It had been quiet for a while. Not peaceful—just quiet. That kind of silence where you knew something was festering under the surface, just waiting for a crack to slip through.

You’d been careful. Careful not to text Ash too much. Careful to turn on the ‘do not disturb mode’ when you were next to Liam. But Ash knew. He always fucking knew when something wasn’t right.

He never pushed. Just sent check-ins like breadcrumbs:

Ash : “You good?” Ash : “Want me to come get you?” Ash : “Text me if it turns out sour.”

You never replied the texts right away. You waited until Liam was in the other room, or asleep, or distracted. You knew Ash wasn’t trying anything. He just knew Liam and didn’t trust him at all.

He’s seen the way Liam started fights over nothing in public when you guys were out with the group. He’s noticed the way you flinched when Liam made a sudden move or laughed too loudly. And he couldn’t avoid the warning looks Liam shot you when you got too friendly with someone.

But tonight you’d let your guard down. You left your phone on the bed and went in the bathroom to take a shower.

And when you came back—sweatpants and hoodie on—you saw Liam sitting on the edge of the mattress, back hunched, phone in hand.

Your phone.

Your chest dropped instantly.

He didn’t even look up. Didn’t yell. Not yet. He just held the screen up slowly, like he was presenting evidence in a courtroom.

“Why the fuck is Ash texting you at midnight asking if you need to be picked up?”

You froze. No words came out. Your mouth opened, closed, but nothing felt safe enough to say.

Liam stood up—slow, deliberate. He dropped the phone on the bed with a quiet thud, then took a step toward you.

“You’re telling him shit about me, huh?” he asked, voice low, dangerous.

You took a step back. “No—Liam, I swear. He just… checks in. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” He laughed. Laughed. “So I’m just the fucking villain in your little soap opera, and he’s the hero waiting in the wings? That it?”

You shook your head fast. “No. It’s not like that—he’s just worried. Because you—because things have gotten bad sometimes, and he’s seen it. That’s all.”

And that? That was the wrong thing to say.

Liam’s whole face shifted. Eyes dark. Jaw flexing. He wasn’t even yelling anymore. Just breathing too hard, pacing, fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“So you’ve been talking about me. Behind my back. Telling him I’m some abusive piece of shit, huh? That’s what this is now?”

“Liam, stop—just listen to me—”

“I’M FUCKING LISTENING!” he snapped, hand suddenly flying to the lamp beside the bed and knocking it clean off the nightstand. It shattered against the wall. Glass everywhere.

You flinched so hard your back hit the dresser. Your breath caught.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” you said, your voice cracking. “I didn’t even do anything. I was scared, okay? He was just making sure I was okay.”

Liam’s nostrils flared. He took a step forward—and then stopped. Stared at you.

And it was too late. He’d already raised his hand. It already slapped your cheek. And you were done pretending it was love.

You walked around him, eyes locked on the floor, cheek hurting so much you knew it’d turn into a bruise.

“You’re leaving?” he said, almost like he didn’t believe it.

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed your bag with shaking hands, picked your phone up off the bed, put shoes on, and walked straight out the door, not turning back until you were out of the building.