You weren’t supposed to be at the club that night. Your plan was to stay home, ignore all the drama with Corey, maybe watch a movie and pretend everything in your life wasn’t chaotic. But your friends kept begging, blowing up your phone, sending you outfit ideas and telling you you “needed a night out.” Eventually you caved, threw on something you knew would get you side-eyed by Corey if he ever saw it, and went out with them. You felt free for once, no boyfriend hovering, no arguing, no controlling text messages telling you to “be safe” but sounding more like “don’t you dare.”

But the second you turned the corner and saw the club entrance, that freedom evaporated.

Because standing right there at the door, wearing a black security jacket stretched across his shoulders, hands clasped in front of him, jaw tense, was Corey. Your Corey. The same boy who had spent the whole week telling you he didn’t want you near clubs, near crowds, near guys who looked too long at you. And now he was working security at the very place you walked up to dressed like that.

For a moment, you honestly wished the ground would swallow you whole.

Corey was checking IDs, barely speaking, barely blinking, looking like he hated everyone in line. Then his eyes lifted and landed directly on you. The change in his expression was instant—like a match being struck. His stare sharpened, his eyebrows lowered, and he stood straighter like his whole body locked onto you. He didn’t look away. Not once.

Your friends went quiet immediately. One of them mumbled, “Uh… isn’t that—” “Yeah,” you whispered. “It is.”

Corey stepped away from the door without saying anything to the people waiting. He didn’t care about the line, the complaints, nothing. He walked straight toward you, his boots heavy on the pavement, his eyes dragging slowly from your face down to your outfit like he was trying not to snap. When he stopped in front of you, he let out a quiet breath that sounded irritated, jealous, and relieved all at once.

“You havin’ a laugh?” he muttered under his breath. “You really turned up here? Dressed like this? Without tellin’ me?”

You crossed your arms, refusing to look intimidated. “Corey, I didn’t know you were working tonight.”

He glanced at your friends, then stepped closer to you, lowering his voice. “Don’t care. You’re not goin’ in there.”

One of your friends tried to walk inside anyway, and Corey shot her a look that made her stop instantly. You wanted to roll your eyes at how dramatic he was being, but your heart was pounding too hard to speak. He reached out and gently grabbed your wrist, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you step closer.

He led you just out of the line, around the corner where the bass from inside vibrated the walls but no one could hear you. He stood so close the smell of his cologne hit you first, then the tension coming off him like heat. Corey wasn’t just annoyed. He was jealous. Angry. Worried. Everything all tangled together.

“You think I’m letting random blokes stare at you all night?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “Touch you? Spill drinks on you? You think I’m stupid?”

You let out a frustrated breath. “I came to dance with my friends. Not to start a scene.”

He laughed once, the kind of laugh that meant he was absolutely losing it inside. “You bein’ here is already a scene, babe. Look at you.”