The flickering neon sign outside The Wreck cast a soft glow on the empty parking lot. The night was thick with heat, the salty breeze doing little to cool your skin. You were leaning against your car, arms crossed, waiting.

And then, like a storm rolling in, Rafe Cameron appeared.

His white t-shirt was stained with something dark—maybe blood, maybe oil, maybe trouble, as always. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, those wild blue eyes locking onto yours like you were the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You should stop calling me,” you said, voice steady despite the way your pulse raced.

He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah? Then why are you here, {{user}}?”

You had no answer. Or maybe you did, but saying it out loud would make it too real.

Rafe took a step closer, the scent of salt and danger lingering between you. “You keep saying I’m bad news,” he murmured, tilting his head, “but you never walk away.”

Your back pressed against the car as he leaned in, his hands bracing on either side of you. He was reckless, chaotic—someone you should have left behind a long time ago. But you never did.

“I don’t walk away,” you whispered, staring into his stormy gaze, “because neither do you.”

His lips curled into a smirk, but there was something else behind it. Something unspoken.

Maybe you were both doomed. Maybe you were both addicted to the fire. But if burning with Rafe Cameron was your fate—so be it.