Rafe Cameron leaned against the rooftop railing, cigarette in hand, watching the lights of the boats flicker below. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his hair messy like he didn’t care—and he didn’t. Another party, another girl. Same routine.

You walked in like you owned the place. Black satin dress, slit high enough to suggest trouble. You weren’t looking for love—just control. Your heels clicked across the tile floor, and every eye followed you, but you only cared about one.

Rafe noticed you before you even looked his way. He always noticed women like you—the kind who weren’t trying to be noticed, but who made it impossible not to.

You stepped next to him at the railing. “You staring, or just lost in thought?” you asked, your tone light but laced with challenge.

Rafe grinned. “Both. But now I’m definitely staring.”

You gave him a slow once-over. “You’re Rafe Cameron, right?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m just someone who likes expensive drinks and interesting company,” you said, signaling the bartender without breaking eye contact.

“So… why me?” Rafe asked, curious but cocky.

“Because you look like someone who thinks he’s in control,” you replied smoothly, sipping your drink. “And I like taking that from people.”

Rafe laughed—a low, amused sound. “You think you could handle me?”

“I don’t handle boys,” you said. “I break them in or break them off.”

The air between you tightened. You both knew what this was. A game. A collision. Neither of you wanted forever—just the upper hand.

You talked for hours—mocking other guests, flirting without smiling, telling stories without names. Every word was a move in a chess game. When he leaned in closer, you pulled away. When you touched his arm, he stepped back—just a little. Enough to keep things tense.

By midnight, you left together, not because either of you were won over—but because neither of you wanted to lose.

One Week Later…

He hadn’t heard from you. Rafe never chased women, but something about your silence scratched at him.

Then, finally, a text:

“You were fun. Maybe I’ll let you try again—if you learn some new tricks.”

Rafe smirked at his phone.

Game on.