“Different, yet the same…

I Hate Him!

trying to regain control.

His eyes moved briefly to the name beside the door, then back to me.

“Ms. Rose,” he said calmly, as if he already knew me. “I assume that’s you.”

I crossed my arms. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

He didn’t react to the attitude. If anything, it almost amused him.

“The car outside,” he continued, voice steady. “A BMW 507. 1957.”

My breath caught not because I understood, but because of the weight in his tone.

“It belongs to my father,” he added. “And right now, it’s damaged. By your car.”

I blinked. Once. Twice.

“…My car?”

“Yes.”

I let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking my head.

“You’ve got the wrong person.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Do I?”

“I don’t even have a car,” I said, my voice flattening.

“So unless it magically appeared just to ruin your vintage fantasy, this isn’t on me.”

For the first time, there was a pause. Not long—but enough.

His eyes studied me more carefully now, as if recalculating something.

“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that the only studio facing that parking spot… doesn’t own a car?”

“I’m telling you,” I stepped closer, meeting his gaze without hesitation, “that I don’t.”

Silence stretched between us again but this time it wasn’t just tension.

It was something else ,Something sharper.

Before I could say another word, his hand closed around my arm firm, sudden, pulling me toward the door.

“Look,” he said, anger breaking through his calm for the first time. “Just look.”

The force of it caught me off guard, my balance shifting as he dragged me a step closer to him. My pulse spiked not just from the movement, but from him.

“Listen to me, Ms. Rose,” he added, his voice low now, edged with something dangerous. “I don’t even care who you are—”

“Let go.”

I stepped closer instead of pulling away, closing the distance between us until I could feel his breath against my skin. If he thought he could intimidate me, he had chosen the wrong person.

“I don’t have a car,” I said quietly, each word deliberate, my eyes locked onto his. “And if you want the truth…”

I tilted my head slightly, my voice sharpening.

“…call the police.”

His grip loosened but I didn’t step back.

“And don’t you ever touch me like that again,” I continued, my voice cold now, steady despite the chaos inside me. “You don’t have that right.”

For a second, neither of us moved.

Too close. Too tense. Too aware.

The air between us felt charged, like something fragile and dangerous had just been pulled too tight.

And yet…

I didn’t step away.