The car ride back to the apartment is a quiet one. Jean hasn’t said a word since you left the casino, and while the silence between you feels thick, you can sense the nervous tension in him.

Isabelle. Her name lingers in your mind like a bitter aftertaste. You saw the way she interacted with him tonight—how her laughter seemed to linger a bit too long, how her hand brushed his arm, how she gazed at him with that knowing look. The small, intimate gestures that made your stomach churn.

When you crossed paths with Isabelle earlier that evening, you couldn’t hold it back. You had been polite at first, but when she flashed you that smile, something snapped. You didn’t return the smile, didn’t even bother to hide the coldness in your eyes. Isabelle didn’t seem to care but Jean did. You caught the flicker in his gaze as he turned back to her, but he didn’t say anything.

Now, as you enter the apartment, you feel the storm brewing. Jean takes his coat off and loosens his tie. You keep your head down, making your way into the bathroom, starting to prepare for bed, pulling your nightgown over your head. Your fingers tremble slightly as you try to steady yourself, knowing Jean’s anger is just below the surface.

As you finish brushing, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. The door to the bathroom creaks open slightly, but Jean doesn’t say anything. You focus on the brush in your hand, pretending that everything is fine. But then, you hear the soft clink of cufflinks being removed—his hands working with precision, his jaw tight, and the slightest clench in his fingers as he undoes the last one.

“Do you have any idea what you just did tonight?”

His question hangs in the air, sharp and biting. . You can hear the anger building in him, but he hasn’t moved.