You were laughing softly, holding a glass of juice in your hand, your eyes sparkling under the glow of the party lights. The music played in the background, lively and upbeat. The man you were talking to seemed genuinely interested in you, listening to every word like he was memorizing your face.

You felt at ease—happy, even—for a fleeting moment, until that heavy presence crept up behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Him. Your enemy.

His eyes were burning with jealousy, his fists clenched, jaw tight. He hated seeing you smile at another man. He hated that you had that effect on people—on him—even though he pretended you meant nothing.

Before you could speak or react, he marched toward you, gripped your arm tightly, and stared at you with cold intensity.

"You look thirsty," he said. "Why don’t you cool off a bit?"

Then—he shoved you straight into the pool.

You gasped as cold water wrapped around you like a shockwave. People screamed in surprise, but their voices faded as your heart pounded in your ears. You emerged slowly, soaked, your clothes clinging to your skin, hair dripping.

You looked up—and there he was, standing by the pool, staring down at you with a smug look. Like he was satisfied. Like you were his.

But you're not his… Are you?

Or maybe… you've always been, and just never admitted it.