The morning was wrapped in a golden haze, sunlight slipping lazily through the wooden blinds, casting soft, slanted lines across the tangled sheets. The air was thick with salt and something sweeter—maybe the scent of your hair, spread across the pillow, or maybe just you.

Rafe’s head throbbed, the familiar ache of too much powder, too much booze, too much everything pressing against his skull. He let out a slow breath, eyes squeezing shut as his stomach twisted in protest. Another night wiped from his memory before he even hit the bed. He thought probably ended up with another random girl. But this morning wasn’t like the others. Because you were here.

Curled up against his chest, your fingers resting lightly against his skin, your breath warm and steady against his collarbone. So soft. So fucking innocent. Wrapped up in him like you belonged there.

Like you weren’t lying next to someone who had ruined everything good he ever touched.

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat dry, his mind still foggy from the night before. His fingers twitched before sliding down, pressing into the dip of your waist, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his palm.

You were too sweet. Too good. Too untouched by the kind of darkness that followed him everywhere he went.

And yet, here you were. Wrapped up in him, trusting him—when you shouldn’t.

Rafe let out a slow, unsteady breath, his fingers tightening just slightly on your waist. His body ached, his mind was a mess, but none of that mattered right now. Not when he had you. Not when he could pretend—just for a little while—that he wasn’t completely falling apart.

“Hey, angel…” His voice was low, rough, barely above a whisper. He didn’t want to wake you, but at the same time, he needed you to open those big, innocent eyes.

Needed you to look at him the way only you did. Like he wasn’t a complete fucking disaster. Like maybe—just maybe—he was worth something.

His thumb brushed over the curve of your hip, voice quieter this time, almost hesitant. “You awake?”