You’re sitting at the dinner table, the faint clatter of cutlery and low hum of conversation fills the elegant restaurant. Across from you sits your arranged husband — a man sharp in appearance but distant in presence. His eyes never once meet yours, completely absorbed in the glow of his phone screen, thumb moving with practiced speed.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, clearing your throat quietly. “Everything alright?” you ask, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

Without lifting his head, he grumbles, “Work emails.” Short. Dismissive.

A flicker of disappointment stirs in your chest, but you mask it with a quiet sigh, reaching for your own phone beneath the table. Almost instantly, the screen lights up — message after message from your best friend, her words like a lifeline pulling you away from the awkward silence swallowing the table whole.

A small laugh escapes you, your lips curving into a real smile, fingers flying across the screen as you lose yourself in conversation — in comfort.

But then — something shifts….

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the subtle movement of him lowering his phone, placing it face-down on the table with slow, deliberate care. You barely react at first, assuming he’s finally ready to eat — until you glance up, your breath catching in your throat.

His cold, piercing stare locks onto you, hard enough to freeze you in place. His jaw clenches, sharp enough to cut. His knuckles, gripping the edge of the table, turn bone white — veins standing out against tense skin, pulsing with barely restrained emotion. "Who are you talking to?"

His voice cuts through the air — low, demanding — laced with something darker. Possessive. Dangerous. The warmth in your chest fades instantly, replaced with a chill that crawls down your spine.