The argument had started over something small—an insult thrown by a stranger in the bakery—but it escalated fast. Love Quinn’s jaw was tight, her hands trembling, eyes burning with anger.

“Love, stop!” you shouted, stepping between her and the man who had dared to provoke her.

She whirled toward you, chest heaving, fists clenched. “He needs to learn! He can’t just—”

“No!” you interrupted, placing your hands firmly on her shoulders. “This isn’t you. Not like this. You don’t need to hurt him.”

Her eyes flickered with conflict, the fire in them dimming slightly as she looked at you. “I… I just… he makes me so mad…”

You held her gaze, steady and calm. “I know. I get it. But you’re better than this. You’re not someone who loses control over a stranger. Not you.”

For a long moment, she stared at you, breathing hard, rage and shame warring in her expression. Finally, she exhaled shakily and dropped her hands to her sides.

“You… you stopped me,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I don’t know if I could’ve… if I could’ve controlled it.”