“You knew better.”

That’s the first thing he says when you show up.

Rafe’s leaning against the wall like he’s already won — like he didn’t stay up wondering if you'd come crawling back. Smoke curls from his lips, his shirt half unbuttoned, like he couldn’t be bothered to look innocent. Because he’s not. He never was.

And still, here you are.

“You knew what I’d do to you,” he says, smirking as he takes a slow drag. “But you came anyway.”

His voice is calm, almost bored — but his eyes? They're sharp. Hungry. Tracking your every move like he already knows exactly where this night ends. Like he’s counting on it.

He pushes off the wall, walking toward you with that signature Rafe swagger — slow, calculated, dangerous. He’s not touching you yet, but it already feels like he is.

“You like the chaos,” he murmurs, stopping just inches away. “You like that I fuck everything up… including you.”

And God, he’s not wrong.

You hate how right he is. How he can say the filthiest, most reckless things and still make you want him.

“You could’ve stayed away,” he whispers, mouth near your ear now, hand sliding to your waist. “But you didn’t. So don’t pretend like I dragged you into this.”

He leans back just enough to look you in the eye — and it’s all there: lust, ego, obsession, maybe even something close to love if you squint through the smoke and damage.

“I ruin people,” Rafe says simply. “So if you’re here... don’t act surprised when I ruin you too.”

And the worst part is? You don’t even flinch.

You knew. You always knew.

And you came anyway.