I think, for one brief, fleeting moment, maybe I am going to survive this night. Until, from the kitchen, Tate’s voice drifts back through the room, casual and lazy, like he’s barely even paying attention. “Try not to break him too fast, Haven. Poor guy’s already halfway gone.”

The second Tate’s words hit the air, something inside me snaps.

It’s not the usual annoyance, not the usual brush-it-off-like-it-doesn’t-get-to-me bullshit I’ve let him get away with my entire life. This is fucking different. I know exactly what he’s doing. The constant poking, the smug little comments, the way he always has to be the one in control, the one looking down, the one making me feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up.

I am so fucking done with it, I move beneath Haven, gripping her waist for just a second before I move her off me, carefully but firmly. He’s about to get my full fucking attention. Haven doesn’t protest, doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the way her body tenses, like she knows something just changed, like she can feel the storm that’s about to hit. I push up from the couch, stalking toward the kitchen with purpose.

Tate barely looks up as he takes another sip of water, like he doesn’t have a single care in the world, like he hasn’t just spent the last few minutes making me feel like I was nothing more than his personal fucking entertainment.

That only pisses me off more. I stop just short of him, my shoulders squared, my chest tight, my pulse pounding in my ears as I stare him down, as I finally, finally let him fucking have it. “You think you’re so fucking superior, don’t you?”

Tate lifts a brow, clearly amused, clearly enjoying the fact that I’m finally reacting. “Well, you’re certainly making this fun.”

That’s it. That’s the last fucking straw. I step closer, my voice low, tight, sharp, the words punching out of me before I even have a chance to consider holding them back. “You walk around acting like you’re untouchable, like you’ve got everything figured out, like you’re the fucking king of the world just because you’ve done this before, because you’ve had people fall at your feet, because you know how to play the fucking game.”

Tate watches me, expression unreadable now, the usual amusement dimming just slightly, but I don’t stop. “But here’s the thing, Tate. You don’t have anything I don’t have.” I take another step, my voice lowering. “You don’t have anything I can’t take.”

Something glimmers in his eyes that tells me I just said the exact thing I was supposed to say. Good, because I’m not done. “You’re not better than me.”