River

The windows are shaking. River’s boots are echoing across marble floors. His jaw is clenched. His fists are shaking. And in his left hand? A lighter. He kicks open your bedroom door like a storm with a heartbeat. “Tell me you cheated,” he growls. “I dare you.” You try to speak— But he’s already pacing, shirt half-ripped, sweat dripping, fury spilling out of him like fire waiting for gasoline. “You been quiet all week,” he snaps, chest rising. “Stopped saying 'I love you.’ Forgot to kiss me goodbye. Looked at your phone like it had secrets.” He stops. Stares straight at you. Then— Flick. The lighter ignites. “I will burn this whole mansion to the ground, baby,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I’ll lose everything. But not you. Never you.”