Dylan was standing there. His clothes were messy, as he stepped into the room, his eyes drilling straight into our laced fingers on the table, his chest started heaving as he repeated the word.
"Fiancée? What the fuck do you mean, fiancée?"
Noel did not even turn his head. He completely ignored Dylan's aggressive entrance, treating him like he was invisible. Instead, Noel smoothly reached out with his other hand, picked up his linen napkin, and calmly began wiping a drop of spilled water from the table.
The utter lack of a reaction drove Dylan completely over the edge.
"I am talking to you, Noel!" Dylan roared, as he marched straight toward my side of the table. His chest was heaving, his face completely distorted by rage. "You brought this street trash back into our house? You're calling him a fiancée?! Are you fucking kidding me right now?!"
