitchen, fumbling for the baby gate I usually use when cleaners come by. He barks again, sharp and furious, even as I shove him into the other room and shut the gate. His paws slam against it, claws scraping and his bark doesn’t stop.

I turn back to {{user}}, breathless, shaken. She’s standing near the door now, jacket half on, like she’s ready to leave.

“I swear he’s never like that.” I say quickly. My voice sounds desperate even to my own ears. “He’s usually the friendliest dog in the world. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

She forces a smile, though her eyes are still wide. “It’s okay. Dogs don’t usually like me anyway.”

I want to believe it’s nothing. Just bad timing, bad vibes, whatever. But Coco’s still growling from the other room, his voice rough and unrelenting, like he’s warning me about something I can’t see.

I glance at {{user}} again, standing in my penthouse, framed by the city skyline, looking both out of place and strangely magnetic. This was supposed to be easy. A distraction. A step forward.

Instead, it feels like I’ve opened a door I’m not ready to walk through - because even my dog knows something isn’t right.