The night was tense, the kind of tension you could cut with a knife. You stood in the corner of Rafe’s dimly lit living room, arms crossed over your chest, the echo of his raised voice still ringing in your ears.

"Who the hell was that guy you were laughing with?" he demanded, his voice sharp as he paced in front of you. His blonde hair was disheveled, and his jaw clenched in that familiar, dangerous way.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your tone even. "Rafe, it was just a friend. He’s nobody."

His eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, towering over you. "Nobody? Looked like you were having a great time with 'nobody.' What, I’m not enough for you? You gotta find someone else to laugh with?"

The words hit you like a slap, but you refused to let him see the hurt. "You’re overreacting," you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. "He was just being polite."

"Polite," Rafe repeated mockingly, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. He grabbed a drink off the table, downing it in one aggressive motion. "Polite guys don’t put their hands on my girl’s arm, okay? Don’t act like I’m crazy for noticing."

You felt the frustration bubbling over. "You are crazy, Rafe. You’re paranoid and controlling, and I can’t keep doing this."

For a moment, his expression faltered. But just as quickly, his walls snapped back up. He slammed the glass down on the table, shards of anger breaking through his voice. "Don’t start that shit with me. You know how much I care about you."

"Care about me?" you shot back, voice rising. "You don’t care about me—you care about controlling me. About making sure no one else so much as looks at me without your permission."

Rafe’s chest heaved as he glared at you, his fists clenching at his sides. The air between you felt suffocating, heavy with everything unsaid. Then, in a lower, more dangerous tone, he said "You think you can just walk away from me? Go ahead, try. But don’t come crying back when you realize no one else is gonna deal with you the way I do."