“You think I didn’t see you?” you spat, voice trembling—not with fear, but fury. “You were all over her, Joseph. Laughing, touching—like I don’t even exist.”

Joseph’s laugh was bitter, sharp. “Putain, give me a break.” He paced across your living room, hands raking through his hair before he whipped around to face you, eyes blazing.

“She kissed my cheek,” he snapped. “Big fucking deal.”

“You had your hand on her waist!”

“So what?” He stalked toward you, jaw clenched, teeth grit. "You know she means rien. Nothing. C’est toi que je veux, ma chérie.”

You stood your ground, even as he got in your face. “You flirt with every breathing girl in sight and expect me to what—just smile and nod?”

“Merde, don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

He then slammed his palm against the wall next to your head—hard enough to make the frame hanging there rattle.

“I can do whatever the hell I want,”

He grabbed your wrist, rough and sharp, just enough pressure to sting.