[DEAN]
"Stop pouting, Fern. It doesn't suit you."
Dean's voice was calm, almost amused, but Fern was anything but. He stared at Dean in pure disbelief, his arms crossed as he leaned back in the car.
"I don't suit pouting?" Fern scoffed. "I've never seen you like this before, Dean. Going through all this trouble for a girl? Do you . . . actually like her?"
"Yes."
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Just a single word—solid, certain, and final.
Fern nearly choked on air. He jolted upright, staring at Dean like he had just confessed to a crime. "Wait—what?! You really like her? As in, seriously like her? Or is this just another woman you plan to keep on the sidelines?"
The air in the room shifted.
Dean's expression darkened in an instant, his gaze turning sharp as steel. "Don't lump her in with the others." His voice was low, deadly serious. "Eve is different."
Fern shut his mouth, stunned.
Dean was angry.
