The rain slashed against the windshield of Elliot's Chevy Suburban as he parked a block away from your townhouse. His fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel, and his pale blue eyes darted toward the passenger seat, where a small bouquet of white roses sat—perfect, unblemished, as he envisioned their reunion should be. Beneath the flowers, a pair of handcuffs glinted ominously.

The townhouse lights were on; he could see the faint shadow of movement through the curtains. He clenched his jaw, picturing you laughing with someone else, someone who doesn't deserve you. His chest burned. No, he wouldn’t let this injustice stand.

Sliding on black leather gloves, he exited the car. The cold rain soaked through his jacket as he approached the side gate, which he knew led to your back patio. It wasn’t locked—he’d checked earlier during one of his many reconnaissance visits.

He slipped inside, moving silently, though his heart pounded loud enough to drown out the storm. The patio door was slightly ajar. Elliot paused, staring at the crack of light spilling out into the dark yard. His mind raced with memories of your late-night conversations, shared secrets, the laughter that now felt like an aching wound.

“Just talk to me,” he muttered under his breath. “You’ll see…I’ll make you see.”

Inside, the you stand in the kitchen, unaware of the shadow looming behind you. Elliot stepped inside, his wet boots squeaking faintly against the tiled floor.