​"I think we ought to tidy this place up," I said, forced a small, tentative smile his way.

​"Why?" Johann shot back, "I don’t see any bloody reason to clean."

​"Darling, a place like this invites vermin and disease," I insisted, "I only care for your well-being."

​He let out a scoffing laugh. "Fine then. Do it yourself."

​His words stung, but I stood up nonetheless and began gathering the rubbish. I couldn't fathom how a man as magnificent as Johann could be this disorganised. I knew he came from a fractured home, but surely that was no excuse for leaving stinking socks tucked under the coffee table.

​I lost track of time, but eventually, the room looked somewhat presentable. I was utterly exhausted, yet Johann hadn't so much as lifted a finger to assist, choosing instead to remain glued to the television.

​"Look at that wretched girl," he spat, gesturing toward the film on screen. "She looks just like my sister... God, I loathe her."

​I managed a weak smile. "Well, your sister is quite beautiful, isn't she?" I looked at him, only to realise I’d made a grave mistake. He was seething. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

​"Sorry for what? Do you want to have a go at her? To shag her?" he barked, his voice sharp as a razor.

​"Johann, why on earth would you assume such things?" I said, trying to remain firm. "I love you. Only you." I threw my arms around him, kissing him to stifle his sudden outburst. "You know perfectly well I have eyes for no one else, right?"

​He looked at me with a bored, vacant expression. "Hah. Right. Whatever you say." He paused for a beat. "I’m rather famished."

​"Truly? So am I," I replied with forced enthusiasm. "Shall we order some pizza and spend the rest of the night together?"

​"You don't need my permission," he muttered coldly. "Just get on with it before I lose my temper."

​I fumbled for my phone, dialling the nearest takeaway. That phrase—‘before I lose my temper’—sent a violent shiver through my spine. It triggered a memory from three years ago that I had tried so hard to bury.

​It was at the very start of our relationship. We were embroiled in a heated row—I can’t even recall what it was about now—but he had snarled, "Shut your mouth before I lose my temper." Being naïve, I didn't heed the warning. Then came the blow. A strike so forceful it knocked me unconscious.

​When I came to, Johann was cradling me, sobbing. "You idiot!" he wailed when he saw my eyes flutter open. "Why did you make me worry so much?"

​"You hit me!" I said, my head throbbing with indignation.

​"But you’re the one who provoked me!" he cried, his voice breaking. "I can’t control my outbursts, don’t you understand? Oh, please, Max, don’t hate me. I love you more than life itself. Please."

​I had hesitated. The ache in my chest was far more agonising than the trauma to my skull.

​"Fine... but this mark is going to be visible," I whispered. "What am I supposed to tell my father?"

​"Tell him you fell," he replied, his tone suddenly flat.

​"And you think he’ll believe that?"

​"Are you questioning me?" he snapped. "He’s a senile, arrogant old man who doesn't give a damn about you like I do. Do you honestly think he’ll notice a scratch on your forehead?"

​Back in the present, the doorbell chimed, announcing the arrival of the pizza. Johann took my card to pay, as he always did. We sat there, eating in silence while some mindless film played in the background.

​Suddenly, Johann scooped me up in his arms, heading toward the bedroom.

​"Hehe, Johann... feeling spirited today, are we?" I murmured, my face flushing.

​He tossed me onto the bed and loomed over me, his voice dropping to a low, intoxicating rumble. "Perhaps, darling. Perhaps."

​To be continued...