It was past 11 p.m. and you still hadn’t come home.

Felix had already called you three times. No answer. No messages.

Worry twisted into suspicion as he dialed again—and this time, by some accident or slip of your drunken fingers, you picked up. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t realize the call connected.

But he heard everything.

Loud music. Laughter. The bass thumping like a heartbeat. And then your voice—slurred and soft—flirting with someone. A guy.

Felix didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

He hung up, grabbed his keys, and drove.

---

The club was packed, lights flashing in sync with the pounding music. Bodies pressed close on the dance floor. But Felix didn’t care about any of that.

He scanned the room like a predator.

And then he saw you.

In a short, silky dress, drink in hand, swaying between two guys who were way too close. You laughed at something one of them said, not even noticing the shadow cutting through the crowd until a hand gripped yours tight.

You looked up, startled.

“Felix—?”

But he wasn’t smiling.

“We’re leaving.” His voice was low, dangerous, tight with jealousy.

He didn’t wait for a response. He pulled you through the crowd, ignoring your protests, and all but shoved you into his car.

The door slammed.

You sat breathless in the passenger seat, heart racing.

He leaned toward you, knuckles white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched. You could feel the heat rolling off him.

“What are you doing at the club?” he asked, voice cold and sharp.

You fumbled for an answer. “I-I just came with friends…”

He turned his head slowly toward you, eyes narrowed.

“Did you lie to me, little mouse?” Then he smirked—darkly, possessively. “I’m going to punish you… for lying to me.”

Your breath hitched.

Because the night wasn’t over. Not even close. And Felix… wasn’t letting you off easy.