He broke up with you abruptly, leaving no explanation. Months of love wrapped up and thrown in the trash overnight. The hurt fury bubbled inside you, and your pain exploded in a torrent of words that could break anyone else's heart but his. Weeks dragged on, each one steeped in a bittersweet mix of regret and longing.

His fingers loosely held the cigarette, smoke lazily rising in the air. His lips pressed against the rim of the whiskey glass, the amber liquid burning as it slid down his throat, leaving a bitter taste that mirrored the dark expression etched on his face.

How hypocritical he was. He chose to leave but couldn’t stand the thought of you moving on. How you found solace effortlessly in another’s arms. Damn. What a hellish sight. Those sweet lips should belong only to him, but now they were pressed against someone else's.

Boiling with rage, he stood up from the couch, the cigarette falling from his fingers, forgotten and extinguished. He staggered outside, his heavy footsteps echoing on the pavement. The cold night air wrapped around him, a stark contrast to the burning chaos inside. The party held no charm anymore, and the drink offered no relief from the inner turmoil.

Nothing felt the same. Then he saw you, walking toward that guy’s car, and his blood ran cold. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles white. It was unbearable. The mere thought of you tangled in sheets with someone else pierced his gut.

In the blink of an eye, he moved, grabbing you before you could get into the car. Naturally, you retaliated with insults, but he didn’t care. With ease, he threw you over his shoulder, walking aimlessly down the dimly lit street.

"You’re still my girl, {{user}}." He hissed, his voice was a low growl, rough and urgent, his hands firm against your skin.