(Ethan's POV)
The image of Claire laughing with that other guy, the casual dismissal, the "interesting" comment—it was a slow burn, a fuse that finally reached its end. I couldn't take it anymore. The jealousy, the anger, the raw, possessive need to claim her as mine, it overwhelmed me.
I drove to the restaurant, a trendy place downtown, the same place she had mentioned. I needed to see her, to know for myself if this "interesting" man was worth the time she was spending with him.
I parked across the street, my eyes fixed on the entrance. The sight of her, laughing, her eyes sparkling, her attention completely focused on him, sent a wave of rage through me.
He was touching her arm, leaning in close, his eyes filled with a predatory charm. I wanted to rip him away, to punch him, to erase the smile from his smug face.
I couldn't control myself anymore. The carefully constructed walls I'd built around my emotions crumbled, leaving me exposed, raw, and utterly possessive.
I stormed into the restaurant, my eyes fixed on their table. The music faded into a dull hum, the chatter of the other patrons becoming a distant buzz.
"Claire," I said, my voice low, dangerous, my eyes fixed on hers.
She looked up, her eyes widening in surprise, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. The man beside her looked up too, his expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
"Ethan?" she asked, her voice tight. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," I said, my voice rough, my gaze fixed on the man beside her.
"This is none of your business," she said, her voice sharp, her eyes flashing. "Leave."
"It is my business," I said, my voice low, my anger simmering beneath the surface. "You're mine."
The man beside her scoffed, his eyes filled with a dismissive arrogance. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice laced with disdain. "I think you have the wrong table."
"She's not yours," I said, my voice dangerously calm, my eyes fixed on him. "She's mine."
I reached for Claire's hand, pulling her to her feet. "We're leaving," I said, my voice firm, my grip tight.
"Ethan, stop," she said, her voice pleading, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and confusion. "You're making a scene."
"I don't care," I said, my voice rough, my eyes fixed on hers. "You're coming with me."
I pulled her away from the table, ignoring the man's protests, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. I didn't care about anything but getting her out of there, getting her away from him.
I dragged her out of the restaurant, my grip tight, my anger simmering beneath the surface. I didn't care about the consequences, about the scene I'd created. All I cared about was claiming her, making her mine.
(Claire's POV)
Ethan's entrance was like a scene from a bad movie. Dramatic, possessive, and utterly infuriating. He stormed into the restaurant, his eyes dark and dangerous, his voice low and possessive.
"Claire," he said, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on mine.
The man beside me looked up, his expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance. I wanted to disappear, to crawl under the table and hide.
"Ethan?" I asked, my voice tight, my heart pounding in my chest. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice dangerously calm, his eyes fixed on the man beside me.
"This is none of your business," I said, my voice sharp, my eyes flashing. "Leave."
"It is my business," he said, his voice low, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "You're mine."
His words sent a shiver down my spine. The possessiveness in his voice, the raw, undeniable need to claim me, it was both terrifying and...exhilarating.
He reached for my hand, pulling me to my feet. "We're leaving," he said, his voice firm, his grip tight.
"Ethan, stop," I said, my voice pleading, my eyes filled with a mixture of anger and confusion. "You're making a scene."
"I don't care," he said, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on mine. "You're coming with me."
He dragged me out of the restaurant, his grip tight, his anger palpable. I was furious, embarrassed, and...strangely aroused.
He pulled me into his car, slamming the door behind us. The silence was thick with tension, charged with unspoken emotions.
"What the hell was that?" I asked, my voice tight, my eyes flashing.
"I couldn't take it anymore," he said, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on the road. "I couldn't watch you with him."
"You have no right," I said, my voice trembling. "You have no right to control me."
"I know," he said, his voice low, his eyes filled with a raw, honest emotion. "But I can't lose you again, Claire. I can't."
His words were a confession, a desperate plea. And as I looked into his eyes, I knew I couldn't deny the raw, undeniable pull between us.
The anger, the embarrassment, it all faded away, replaced by a raw, undeniable desire. He was possessive, controlling, but he was also vulnerable, desperate. And in that moment, I knew I couldn't push him away. Not anymore.