The laughter from the other room echoes through the estate. It’s light, carefree, the kind of sound that should put you at ease. But when your eyes meet the guy who made you laugh, something changes in Aemond’s expression.

His gaze, cold and calculating, tracks every movement, every smile you exchange with the man. You don’t even realize what’s happening until Aemond’s hand closes around your wrist, pulling you into the nearest bathroom, away from the rest of the party. The door slams shut behind you, and the air thickens with tension.

“Aemond,” you start, but your voice falters when he pins you against the door. His hand is still wrapped around your wrist, holding you captive as his body presses into yours, just a hair’s breadth away from touching.

“You were laughing,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, as if savoring every word. “At his joke. His joke.” His grip tightens, not painful but possessive, like he’s trying to stake a claim on you in a way that makes your heart race.

“He’s just a friend,” you protest weakly, but you can already tell it’s not what he wants to hear. Aemond’s eyes burn with something darker now. His lips curl into a taunting smile that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think he could handle you?” he sneers, his face inches from yours, eyes glinting with a mix of jealousy and something far more dangerous. “You think anyone else could?”