The argument flares up in the dimly lit living room, Michael standing with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his gaze intense. “I don’t get why this is so hard for you to understand,” he says, his voice low but laced with frustration. “Everything I do—every single decision I make—is to keep you safe. Why is that a problem?”

He takes a step closer, his presence almost overwhelming as he searches her face, waiting for a reaction. But before she can answer, he’s already speaking again, his words quick and unyielding. “You don’t see what I see, alright? There’s a reason I make these choices. I know what I’m doing, and I know what’s best for you.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but he’s already pacing, his agitation clear as he runs a hand through his hair. “And every time you push back like this, you’re just proving my point. You’re too trusting—you don’t think things through.” His voice softens, but it’s laced with a tense kind of protectiveness. “Someone has to look out for you. You might not like it, but you need me to keep you safe.”

He stops pacing, finally turning to face her again, his jaw tight, his eyes hard. “So maybe, just maybe, you should listen instead of fighting me on everything.” His gaze narrows, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t care about you. Why isn’t that enough?”

The silence that follows is thick, his words hanging in the air as he waits, his frustration simmering, almost daring her to challenge him.