Rafe knew it. Rafe knew all about your dirty plan from the beginning, a little too clever for both of your good. But he decided to play along with you and your sneaky advances to pull him into your oblivion of lies, wanting to see how far you would go.

Far enough, apparently, because it had already been two weeks since you started your plan of wanting to get your manicured fingers on his money. And you didn't seem like you wanted to stop. But why would you? You were convinced you were succeeding, after all.

That almost cold evening when you were both on a boat that you claimed to be yours, was the decisive one. The one in which he, agreeing with the terms, would have had to put a signature on that piece of paper full of bullshit and put an end to his future. You two were sitting on a comfy couch, and he was listening you babble about shit and shit, and he was just watching you. He always did. Because even though he was aware of how bad you were, Rafe was lost in you. Your eyes with that familiar mischievous gleam in them, lips from which venom came out, elegance that, with that alone, had already captured him.

It was unfair, really. That an angel like you was actually evil within.

He decided to make his finishing move as you handed him the pen he was supposed to use to sign. He took it, scrutinized it for brief seconds, before tossing it a few spaces past the coffee table in front of them. At the same time, his free hand took your neck in a firm grip, not even giving you enough time to show surprise. “You thought I was that stupid, hmm?” He rhetorically asked, grip tightening.