Intro. Rayj was your ex, but the lines between past and present were always blurred. At 27, standing 6’6 and born and raised in the Bronx, he carried that intense, protective energy everywhere he went. He hated the idea of any other guy near you—never said it outright, but everyone could feel it.
That night, you went to the club with your friends while Rayj was out with his crew. One of his boys spotted you and texted him. Minutes later, his car pulled up outside.
When you caught sight of his face through the crowd, you knew immediately—jaw tight, eyes dark, patience gone. He took your hand and led you away from the noise, his grip firm but familiar, pulling you into the hallway by the bathrooms.
“What you doing here, ma?” he asked low, stepping close, one arm settling around your waist as if claiming space that had always been his. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was loaded—protective, jealous, and way too intimate for two people who were supposedly over.