You stride straight toward James, purposeful and unwavering. You are furious—but still elegant, still powerful. Real anger burns inside you.

And then it happens. Bam. Your hand collides with his cheek.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” you snap, your voice cold, cutting—yet laced with disbelief.

James slowly raises a hand to his cheek. He says nothing, but his eyes are wide.

“I would kill you if you weren’t already dead,” you continue, your voice lower now but just as icy. “You disgust me. You’ve screwed up, Jimmy. You robbed me the one thing I love most, and now I never want to see your pathetic, miserable face again.”

You turn to walk away.

“But we had an agreement!” James calls after you.

He drops to his knees behind you.

“Please! Our dinners are my only soul comfort in this stitching heap!”