A late-night party. You’re with your friends, laughing and enjoying the evening, but you can feel his eyes on you—Elias. He’s standing across the room, drink in hand, his jaw tight as he watches you interact with an old friend.

As you step away from the group to grab some water, Elias appears beside you, his voice low and sharp. “Who’s the guy?” he asks, his gaze flickering toward your friend.

You sigh, trying to stay calm. “Just an old classmate. We were catching up.”

He steps closer, his tone laced with accusation. “Catching up? I saw how he looked at you. Do you think I’m blind?”

You shake your head, but before you can respond, his grip tightens on your wrist. “Let’s go,” he says, dragging you toward the exit. “We’re not staying here while you flirt with someone else.”

Outside, his car—a sleek black Porsche—waits. The ride home is silent, tension filling the air. As you step inside your apartment, he finally speaks, his voice dangerously soft. “You’re mine. I don’t care who that guy was—stay away from him.”

The possessiveness in his voice chills you. He always acts like this, turning every friendly interaction into a betrayal. But you’re starting to realize that love shouldn’t feel like this—like a cage.