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I’m on the verge of breaking down. I can’t control the frustration burning through me anymore.

Because it’s obvious now that I was right.

He doesn’t care.

That pathetic attempt at explaining himself when he came to Romania after me lasted less than an hour.

Then he left and never looked back.

The last word has barely left my mouth when he slams on the brakes so violently that the entire car jerks forward.

“Repeat what you just said,” he demands, eyes blazing as he stares at me.

“You heard me the first time, Zayn,” I tell him heatedly. “While I was sitting there licking my wounds, you were licking other women… just like in that video.”

“To hell with that fucking video,” he suddenly shouts, slamming his fist onto the steering wheel.

Then he accelerates again.

I barely have time to process what’s happening before he reaches his house, parks aggressively, and gets out of the car.

Storming around the car, he yanks my door open, grabs my hand, and pulls me after him.

Neither of us says a word.

I struggle to keep up with him. He’s walking ridiculously fast, and the heels I’m wearing aren’t helping at all.

He shoves the front door open so hard that it hits the wall, then slams it shut the second I step inside.

I barely have time to breathe before he pins me to that same door and presses his entire body into mine.

“I spent years watching you on another man’s arm,” he says roughly, his expression darker than I’ve ever seen it. “Watching him touch you. Kiss you.”

His jaw tightens.

“I stood there and watched him propose to you, watched you say yes. Watched him put a ring on your finger, kiss you, then disappear with you less than ten minutes later so the two of you could go fuck.”

I stare at him, struggling to breathe, but his cologne and every word coming out of his mouth make it feel as though my lungs have forgotten how to work.

“You saw a video I told you not to open because that fucking sex scene happened before I was with you,” he says louder. “And if you want the truth? That wasn’t even the first time I’d had sex with two, three, or more women at once.”

He suddenly pulls away from me and drags both hands through his hair again and again.

By the time he reaches the kitchen island, he braces both palms on it, his back to me.

His confession makes my blood boil beneath my skin. A vicious jealousy spreads through my chest, darkening every thought in my head.

I can’t stand hearing anything about him with another woman.

Or women, for fuck’s sake.

“You fucked other men before me too,” he says after a pause, inhaling deeply as though the words physically hurt him. “And I would never want to see photos or videos of you with someone else. But just because you saw it doesn’t give you the right to condemn me. I was single and free to sleep with…”

“Stop,” I shout, unable to hear him talk about having sex with someone else for even one more second.

Still pressed to the door, I let my bag slip from my shoulder and grab my own waist tightly with both hands.

When I look up, I see him facing me, visibly shocked by my reaction.