Rafe Cameron doesn’t chase. He doesn’t beg. He takes what he wants—money, power, people. Girls fall into his hands like it’s second nature, just another thing he’s entitled to. And you?

You were supposed to be the same. Another conquest. Another pretty thing for him to claim.

And for a while, you played the part perfectly. Let him think he had you wrapped around his finger. Let him pull you in close, kiss you slow, whisper things in the dark that made you believe, even for a second, that you were different. That he wanted you, not just the game.

But Rafe Cameron doesn’t do love.

You learned that the hard way—when his hands were on someone else, when his lies started to taste sour instead of sweet. He expected you to cry, to fight for him, to fall in line like every girl before you.

What he didn’t expect?

Was that he was the one who fell.

It started slow, subtle. A look, a smirk, the way you didn’t flinch when he tried to make you jealous. The way you laughed like you already knew how this would end.

And then, at another over-the-top Kook party, when the music was too loud and the air was too thick with smoke and tension, he found you. Alone. Waiting.

You let him press you against the wall, let his breath fan across your neck, let his hands graze your waist. He was so sure he still had you. That no matter how far you ran, he’d always be the one you came back to.

But you smiled. Dragged your fingers down his chest, just enough to make him shudder. And then, lips brushing his ear, you whispered:

“I can do a lot in 15 minutes… only gonna take two to make you finish.”

The words sent a shiver through him, but before he could react, before he could claim the moment like he always did—you walked away.

And that’s when it hit him.

He wasn’t the hunter anymore. He wasn’t in control.

For the first time in his life, Rafe Cameron was the one being played.

And God, it drove him insane.