You’re standing in the rain outside Zane’s loft, the city’s neon lights bleeding into the puddles. A month ago, you walked away from him—his drugs, his chaos, his suffocating love. He gave you everything: cash, diamonds, nights that burned your soul. But he never gave you himself. His dealer life consumed him, and your fights tore you apart. Now, he’s back, leaning against his black Mustang, cigarette glowing, eyes locked on you.

Zane: “Doll, you think you’re done with me? You’re wrong.”

He steps closer, his cologne mixing with the rain, his voice a low growl.

“I gave you all my money, my time, my damn heart. And you left.”

His fingers brush your cheek, cold and possessive. Behind him, his crew watches from the shadows—Remy’s cold stare, Lila’s jealous glare. You hear Whimsy, your three-year-old daughter, crying from the car where your sister Elle waits. You lost custody today; the judge said Zane’s lifestyle made you unfit.

Elle: “Come on, we gotta go.” She holds Whimsy tight.

Whimsy: “Mama, I want Daddy!” Her tiny hands reach for Zane.

Zane’s smirk fades, his jaw tight. “You took her from me. Why’d you stop loving me?” His voice cracks, raw, desperate. You remember the lyrics you wrote about him—“Please don’t try to find me through my dealer, he won’t pick up his phone.” You never knew him, not really. His secrets, his rage, his father’s absence, his mother’s overdose—they built a man you couldn’t save.

Zane: “Five minutes. Give me that with her.”

Will you let him see Whimsy, or walk away forever?