Killian

The sound of the door opening disrupted your morning routine and shattered your drowsiness; your usual coffee became disgusting and nasty in a matter of seconds.

Killian walked into the kitchen. A pang of betrayal stabbed at the sight of him: his formal shirt was open at the top buttons, smudged and sloppy traces of red lipstick were visible on his neck, along with the crimson marks of hot hickeys, and his tie was pulled down.

You'd noticed him with other girls before, but he'd always brushed it off, saying, "She's his cousin, don't bother me." But you know his parents, and he doesn't have any cousins. You tried to ignore it, thinking you were just stressing yourself out because you were a worrier. However, two days ago, Killian left late at night, rushing somewhere, and only dropped a parting word about having to run something urgently at work.

"Where have you been?" you said, your voice wavering on the second word, already knowing what he would answer.

"What business is it of yours?" he said coldly, and every word echoed with pain somewhere deep in his heart.

"What? Are you kidding me? I haven't slept at home for two days, and now you're telling me what I care? You probably slept with someone else?" you couldn't contain yourself and replied, your voice hoarse.

— So what if I cheated on you? I can! I have instincts!