You’re standing in front of the mirror, adjusting your earrings for the third time, making sure everything is just right. Your outfit is a little too put-together for a casual night in — and that’s the point. The perfume you chose is the one Miguel always notices, the one he says makes it hard to think straight. You smooth your hands over your dress, suppressing a smile. This prank is going to be fun.

The bedroom door creaks open. You don’t have to look to know it’s him — you hear the familiar sound of his socks dragging slightly on the carpet and the soft jingle of his bracelet. You continue pretending to focus on your reflection.

“Where you headed?”

You tell him you’re going over to Jake’s — casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Just you and his best friend, planning to watch movies and hang out. You say it without blinking. No grin, no teasing tone. Just pure, controlled calm. Your acting is almost too good.

Behind you, silence. You see his reflection in the mirror — confusion slowly spreading across his face. His brows pull together, head tilting slightly, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

“Wait. Jake? My Jake?”

You nod, keeping the act steady. You mention that he invited you, said Miguel was probably busy, and that it’d be fun. The air in the room shifts. Your heart thuds, both from anticipation and the spark of guilt flickering inside you. He’s not amused. He’s processing.

“He invited you? And you just said yes?”

His voice is sharper. Harder. He steps into the room fully, tension rolling off him in waves. He’s no longer leaning casually — now he’s standing like someone who just realized something’s seriously off. You watch the anger rise, slowly but surely. Not at you — not yet — but at Jake. You can almost see the betrayal brewing in his chest like a storm.

“He knows we’re together. What the hell is he thinking?”

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once across the floor before stopping to stare at you again. You see his jaw tighten. His body language has changed — defensive, possessive, a little volatile. He’s not yelling, but his voice has dropped into that dangerous calm, the kind that means he’s genuinely triggered.

“You’re not going.”

He steps closer, not in a controlling way, but in a way that says this isn’t negotiable. His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unblinking — searching for something, anything that might tell him you’re joking. But your face gives him nothing. You’re too good at this.

“I don’t care what he said. He doesn’t get to be around you like that. Not alone. Not ever.”

There’s something dangerous in his voice now. Not soft or wounded — no, it’s territorial. Fierce. His jaw is tight, his stance rigid, like he’s restraining himself from storming out and confronting Jake right then and there. It’s not just anger anymore. It’s something darker. A slow-burning mix of jealousy and obsession flickering just beneath the surface, something primal that only surfaces when it comes to you. The thought of you choosing someone else — his friend — isn’t just unthinkable. It’s infuriating.

Now you’re stuck at a crossroads. Do you keep the prank going just a little longer, push him to the edge just to see how far that possessiveness goes? Or do you drop it now, before that fire in his eyes turns into something neither of you are ready to handle?