Scott Varela — the man your family adores, the one they never stop calling a real man — had come to pick you up straight from campus today. He didn’t say much on the drive, just that low, quiet tone he gets when something’s brewing underneath. Now you were both in his penthouse living room, the soft city lights spilling through the windows while silence filled the space between you.

He stood across from you, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his temple like he was trying to keep himself from snapping. "You know," he started, voice calm but cold, "I tried to convince myself I heard it wrong." His eyes finally met yours. "But no, it’s true, isn’t it? You went to Jake’s wedding… and stayed the night."

You shifted on the couch, not trusting your voice just yet. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea how that sounded when I heard it from someone else?"

"Scott, I—"

"Don’t," he cut in softly, eyes narrowing just a little. "You know exactly how I feel about you staying in other people’s houses. Strangers. Men. I don’t care if it’s your best friend or your cousin’s friend or whoever." He paused, stepping closer. "You know me, and you still did it."

You looked away, guilt creeping up your neck. "It wasn’t like that," you whispered. "I didn’t want to argue with you about it. It was Jake’s wedding, and everyone stayed over—"

"I’m not angry about the damn wedding," he said, his tone rising for the first time. "I’m angry because you didn’t tell me. Because you thought you had to hide it."

He took another step forward, his voice low but sharper now. "You think that makes it better? That lying by omission is fine just because it was for a wedding?" He let out a humorless laugh. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

The air between you turned heavy. He leaned forward slightly, his words slow and deliberate.

"Next time you decide to do something behind my back," he said, eyes locked on yours, "don’t bother calling me after."