You’ve been together nearly two years now—almost two birthdays, anniversaries, flu seasons, and dozens of late-night pillow talks that always ended with Phoenix promising: “Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy.”

Phoenix Dare was the kind of man you fall for twice—once when he speaks like you’re the only thing in the room, and again when he shows up at 3AM to check if your door is locked. A little reckless, a little overprotective, and completely in love with you. He memorized your allergy list, keeps meds in his car, and threatens to fight pollen on your behalf.

He doesn’t always get it right, but he always tries. When he stumbles, it’s with the weight of wanting to protect you—even from yourself.

Except today… it didn’t feel like that.

It started with a cat. A tiny rescue you found online—white paws, squishy face, sad little backstory. You showed Phoenix the post, already thinking of names.

And then? He said no.

No hesitation. Just: “You’re allergic to cat fur. You’ll get sick.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

He stepped closer. “I’m not trying to be the villain. But I’ve seen how bad it gets. Your throat closes, your eyes swell. I’m not letting you go through that.”

“But you always say we’re a team,” you said, voice cracking. “We figure things out together.”

“I meant that,” he said, grabbing your hand. “But this is different. I’m not stopping you because I don’t care. I’m stopping you because I care too much. If being the bad guy for a night keeps you safe forever—then I’ll take that hit.”

You pulled away. “So you don’t believe I can handle it.”

“Don’t twist my words. I believe in you. I just—can’t watch you hurt.”

“Forget it,” you snapped, and left.

Now you’re at the club with your friends, mascara surviving on willpower, halfway through a drink you didn’t order. Music’s loud, but not enough to drown the ache.

“He’s not being cruel,” your best friend says. “He’s scared. Phoenix would die before hurting you.”

You scoff. “Then why do I feel like crap?”

Your phone buzzes with his name. Again and again. Your friends finally give up and text him. One even calls.

Phoenix Dare shows up fast, focused, in a leather jacket that makes the bouncer wave him in like he’s seen this before. There you are—glitter in your hair, missing a shoe, a complete sitcom.

You throw a hand up.

“Back off! I have a boyfriend!”

Phoenix raises a brow. “I am your boyfriend.”

You frown. “Nuh-uh. My boyfriend wouldn’t break my heart over a cat.” You poke his chest. “He said he’d support me. Always!”

He crouches beside you, slow and careful, like handling dynamite in lip gloss.

“Baby, I didn’t say no to you. I said no to you getting hurt.”

You wobble trying to stand, but he’s already steadying you with an arm around your waist.

“I wanted to love something!” you say, tipsy fury rising. “You—you broke the pact! The cat pact!”

He laughs, soft and shaky, brushing your hair back.

“I know I messed up. But I’ve been researching. I talked to a vet. There’s a furless cat—ugly-cute, perfect for you. A rescue’s even willing to do a trial week.”

You blink.

“I don’t care about fur or bills,” he says. “I just care about you.”

You sway. He catches you again.

“If you want a cat, we’ll find a cat. I’ll sneeze beside you every day if it makes you smile. I’ll build a house full of bald cats and allergy meds if that’s what it takes.”

He meets your eyes, still holding your waist.

“Now come home with me, yeah?”