Rafe Cameron wasn’t the kind of man who gave without expecting something in return — everyone in Figure Eight knew that. But with you, it felt different… or maybe he just made it feel that way.

He hadn’t stumbled into your life by chance. He’d been watching long before you ever noticed him — before you even realized men like him existed in your orbit. The first time your paths crossed, you were just another pretty face in the neighborhood, too young, too untouched by his world. But Rafe had a way of making things happen. A way of making people feel like saying no simply wasn’t an option.

Now, you were his. Not in the official, boyfriend-girlfriend sense — Rafe didn’t do labels. You were his girl because he’d decided it, because he’d claimed you in a way that made the idea of anyone else impossible.

He proved it with gifts, but they were never just gifts. Designer heels delivered to your door “just because.” Cash wired into your account without warning. A Dior bag left on your bed without a note, but you knew exactly who it was from. A Cartier necklace clasped around your throat while he stood behind you, his voice low against your ear: “Looks better on you than in the store.”

Rafe didn’t just give you things — he bought your time, your loyalty, your silence. And in return, he made you feel like the most important person in the room… when he wanted to.

Tonight, he’d taken you to one of the most exclusive restaurants in Figure Eight — the kind of place where the servers knew his name and rushed to pull out his chair. You sat across from him, candlelight throwing shadows across the sharp edges of his jaw. His hand rested on the table, thumb brushing over the back of yours in a way that might look casual to anyone watching. But you could feel the control in that touch, the quiet warning that you were his.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said suddenly, voice low, cutting through the hum of the restaurant. “And you don’t answer my texts fast enough anymore.”

There was no anger in his tone — not exactly. Just a weight. A mix of irritation and need, the sound of a man who was used to having your attention and didn’t like losing it.

“I’ve been busy,” you said lightly, forcing a small smile.

“I know, baby, I know.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his eyes locked on yours. “But I like it when you’re mine. Even when you’re busy. You get that, right?”

You nodded, heart kicking harder under his stare — that dangerous edge in him that made you feel like he didn’t just want your attention… he needed it.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, his voice softening just enough to make your stomach flip. Then he leaned back, watching you with that half-smile — the one that told you he could break anyone in this room without lifting a finger, but for now, you were the only thing that mattered.

The waiter arrived with menus, but you barely looked. Rafe ordered a bottle of wine without asking, without glancing down. That was just who he was — he didn’t ask permission. He took what he wanted.

And somehow, you liked that.