Maddox leaned against the doorframe, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on {{user}} as if she were the only thing tethering him to this world. She stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, her glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“I told you I don’t want to see you,” {{user}} snapped, her voice breaking despite the venom she tried to lace into it.

Maddox pushed off the frame, his movements slow, deliberate. “You don’t mean that.” His voice was low, husky, a plea buried beneath stubborn confidence.

“I hate you,” she bit out, though her voice wavered on the last word.

He smirked bitterly, but his eyes betrayed him—filled with something raw, desperate. “And I love you. So what now?”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, turning away before he could see the way her lips trembled.

“Already did,” he whispered, his tone breaking into something softer, aching. He stepped closer, ignoring the space she tried to build between them. “And I’d do it a thousand times again, just to have you near me.”

{{user}} squeezed her eyes shut, as if shutting him out would make the truth go away. They had done this dance too many times—screaming, slamming doors, swearing it was over. And yet, here he was. Again. Always.

“You should just leave,” she murmured, her voice cracking.

Maddox shook his head. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “You think I care what she says? My mother doesn’t get to decide this. Us.” His voice shook now, words spilling out like he’d been holding them back for years. “I don’t give a damn if the whole world thinks we’re wrong. I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

She turned finally, eyes wet with unshed tears. “And what if I don't want you anymore?”

Maddox's breath hitched, but he stepped right into her storm. His hand brushed her cheek, trembling just slightly. “We both know that's not true, baby.”