The music was loud, bass rattling the floor beneath your heels. Lights flickered across tanned skin and glittering eyes, and people spilled out from the house to the pool deck, red cups in hand. You were excited—nervous, even—because tonight, two parts of your life were about to collide.

You spotted Rafe leaning against the railing, a cigarette half-burnt between his fingers. His blue button-up was slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up, eyes shadowed under the warm light. Classic Rafe. Watchful. Too still for a party.

You tugged your boyfriend through the crowd toward him. “Rafe,” you said, smiling, “this is Elijah.”

Elijah reached out a hand, a calm smile on his face. “Hey, man. Heard a lot about you.”

Rafe didn’t shake it. He didn’t even move. His jaw ticked. “Yeah? That so?”

You nudged him, trying to keep it light. “Be nice.”

Elijah chuckled awkwardly and draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. Rafe’s eyes tracked the movement like a sniper. It wasn’t subtle.

“How old are you again?” he asked Elijah flatly.

“Twenty-five,” Elijah said, raising a brow.

Rafe looked at you then. Not him—you. “You’re eighteen.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, but—”

“She’s an adult,” Elijah cut in. “She can make her own decisions.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “Right.”

You could practically feel the heat coming off him. The judgment, the frustration. But most of all—the protectiveness he didn’t want to admit.

When Elijah stepped away to grab drinks, you turned to Rafe. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” he said, leaning in a little too close. “You think this is fine? Him being that much older than you?”

You swallowed, jaw tight.

“He’s good to me.”

“I could be good to you,” he snapped. “But I’m not trying to own you. Or isolate you.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he didn’t give you the chance. “I know you, {{user}}. I know how soft your heart is. How easy it is to believe the best in people. And maybe he’s not a bad guy. Maybe. But I swear to God, if he ever hurts you—”

His voice cracked, just a little. He looked away, jaw tense.

You stared at him, heart beating faster than you’d admit. Because for a second, it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t possessive. It was genuine. Rafe Cameron—chaos, danger, fire—was looking at you like you were something fragile worth saving.

Silence. Heavy. Real. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not yet.

You’re just standing there, wondering why your chest ached more than it should.