POV
I didn't sleep.
How could I?
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that picture.
His hand on her waist.
His lips on hers.
The same way he held me.
The same way he kissed me.
At 8:12 AM, my phone rang.
Shivrit.
Of course.
My heart still reacted.
Pathetic.
I let it ring twice before picking up.
"Hello, Bunny," he said casually.
Like nothing had happened.
Like my world hadn't collapsed.
"Don't call me that," I said.
Silence.
Then a soft chuckle.
"What happened?"
I swallowed.
"Who is Tina?"
Pause.
Small.
Measured.
"Why?"
"She messaged me."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"She's crazy," he said calmly.
"She sent me pictures."
Silence.
Then he sighed.
"Old pictures."
"She said you've been together for two years."
"Did you believe her?"
The question came sharp.
"You kissed her."
"I've kissed many people before you," he replied flatly.
That felt like a slap.
"But not during us."
"During us?" he repeated. "Since when did we put labels?"
My breath caught.
"Room 407," I whispered.
"You said you're mine."
"And you are."
"How?"
His tone changed slightly.
Colder.
"Why are you interrogating me?"
"I just want the truth."
"The truth is you're overreacting."
Overreacting.
That word again.
"She said you take money from her too."
Silence.
Then—
"And?"
And?
"Is that true?"
"So what if it is?"
My chest tightened.
"You told me you needed it for business."
"And I do."
"For gambling?" I asked quietly.
His voice hardened instantly.
"Who told you that?"
"She did."
"She's jealous," he snapped.
"She wants to break us."
Us.
There it was again.
"You trust her over me?" he asked.
The trap.
Always the trap.
"I trusted you," I said softly.
"And you still should."
"How?"
"Because I'm the one with you."
Silence.
He lowered his voice.
"You think I'd let anyone else take your place?"
"Am I even special?" I whispered.
He laughed.
"You're the only one who understands me."
The only one.
He says that to her too.
"I love you," he said suddenly.
My heart betrayed me again.
"You don't love me," I whispered.
"You think I would've let you that close if I didn't?"
He always uses intimacy as proof.
"You think I'd plan a future with you?"
"You said that to her too."
Silence.
"You've changed," he said quietly.
"No," I replied.
"I've finally seen."
That was the first honest thing I had said in months.
There was a long pause.
Then his tone shifted completely.
Cold.
"If you want to leave, leave."
My chest tightened.
"I'm not begging."
There it was.
Pride.
"If you walk away," he continued calmly, "don't come back."
The threat disguised as dignity.
My throat closed.
Because the truth was—
I didn't know if I could walk away.
And he knew it