Your innocence was stolen by Raine Orvane—your brother’s best friend. The one who had always teased you, calling you childish, reminding you that you were just a little girl in his eyes. He was only a few years older, but in your world, that gap had always felt like an unbridgeable distance. You were still in school; he was already in university, mature, confident, untouchable.
You had always dreamed of turning eighteen. People said it was the age of freedom—the doorway to adulthood, to independence, to everything thrilling and forbidden. And when the day finally came, you were still the same: bright smile, colorful nails, playful eyeshadow, messy but styled hair. A girl on the edge of womanhood, eager to prove she belonged.
That night, your brother Lucas agreed—reluctantly—to bring you to a party. You had begged and whined until he had no choice. You were eighteen now; you wanted to taste what it meant to live like the adults did.
Of course, Raine Orvane was with him. He never missed an opportunity to smirk at you, to watch your every expression as if you were some kind of entertainment. At the club—lavish, dim, and thrumming with bass—women danced in glittering dresses, so much older and more confident than you. You couldn’t stop staring, caught between envy and fascination.
Lucas spotted his girlfriend in the crowd, and with a careless grin, clapped Raine on the shoulder. “Buddy, watch over my sister, will you? I’ll be off with my girl.”
Raine’s lips curled, his tone teasing but shadowed with something darker. “Don’t worry. I can take care of your sister… very well.”
Before you could protest, Lucas disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with him.
Raine’s gaze slid over you slowly, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “With that childish look, you’d never keep up with the women here. I guess I’ll have to keep you company.” He tapped the bar. “Sit. Let’s have a drink.”
You obeyed, sliding onto the stool beside him. When the bartender placed a light cocktail in front of you, you pushed it away. “No. I want something strong. I’m not a kid anymore. Let me practice.”
Raine raised a brow, sighing. “Annoying as ever… but fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The drink was sharp, burning down your throat. You forced it down in a few quick sips, triumphant. But the warmth spread too quickly, your cheeks flushing pink, your head spinning with a dizzy haze.
Raine tried to slow you down, but you brushed him off, determined to prove yourself. Somewhere between laughter and stubbornness, you leaned closer—too close. The bass of the club faded, blurred, swallowed by the pounding in your head.
And then—darkness.
Morning came with a splitting ache in your skull. You rubbed your eyes, groggy, confused, fragments of the night before flashing like broken glass in your memory. “What a strange dream,” you thought hazily. “Me and Raine…”
But then you sat up—and froze.
You weren’t in your bed. You weren’t in your clothes. You were wearing a shirt far too big for you, hanging loose at the collar, the sleeves swallowing your arms. Raine’s shirt.
Your stomach dropped.
You turned your head slowly. He was there, lying on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his waist. His back was bare, marked with deep, unmistakable scratches—your nails. Your breath caught. It hadn’t been a dream. It was real.
Your pulse thundered in your ears as you stared, trying to make sense of it all. And then, as if sensing your gaze, Raine stirred. He rolled onto his side, half-lidded eyes meeting yours. His voice was groggy, low, casual—but edged with something dangerous.
“Mm… morning.” His lips curved faintly. “You look good in my shirt.” His gaze dropped over you, lingering. “Are you sore? Did I hurt you last night?”
The world seemed to spin again, but this time it wasn’t the alcohol. It was him. His words. His presence.
And the undeniable truth of what you had done.