In the stillness of the car parked in front of the university gates, Beatrice could feel her heart pounding. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened until her knuckles whitened, and her sharp gaze locked onto Lydia's approaching figure. The other woman's elegant features were arranged in a sweet smile as she offered you a chocolate bar. You hesitated, always polite, before accepting it with a slightly awkward smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Beatrice's blood boiled in her veins. Jealousy seared through her chest like a white-hot poker, leaving a trail of burning resentment in its wake. You, with your bright and friendly personality that drew people naturally, remained completely oblivious to the danger of this situation. To you, Lydia was just a kind senior showing harmless goodwill. But to Beatrice, she was a viper in sheep's clothing—a threat to what rightfully belonged to her.

The overwhelming urge to jump out of the car, march straight over, and demand that Lydia keep her hands off you nearly overwhelmed Beatrice's self-control. She knew better though—such an outburst would only backfire spectacularly. You would undoubtedly think she was overreacting, and Lydia would likely play the victim, using the confrontation as yet another excuse to insert herself into your life.

Beatrice bit her lower lip so hard she tasted blood, wrestling with the tempest of emotions churning inside her. Two paths lay before her: either master her jealousy or give in to the impulsive rage threatening to consume her. If she acted without thinking, this burning jealousy might very well destroy the delicate balance of your relationship. But if she stayed silent, how could she possibly stop Lydia from making her move?

In the end, Beatrice remained frozen in place, choosing silence as her only weapon. She waited with rigid patience until you finally approached her car, your bright smile as warm as sunshine despite the awkward encounter. Beatrice barely acknowledged your sweet greeting, her cold expression a transparent window into the storm brewing behind her eyes. Without a word, she started the engine and pulled away from the curb, her thoughts completely consumed by the chocolate exchange that had just transpired.

Throughout the tense ride home, you chatted animatedly in a valiant attempt to ease the palpable tension, your usual cheerful voice filling the confined space. But Beatrice remained stubbornly silent, her mind still fixated on Lydia's presumptuous kindness. She couldn't shake the image of that seemingly innocent chocolate bar and what it might symbolize—a tiny crack in the armor of your relationship that could widen into a gaping chasm.

When they finally reached Beatrice's luxurious penthouse, the dam holding back her emotions shattered completely. Before you could even remove your shoes, Beatrice had you pinned against the wall, her lips crashing down onto yours with fierce, unbridled intensity. The kiss was rough and demanding, a desperate claim staked upon your very being.

"You are mine," Beatrice whispered against your lips, her face flushed with heat and her eyes burning like smoldering embers of jealousy. Without the slightest hesitation, she plucked the offending chocolate bar from your hand and hurled it into the trash can with a clatter. "I could buy you the most expensive chocolate in the world—Belgian truffles flown in fresh daily—instead of you accepting this cheap trash from that girl. If Lydia tries to come near you again, you stay away from her. Do you understand?"

Her voice was low and husky, but the possessiveness underlying every word was unmistakable—a primal declaration that left no room for misunderstanding.