Steve wasn’t an unreasonable man. He wasn’t. But when one of his men informed him that your ex had been all over you in the street, smiling, touching your arm—he saw red.

Still, he didn’t rush home. No, he let the anger simmer. By the time he walked through the door, he had already decided on a plan.

You greeted him with a soft kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck, but he didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he stepped back, expression unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” you frowned, tilting your head.

Steve let out a slow, mocking chuckle. “I’m sure you’d rather do all that with your ex, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Seemed real cozy with him today,” he mused darkly. “Maybe I should’ve let him take you home.”

Your hands clenched into fists. “Are you seriously spying on me?”

Steve pushed off the counter, crowding you against the wall. His hands gripped your waist, firm but possessive. “I don’t spy, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dropping. “I watch. And you’re mine.”