Rafe had never been the type to dwell on the past—he preferred to bury it, pretend it never existed. But sometimes, ghosts refused to stay dead.

You’d been dating for a month now, and for once in his life, Rafe felt like he had something real. Something he didn’t want to ruin. You were lying in his bed, curled up against his chest, his arm draped protectively around you as he absentmindedly traced patterns on your skin. It was peaceful, quiet—the kind of comfort he never thought he’d crave.

Then came the knock at the door.

It was late. Too late for anyone to just be stopping by. Rafe tensed immediately, his entire body going rigid beneath you. You lifted your head to look at him, confused. “Are you expecting someone?”

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “No.”

Another knock. Louder this time.

Rafe slid out of bed, his jaw tight as he threw on a shirt and made his way to the door. You sat up, wrapping the blanket around yourself, a strange feeling settling in your chest.

“Rafe,” a sultry voice purred.

Your stomach twisted. Even from the bed, you could hear the way she said his name, all teasing and familiar.

Rafe’s body blocked most of the doorway, but you caught a glimpse of her—long legs, smudged mascara, lips curled in a smirk. She was pretty. In an obvious, dangerous kind of way.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rafe’s tone was sharp, but there was an edge to it—something uncertain.

The girl leaned against the doorframe like she belonged there, tilting her head. “Don’t be like that. I was just thinking about you. Thought maybe you could help me out.” Her fingers trailed up his arm, slow, deliberate.

You felt your breath catch in your throat.

Rafe flinched back immediately, jaw tightening. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

She let out a low, breathy laugh. “Oh, come on. We had fun, didn’t we? Thought we could pick up where we left off.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “I know you, Rafe. You don’t do relationships. And we both know you’re not satisfied with just one girl.”