The apartment was thick with tension, the kind that clung to walls and crept under skin. The sun had barely set, but the air inside already felt heavy.
Rose stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched so hard it could snap. The red dress she wore — bold and unforgiving — shimmered under the dim lighting, but her beauty was overshadowed by the fire in her eyes.
She was furious.
"I can't believe you're doing this."
Maverick didn't look at her right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, tying the laces of his shoes, his phone glowing on the nightstand. Catherine's message was still open.
"I'm on my way there now. See you later, love. Can't wait to see you!"
It made his stomach twist — not from guilt. Something more complicated. Something he couldn't name.
"You're choosing her over me? Her? That plain little—" Rose scoffed, struggling to find an insult that would land. "That boring, good-girl barista who still believes in fairy tales and Valentine's Day pancakes? Are you serious, Mav?!" Her voice cracked into something raw.
He finally looked up at her. "Rose, come on…"
"No, don't 'come on' me. We had plans. You said tonight was ours."
Maverick stood slowly, approaching her like someone defusing a bomb. "I celebrated with you last year. Without her even suspecting. You know that. But if I pull something like that again, she's going to know. She's not stupid."
Rose turned away from him, hands shaking. "Why does she still matter to you?" she whispered, more wounded than angry now. "Am I not enough? After everything?"
He slipped his arms around her from behind, hands settling on her waist. He pressed a kiss to her neck, breathing her in like it might fix something broken.
"I don't know why, alright?" he said quietly. "I just… can't let go of her. Not yet."
Rose froze. "Not yet?"
Maverick flinched slightly, realizing the slip. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Yes, you did," she said coldly, stepping out of his arms. "You meant every damn word."
He stared at her, unsure of what else to say. Truth was, he didn't even understand it himself. Catherine had this way of being — gentle but grounded, soft-spoken but not weak. She had grace. She had goodness. And when she smiled at him, even now… he almost believed he was still worth something.
But Rose?
Rose made him feel alive. Desired. Dangerous.
"Let's not go there, alright?" he murmured. "I'll go, have dinner, smile a few times, play the part. And then I'll come back. To you."
He leaned in, kissed her on the lips. It was meant to calm her, reassure her. But her lips didn't soften beneath his.
When he turned and grabbed his jacket, Rose stayed by the window, eyes narrow.
She watched him leave. Her arms folded again. But her face no longer held heartbreak.
Only calculation.
"Maybe it's the last night for you two," she whispered, her red lips curving into a slow, poisonous smile.
Then, she picked up her phone.
Tapped a number.
Waited for the line to connect.
When a voice answered, she said only one thing:
"It's happening tonight. I want you there."
And then she hung up, letting the shadows grow longer around her