You told yourself it was nothing. Just a stupid crush—like when you were younger and obsessed over boys who didn’t even know you existed. Except Rafe did know you. He knew exactly how to get under your skin, how to make your blood boil, how to twist your loyalty into something unbearable.

And yet… you stayed. You stayed because Sofia was your best friend. Because you had rules. Because girls like you don’t betray the people they love.

But Rafe was different. He was fire disguised as ice. You hated the way he smirked when he caught you staring. You hated the way he always leaned too close when he talked, his voice low, like he knew a secret you didn’t. And worst of all, you hated the way your body betrayed you—how your chest tightened, how your pulse skipped, how your skin burned just from his hand brushing past yours.

“{{user}},” he would drawl, dragging out your name until it sounded like trouble. “Why you always lookin’ at me like that?”

You scoffed. Rolled your eyes. Shoved him away. “In your dreams, Cameron.”

But later that night, when Sofia was asleep upstairs, you found yourself again in that familiar position—eyes drifting toward him, his arm hanging off the couch, chest rising and falling. Rafe, asleep. Rafe, vulnerable. Rafe, beautiful in a way you weren’t supposed to notice.

And in the quiet, when no one could hear you, you whispered to yourself, the words tasting bitter:

“I don’t like him. He’s Sofia’s. He’s off-limits.”

But your heart didn’t listen. It never did.