The knock at your door is sharp enough to make you jump. You know before you even open it who it is—nobody else knocks like that.

Ted’s standing there in a dark suit, the campaign pin still on his lapel, his tie loosened but everything else about him wound tight. His expression isn’t neutral—it’s all flint and heat, the kind of look that says he’s been holding something in all day and it’s finally spilling over.

“You’ve been busy,” he says flatly. You frown. “Excuse me?” “Joe Cross seems to think you’ve been… making the rounds.” His voice is low, deliberate. “He was smirking when he said it. Like he wanted me to hear.” You blink, incredulous. “So you believed him?” “I’m here, aren’t I?” His jaw flexes. “And I don’t like the way he said your name. Like you were a punchline.”

You cross your arms. “Last I checked, we weren’t together. You made sure of that.” He steps inside without asking, closing the door behind him. The room feels smaller instantly. “Don’t twist this. We both know why I ended things.” “Right,” you say, voice sharp. “For the good of the election. To keep me from being a liability.” His eyes flash. “To keep you from being hurt.”

You stare at him, heart pounding. “So what now, Ted? You get to break up with me and still act jealous?” He exhales, stepping closer, close enough that the heat of him wraps around you. “I’m not jealous,” he murmurs. “I’m furious. At him. At myself. At the thought that someone else thinks they can get close to you while I’m standing here pretending I don’t care.”

The silence after is thick. His gaze doesn’t waver. Neither does yours.