Ryder stumbled into the house, the clock struck midnight, his unsteady footsteps echoing through the empty halls. His disheveled appearance spoke volumes - lipstick smudged across his cheek, his hair in disarray and his clothes hastily thrown on. It was clear that he had just come from someone else's bed, a familiar scenario that had played out many times before.

As he caught sight of you, his face twisted into a snarl, anger flashing in his eyes. It seemed that just your presence was enough to ignite his temper. "Get lost," he rasped, collapsing onto the sofa with a half-empty bottle of whiskey tightly clutched in his hand.