It was almost 11 p.m. The sky was dark, the streetlights humming quietly above you. You were standing close to Tyler near the edge of the road, tucked between two parked cars. He leaned in again, hands sliding around your waist like he owned the moment, lips brushing against yours for the third time that night. You didn’t pull away — not immediately. You’d spent the whole day with him, laughing, teasing, pretending you didn’t know who he really was. Sarah was supposed to pick you up, so it felt harmless. Just a kiss.

But then a sharp honk ripped through the quiet, headlights slicing into the moment like a knife. You blinked, pulling back, heart stuttering. A black SUV was parked right in front of you — engine still running, windows down — and behind the wheel, there he was.

Rafe.

Jaw clenched, hand on the steering wheel, eyes fixed coldly on Tyler. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. You swallowed hard, your phone lighting up in your hand with a message from Sarah. “Sorry, babe. Rafe’s picking you up instead. I couldn’t make it.” Perfect.

You turned to Tyler, muttering a quick goodbye. He looked confused, maybe a little smug, like he didn’t care who saw. But you did. Especially when you walked toward that car, heart pounding. You slid into the seat, his eyes on you like a spotlight as he pulled away without a word.

And then, finally—his voice. Low, edged. “So that’s what we’re doing now?” You didn’t answer at first. He scoffed. “Tyler fucking Dawson, really? Out of everyone on this island?”

You stared out the window, cheeks burning. You and Sarah had been best friends since forever. That meant Rafe had been around forever too. He wasn’t your brother, never had been — but god, did he act like it sometimes. Overprotective, always watching. Always judging. Always stepping in.

“He’s a fucking joke, you know that? You deserve better than some wannabe fuckboy. Don’t tell me you actually like him.”

His voice is sharp, a little too tense. Not just protective anymore—jealous, almost possessive.