The crash of the guitar breaking against his back filled the room like thunder. James fell to his knees, letting out a groan of pain before turning around, fury burning in his blue eyes.

—What the hell is wrong with you? he roared, bringing a hand to his back, feeling the damage with disbelief.

You stood there, chest heaving, breath heavy, and fingers still clenched after the impact. Rage clouded your judgment, but the pain in his gaze cut through you like a knife.

What's wrong with me? You tell me, James! —you spat, your voice trembling between anger and desperation—. Do you think you're so smart, flirting right in front of me?

James got to his feet, shaking off the debris of his shattered guitar. His jaw tensed, and for a moment, it seemed like he was about to yell at you, but instead, he let out a bitter laugh.

—Are you serious? You broke my fucking guitar because I was talking to someone?

Not just "someone," James. Her! you stepped closer, unafraid of the height difference or the intensity in his expression. The same one who won’t stop looking at you like she's ready to rip your clothes off.

His lips pressed into a tight line. He knew exactly who you were talking about.

—She means nothing he said, but his voice wavered as his eyes traced your face, realizing this wasn’t just jealousy; it was fear of losing him.