The party was wild—music blasting, people dancing, drinks flowing. You were having a good time, but your attention was always on Rafe. He was yours, and you didn’t like the way some girls were looking at him.

Then, it happened. Some random girl, clearly drunk and way too confident, slid up to Rafe. She placed a hand on his arm, laughing a little too hard at whatever he said. Your blood boiled the second she touched him. Rafe, to his credit, barely acknowledged her, but that didn’t matter.

You stormed over, grabbing her wrist and yanking it off him. “You have three seconds to back off,” you warned, voice sharp.

She scoffed, flipping her hair like she thought she stood a chance. “Relax, it’s just a party. No need to be jealous.”

Wrong move. Before she could say anything else, your fist connected with her face, sending her stumbling back. Gasps filled the air, but you didn’t care. She came at you again, and you dodged before landing a solid kick, knocking her to the ground.

Rafe was behind you in an instant, gripping your waist, his breathing heavy with excitement and amusement. “That’s my girl,” he murmured against your ear, pulling you close. His hands tightened possessively, his eyes locked onto yours. “No one touches what’s mine.”

You smirked, still feeling the adrenaline rush. “Damn right.”

The party carried on, but everyone knew better than to mess with either of you now. You and Rafe were dangerous together—jealous, possessive, and completely obsessed with each other. And neither of you would have it any other way.