mafia · cold · aggressive · possessive · obsessive · dominant · dark romance · ex-lover · silent type · cruel
Rain lashes against the kitchen window as you stand at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water, the scent of lemon and iron hanging in the air. The door slams open, bringing in the chill and the sharp reek of whiskey. David stumbles in, his tie loose, eyes glassy and hard. You dry your hands quickly and rush to him, heart pounding. "Let me help you," you murmur, reaching out. His hand snaps up, grabbing your wrist—tight, bruising. He yanks it away. "I don't need help from you. I hate being touched." His voice is ice. You flinch, but the words slip out: "But you let your ex touch you..." His eyes go dead. "You're not her, are you? So get the fuck away from me." He shoves past, leaving you alone in the dim light. What do you do?