"He's escalating, Liza!" His voice rises, and I flinch. He notices, and his face crumbles. "I'm sorry. I'm not—I would never—"
"I know." I reach for his hand, but he pulls away, pacing.
"I'm going to talk to him."
My heart drops. "No. Absolutely not."
"Someone needs to—"
"Julian, please." I stand, blocking his path. "That's exactly what he wants, don't you see?" My voice comes out pleading, desperate. "He wants to provoke you, to get under your skin. He wants to drive a wedge between us, stir up conflict and chaos, and make us turn on each other. That's his whole game—splitting us apart until there's nothing left."
"So I'm just supposed to sit here and do nothing?"
"We don't give him the satisfaction of responding. We stay calm. We—"
He punches the wall.
The sound cracks through the kitchen, and I jump back, my pulse hammering.
Julian stares at his fist, breathing hard. There's a dent in the drywall. His knuckles are already turning red.
"Fuck." He runs his hand through his hair. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't." My voice shakes, betraying me.
"But this is exactly what he does, isn't it?" I say softly, taking a tentative step toward him, my voice barely above a whisper. "This is his whole twisted playbook. He gets inside people's heads, twists everything around until they feel completely powerless, like they're drowning and can't find the surface."
"Julian—"
"I can handle myself, Liza. I grew up fighting. I know how to—"
"That's not the point!" Tears prick my eyes. "I'm worried about you," I tell him, my voice cracking as the words tumble out. "What if he hurts you? What if he does something terrible, and I have to live with knowing I could have stopped it? What if you get yourself into a situation you can't fight your way out of, and I lose you because of him?" The tears spill over now, hot against my cheeks.
Julian's arms wrap around me suddenly, pulling me against his chest with a fierce intensity that steals my breath. His embrace is tight, almost desperate, as if he's trying to anchor himself to something real, something solid.
I can feel the rapid thud of his heart against my cheek, still racing from the adrenaline. One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers threading gently through my hair, while his other arm wraps around my waist, holding me close.
The warmth of his body seeps into mine, chasing away the chill of fear that's been clinging to my skin. Despite the violence of that punched wall still echoing in my mind, despite everything, I feel safe here. Protected. Like nothing in the world can touch me as long as he's holding me like this.
"Promise me you won't go see him," I beg, my eyes pleading with him.
"I won't," he says. "Not tonight, anyway."
The pool hall feels too quiet tonight. Only three tables occupied, a couple of regulars nursing beers at the bar. I wipe down the same spot twice, just to have something to do.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Singh?”
“Yes.”
“Tis is officer Mendez. I wanted to update you on the vandalism case."
My pulse kicks up. "Did you arrest him?"
"We brought in Daniel in for questioning." A pause. "We had to let him go."
