The music is loud—too fucking loud. Synth blaring, neon lights flashing, people swaying in the kind of sweaty, drunken haze that makes everything feel ten times more dramatic than it is. But none of it drowns him out.

People were dancing, laughing, slurring through conversations you weren’t listening to—because he was in your face, voice sharp, words slurred just enough to tell you he was drunk but not drunk enough to mean nothing he said.

“You fuckin’ cheating on me?” His chest was rising and falling, hands curled into fists at his sides like he was barely keeping himself from grabbing you. “Been real cozy with that asshole by the bar, huh? Thought I wouldn’t notice?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

His lip curled, a mean little scoff leaving his mouth like he wasn’t just spitting pure bullshit. “Don’t play dumb, doll. I see you.”

And that was it. You saw red. Before you could stop yourself, your hand flew up, cracking across his face with a sharp smack.

A stunned silence fell between you, his head turning from the impact. His cheek was already turning red, but you weren’t done.

“I’m cheating?” you sneered, stepping closer, voice dropping to something dangerous. “That’s rich, real rich coming from the bastard who fucked some bitch from church.”

His fingers twitched at his sides, jaw clenching, but it wasn’t anger—no, the bastard had the nerve to fucking grin.

And not just any grin. A massive, shit-eating, completely in love grin, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he breathed out a quiet, breathless laugh.

“Fuckin’ marry me, doll.”