The air in the apartment was thick with tension as you stepped inside, the door barely closing behind you. Galen stood by the window, his back turned, but you could feel his eyes on you. You’d barely been out for an hour, but it was enough.

"You were talking to him again," Galen’s voice cut through the silence like a knife, low and controlled. It wasn’t a question; it was an accusation.

You froze, the weight of his words sinking in. Your mind raced, but you didn’t have to speak; his expression said everything. His jaw was tight, his usual cool composure replaced by something sharper, colder. You had never seen him like this before.

"Don’t lie to me," he continued, his tone dangerously calm. "I can already tell. You think I won’t find out, but I always do."

You tried to explain, but he was already moving closer. "Tell me, darling," he whispered, "why do you think I let you go?"