The storm had passed, but the air still buzzed—like it remembered every breath they took too close. Every glance that felt like a warning. Every word that didn’t need to be said.

She stood at the edge of the pier, eyes locked on him. Not begging. Not asking. Just watching.

And Rafe? He was losing it.

Because her eyes weren’t just dark. They dragged you under. Dared you to look deeper. And when you did—you were already gone.

She didn’t chase. She let you chase. And still, every man ended up the same. Hollowed out. Changed. Marked.

“Why do you look at me like that?” he asked, voice rough, jaw tight.

She tilted her head, almost sweet. “Because you’re still trying to survive me.”

That hit him like a drug straight to the vein.

She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t violent. But her love? It was dangerous. Beautiful in the way fire looks from far away. And deadly up close.

“Come closer, Rafe,” she whispered, smile soft, eyes feral. “Or run. But either way, you’ll still belong to me.”

He laughed—but it cracked halfway through. Because she was right. He already did.

Love you, love you, love you… It wasn’t romantic. It was obsessive. A curse dressed in perfume and soft skin.

And when her lips finally brushed his, it didn’t feel like love. It felt like destruction. Like setting fire to everything just to see if he’d burn for her.

And God help him—he would.