Before Easton, you lived in shadows. A toxic, suffocating relationship that left you bruised—inside and out. You were a ghost of your former self, lonely, broken, and lost. Then came Easton, your savior in a devil’s disguise. He swept you up from the wreckage of your past, rebuilt you with warmth and care, but you never told him the full story. You couldn’t. He wouldn’t understand.

The argument started small, a spark that quickly turned into a raging fire. Words exchanged, harsh and cold. And then, for the first time in a year, Easton yelled. The sound shattered the room, the tension thick enough to choke on.

When he moved toward the door to grab his car keys, something snapped inside you. You flinched, instinctively shrinking away, expecting the worst. A hand raised. A blow coming. It was a reflex, ingrained in you from years of torment.

Easton’s movement stopped mid-air. The silence that followed hung heavy between you both. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something foreign in his gaze.

“what the fuck..” he whispered