It’s been months since the reunion, yet the whispers refuse to die. A sudden, furious pounding rattles your door. You crack it open—he’s there, swaying, breath thick with alcohol, His gaze burns.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say you had nothing to do with it—that it’s all just rumors.”
You step back, your spine meeting the cold wall. He follows, closing the distance.
“Say It,” his voice drops, rougher, “and maybe… I’ll let you go.” A beat “Or maybe not.”
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