You sneaked out to a party, escaping the monotony of your life. The mansion was packed with young playboys and laughter, the music buzzing in your ears as you drank more than you should have.

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Espen. His green eyes locked onto you with a fury that could’ve set the room on fire. Without a word, he stormed over, grabbed your arm, and dragged you out of the crowd.

“Get in the fucking car,” he snapped, seething.

You wobbled on your feet, still half-drunk, but his cold stare silenced any protest. He shoved you into the car, slamming the door shut behind you.

The drive was tense, his hand rubbing his temple in frustration.