You and Rafe had only just met.

You—gilded by privilege. Wealthy, effortlessly stunning, and seemingly untouched by the world’s darker edges. Your smile had never known desperation, your hands had never trembled for anything other than excitement.

And Rafe—he was a storm in the shape of a man. Once born into comfort, but that was long buried. His father had cut him loose, forcing him to make it on his own. And he tried. For a while. But the money he scraped together slipped through his fingers like water—faster than he could earn it. Coke, pills, whatever dulled the ache in his chest. Whatever silenced the ghosts whispering in his head.

Then came that random Saturday.

The festival was a blur of music, lights, and laughter—your friends dancing around you, your laugh ringing in the air like music itself. That’s when he saw you. And for the first time in years, Rafe felt his heart stumble. Not just skip a beat—completely lose its rhythm.

He didn’t believe in fate, but the second he laid eyes on you, he was certain: if fate were real, it looked like you.

He approached you again and again after that day—bold, relentless, always charming. And each time, you let him down gently. You were kind, always. You never meant to hurt him. But you weren’t interested. Not in the chaos that came with a man like him.

Then one afternoon, fate twisted the knife.

You were walking out of a small bookstore, a fresh novel tucked under your arm, eyes skimming the blurb with a lazy smile. Rafe spotted you from across the street. He didn’t pause. Not even for a second.

He crossed traffic without looking, like the world would halt for him if it dared to get in the way.

And there he was, suddenly, in front of you—grinning that crooked, too-confident grin that made you sigh more than smile. His eyes sparkled with something wild, something stubborn.

“You can’t dodge me forever, love,” he said, voice low and smooth. He bent slightly at the knees to meet your eyes better, his tone teasing—but there was something beneath it. Something real.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you—curling into a smile you didn’t mean to give.

“I told you, Rafe. We wouldn’t work. And I have a boyfriend.”

He gave a lazy shrug, undeterred. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t care.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

“I’m better than him,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “I could be whatever you want. Just tell me what you want and I’ll be that for you.”

There was no arrogance in his eyes now—only raw sincerity, softened by a faint smile that carved a deep dimple into his cheek. For a moment, the chaos in him quieted. For a moment, he seemed more than the damage he carried.

You looked at him, really looked. And for the first time, you felt something shift.

“You’re dumb,” you said softly, but your voice lacked bite.

He nodded, eyes still locked on yours. “I could be that.”

You smiled.

And that was the beginning of the Love story.