"Oh my God."

The words barely left my lips before I instinctively reached for Harry's arm, gripping him tightly—partly to steady myself, partly to hold him back.

"What?" Gemma's face fell, realizing something was very, very wrong.

"I forgot my phone in the car. And my wallet," I blurted out, my grip tightening on Harry's forearm. "Harry, come with me. There's this weird guy outside, and he's creeping me out," I added quickly, directing my words at Gemma but pulling Harry away before he could react.

His body stiffened, his jaw clenched, and I knew his next move wouldn't be a calm one.

"Excuse us, we'll be back in five," I added with a forced smile, dragging Harry out of the café before he had the chance to lunge at Michael. His head turned as we passed the table, his glare locked onto the man sitting across from Gemma. If looks could kill, Michael would have been a corpse before we even hit the sidewalk.

The moment we stepped outside, Harry tore his arm from my grip, his fists clenching at his sides. "Why did you drag me out of there?" His voice was sharp, vibrating with barely contained rage. "That's him, isn't it?"

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

His hands flew to his waist, fingers digging into his sides as he exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "What the fuck is he doing with my sister?" His voice was deadly quiet. "Is this some kind of sick game to him?"

I leaned against the car, shaking my head, still trying to process everything myself. "I don't know. It's too much. We need to think."

Harry wasn't having it. "You think he's doing this to get to you?" His eyes were wild with fury.

"I don't know," I admitted honestly. "But Harry, you cannot go back in there and start throwing punches."

"The hell I can't," he spat. "I will go back in there, and I will beat the shit out of him."

I immediately stepped in front of him, pressing both hands against his chest to hold him in place. His heartbeat was hammering beneath my palms, his entire body practically vibrating with rage.

"Harry, listen to me. Gemma has been through enough. We have to handle this carefully."

He shook his head, incredulous. "What are you saying, Ella? That I should just let that prick date my sister?"

I inhaled sharply. "I'm saying that barging in there and telling her that the first time she decides to go on a date after Natalie's dad—who, let's be real, was a loser—is another loser who also happens to be my ex... might not be the best approach."

His lips parted like he was about to argue, but then his expression shifted. He ran a hand through his hair, processing my words. Finally, he exhaled sharply, hands resting on his hips. "Fuck."

"We go back in there," I said, lowering my voice. "We pretend we don't know him. We act normal. And later, when we're calm, we figure out what to do."

He exhaled heavily, nodding. "Fine. But if he so much as breathes the wrong way, he's meeting my fists."

I bit my lip, reaching for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. "Please, baby," I murmured. "Stay calm. For Gemma."

His grip tightened around mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in response. He pulled me in for a quick, chaste kiss, but even that felt tense—his lips were stiff, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His other hand pushed his glasses up his nose, and though I could tell he was trying to calm himself, his jaw was still clenched.

By the time we reached the table, he had positioned himself slightly in front of me, like a protective barrier.

"Did you find it?" Gemma asked, watching us carefully.

"What?" My brain short-circuited for a second before I remembered my lame excuse. "Oh, yeah. My phone. Found it." I nodded like an idiot, avoiding looking in Michael's direction at all costs.

"Good," she said, smiling. "Now, I want to introduce you guys."

My stomach twisted.

"This is Michael," she announced cheerfully, gesturing toward him, completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding beneath the surface. "And this is Niall." She turned toward the counter, waving over a blonde guy who had been behind the bar.

The second Niall approached, wiping his hands on his apron, relief washed over me so hard I nearly collapsed. Michael wasn't Gemma's date.

"Hey," Niall greeted, offering a friendly smile. "I'm Niall, Gemma's... friend," he said, hesitant but clearly trying to make a good impression. He extended a hand to Harry. "And this is my pal, Michael."

My entire body sagged with relief. I felt like I was going to cry from sheer gratitude that God, fate, the universe—whoever had decided to spare us from that disaster.

Harry and I exchanged a quick glance, both of us still reeling from the unnecessary stress. My hand trembled slightly, so I quickly tucked it behind my back and forced myself to focus.

"Nice to meet you, Ella," Niall said, turning his attention to me.

"You too," I replied, trying to sound normal while ignoring the fact that Michael's eyes were glued to me, scanning me like I was an unsolved mystery. The tension in Harry's body spiked immediately.

"So you work here, right?" I continued, making small talk to ease the tension.

"Yeah," Niall nodded. "For about a year now."

"Cool," I said, pretending my entire world hadn't been spinning on its axis just minutes ago.

Michael was still staring.

"So this is Michael," Niall repeated, waving toward him, clearly not picking up on the suffocating tension crackling between the three of us.

"Yeah, we've met," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Michael's expression remained unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze made my skin crawl. Without thinking, I reached for Harry's hand, squeezing tightly. He immediately responded, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close—his silent message to Michael was loud and clear.

Gemma, ever perceptive, frowned slightly, sensing something was off but choosing not to comment.

We sat down, unfortunately directly across from Michael. Harry's arm stayed locked around me like a warning sign, his expression dark and brooding as he stared daggers at the man in front of him. It wasn't like I loved Harry acting possessive, but right now? I wasn't about to argue.

Niall and Gemma were still standing, watching the unfolding dynamic unfold with mild confusion.

"What would you guys like to drink?" Niall offered. "On the house, of course."

I nodded, grateful for a distraction. "I'll have a cappuccino. Thanks, Niall."

I nudged Harry, silently pleading with him to speak.

"A double espresso," he said, his voice void of emotion, his eyes never leaving Michael.

"Sure thing," Niall replied, clearly a little unnerved by Harry's demeanor. He glanced at Gemma. "Want to help me with the drinks?"

She hesitated for a second before nodding. "Yeah. I'll just... go help him."

I watched her walk away, wishing I could follow.

The moment they were out of earshot, Michael smirked slightly and finally spoke.

"Well," he drawled, leaning back in his chair. "This is awkward, isn't it?"

I swallowed hard.

Harry's grip on me tightened.

This was going to be bad.

"I thought he wasn't your boyfriend," Michael says, a mocking smirk playing on his lips.

"He wasn't," I reply, but I don't get the chance to elaborate.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Harry snaps, seizing the moment while Gemma is away. His voice is low but lethal, barely containing the rage simmering beneath his skin.

"Niall is my friend. I had no idea you were Gemma's brother, but now that I see you up close, the resemblance is uncanny," Michael replies coolly, stretching his arms over the back of the sofa like he owns the place.

Harry is not amused.

"Ella wants nothing to do with you," he growls. "And I want you as far away from my sister as possible. Got it?"

Michael chuckles, unfazed. "It's a free country, mate."

I feel Harry tense beside me, and I instinctively grip his arm.

"And besides," Michael continues, his voice smug, "I don't touch my mates' girls."

Harry is seconds away from lunging, but then—

"But Ella's different," Michael adds, his eyes locking onto mine, his words laced with something sinister. "Because you're not my mate."

That does it.

Harry shoots up so fast, the chair scrapes against the floor with a violent screech. His fists are clenched, his entire body coiled with fury, ready to strike.

"Harry, baby—sit down," I plead, gripping his wrist. "Do you think I'd ever go back to someone who left me? Who cheated on me repeatedly? Who didn't even have the decency to call me when I found out?" My voice trembles with barely concealed anger.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, but my words seem to reach him.

"Don't let him ruin today," I continue softly. "We came here to meet Niall, to see if he's a good guy for Gemma. Let's focus on that, yeah?"

His jaw is still tight, his nostrils flaring, but finally, finally, he lowers himself back into his seat.

"Yes, sit down, mate," Michael taunts, but just as Harry is about to snap again, Gemma and Niall return with our coffees, their timing painfully impeccable.

As we settle back in, Gemma starts gushing about how she met Niall. Apparently, it all began the day I called her about the donation. They talked a little every time she visited the café, until Niall finally mustered the courage to ask for her number.

Watching them, seeing the way Niall looks at her—his eyes warm, his cheeks tinting pink when he talks about their awkward first date—fills me with relief. He seems genuine. And more importantly, Harry seems content with him.

Gemma is glowing.

I want to focus on her happiness, but Michael's presence lingers like a dark shadow at the edge of my vision. He doesn't say much, but I can feel his eyes on me. Watching. Studying.

Suddenly, I feel small.

Like I'm that wounded girl again, the one he left behind without a second thought. The one he made feel unworthy. His loving words, the empty promises I foolishly believed, the pain of finding out the truth—all of it crashes over me, suffocating. My stomach churns violently.

I need to get out.

"Are you alright?" Gemma's voice is soft, only for me.

I nod quickly. "Yeah, just feeling a little off."

But Harry isn't so easily fooled.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice laced with concern. "What's wrong?"

I swallow hard. "Can we go? Please? I'm not feeling well."

The pain twisting in my gut is unbearable, like I swallowed acid. My body feels off, unsteady.

Harry doesn't hesitate. "Of course, baby," he says, already standing.

The second Michael sees us leaving, his hand shoots out, resting lightly on my shoulder.

"Ella, are you okay?" His voice is gentle, his touch familiar.

For a second, it feels like whiplash—like stepping into the past. I hear echoes of the old Michael, the one who used to pull me close, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

But that Michael never existed.

I jerk away from his touch. "Yeah. I'm fine," I say flatly, my eyes darting to Harry, who is now seething.

"Take your hands off her," Harry warns, his voice deadly calm.

Michael lets go, a fake smile plastered on his face as if this is all perfectly normal. As if we haven't been thrown into the most bizarre coffee date in the history of coffee dates.

Gemma and Niall exchange glances. They're not stupid. They know something's up. And the second we leave, I have no doubt they'll demand answers from Michael.

Harry slides his hand over my stomach, rubbing small, soothing circles. "Let's get you home, baby," he murmurs, his tenderness calming me in a way that nothing else can.

But then—

"She likes anise tea with lots of honey when she's like this," Michael says.

The words freeze the air around us.

Every head at the table turns toward him.

He smirks.

It's a tiny, subtle thing—but it's there. A reminder. A taunt. I knew her before you did. I know things about her you don't.

Harry tenses.

I need to leave. Now.

"Let's go, Harry," I whisper urgently. "Before things get ugly."

Harry's gaze burns into Michael's for a moment longer, but then he nods. I turn to Niall, forcing a small smile. "It was really nice to meet you. Take care of our girl, yeah?" I say, my voice a little too tight.

Niall nods, a small blush creeping up his neck as he glances at Gemma. "Yeah, of course. Talk soon."

Harry reaches for Niall's hand, shaking it briefly. And then, just as we turn to leave, he casts one last look at Michael—a silent, unmistakable warning.

"See you around, Ella," Michael calls after me.

I squeeze Harry's hand tighter. I don't turn around.

"I don't think so, Michael," I say over my shoulder.

And just like that, we walk away.

The second we're inside the car, Harry slams his fists against the steering wheel, his frustration erupting.

"I don't know how I didn't beat the shit out of that guy."

I sigh, clutching my still-twisting stomach. "Today wasn't about us, Harry," I murmur, pressing a hand against my abdomen. "It was about Gemma. She's finally opening up again. And Niall seems like a good guy."

Harry exhales sharply, the anger still radiating from his body. But then his focus shifts to me.

His brows furrow. "Baby... are you okay?" His voice softens immediately, worry replacing his rage.

I nod, forcing a smile. "I'll be fine, Harry."

He watches me for a second longer before muttering, "So... anise tea and honey, yeah?"

I close my eyes. Please, not this.

"Harry, baby, don't do this," I whisper. "Please."

But he can't let it go.

"That asshole," he seethes. "He wanted to remind me that he knew you first. That he knew things about you before I did. That he—"

His words start to fade.

The pain in my stomach spreads—burning, radiating outward like wildfire.

Something's wrong.

Harry's voice distorts, his movements blur. I try to focus, but it's like I'm sinking underwater.

I can see his mouth moving, his panic growing—but I can't hear him.

I can't.

The last thing I register is his hands gripping my shoulders, shaking me.

And then—

Nothing.