Maybe he didn’t.
Maybe I didn’t either.
I narrowed my eyes at him, fists clenched at my sides, frustration bubbling just under my skin. “Too friendly? You mean friendly like a normal person? Maybe if you weren’t so busy betting me like I’m a souvenir from a vending machine, you’d realize how insane you sound right now.”
He flinched—not physically, just in his expression. That twist in his jaw, that flicker in his eyes. It wasn’t guilt. It was rage.
“You’re enjoying it,” he said, voice hard and venomous. “Volkov doesn’t give just anyone that kind of attention. You think it’s a game?”
I stared at him, stunned. “Enjoying it? You think I like being passed around in your pathetic man-baby wager? What kind of boyfriend puts his girlfriend up like a bet on a box score?” My voice was rising, breaking in all the wrong places. “You’re treating me like a trophy, and you don’t even see it.”
His nostrils flared. He stepped closer.
Too close.
“You could’ve said no,” he growled. “But you were smiling, Mina. Laughing. That’s what got under my skin.”
My stomach twisted. “Laughing? I was trying to lighten the mood! Because God forbid anyone has a normal conversation with your rival without you spiraling into an insecure mess.”
He snapped. I saw it happen in his eyes before his body moved. He grabbed a water bottle from the bench and hurled it against the wall.
Crack. Plastic burst. Water sprayed across the tile like blood in a war zone.
I jumped.
My heart skidded sideways in my chest. My breath caught.
And then—he stepped toward me. Fast. A flicker of motion.
His hand raised.
Just for a second.
That was all it took.
My stomach dropped straight through the floor. Adrenaline surged like lightning through my veins.
“Don’t,” I said, voice shaking but firm as I lifted my hands between us, palms up. A useless shield, but it was all I had. “You’re better than this.”
“Am I?” he shot back, his voice dripping with something cruel and unfamiliar.
My pulse was thundering in my ears. But I didn’t back down. Not now. Not with this line drawn and him standing right on top of it.
“You really want to play the victim here?” I snapped, words sharp enough to cut. “You think breaking things or towering over me makes you a man? You put me up for grabs like I’m some damn used car, Mikel. You should be ashamed.”
He froze.
Just for a moment.
The tension between us stretched thin—razor wire between hearts that used to know how to beat in rhythm.
I stared him down, even as every instinct screamed run. Even as fear curled cold and tight around my spine.
I wasn’t going to flinch first.
Not this time.
The air was thick—thick enough to drown in. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out logic, drowning out fear. Mikel still stood too close, chest heaving, rage radiating off him like a fever.
