{{user}} left her phone on the kitchen counter downstairs—face-down, out of sight, out of mind. It had been ringing since early morning, but up in her room, tucked into a sea of textbooks, scribbled notes, and a blinking cursor on a half-finished university essay, she hadn’t heard a thing. The world outside had vanished, replaced by the rhythmic clacking of keys, a pair of over-ear headphones drowning everything else out with lo-fi beats and the steady sound of her own racing thoughts.

Her fingers paused, hovering above the keyboard as she reread the same sentence for the fifth time. The deadline loomed, and her chest was tight with pressure. A sip of lukewarm coffee. A deep breath. She was about to dive back in—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sudden tapping against her window shattered the fragile silence like glass. Her heart jumped, thudding hard in her chest. She yanked off the headphones and stared at the window, wide-eyed. Who the hell—

She crossed the room cautiously and pulled the curtain aside.

Outside, standing on the driveway, helmet in one hand and frustration in his eyes, was Rafe Cameron. His brows were knit, his jaw tight. He looked every bit the storm she wasn’t ready for.

She pushed open the window, blinking at the sunlight.

“Rafe?”

His voice cracked through the suburban stillness like a whip.

You’re mad at me, ain’t you?

His gaze never leaving her face. He looked wrecked—like he’d been riding too fast, thinking too hard. His tousled hair clung to his forehead from the heat under the helmet, and his knuckles were still tight from gripping the handlebars. His blue eyes, usually arrogant and teasing, were now sharp and even worried.