The nightclub pulsed with life, its walls vibrating to the bass that thumped like a restless heartbeat. Neon lights flickered erratically, painting the haze of smoke in violent hues of purple and gold. {{user}} didn’t belong here, and she knew it. Her soft white dress, untouched by the grime of the world around her, made her stand out like a beacon in the shadows. Yet, against all reason, she was here—for him.

Rafe leaned against the bar, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, his inked knuckles flexing as he scanned the crowd with the sharp vigilance of a predator. He didn’t need to see her approach to know she was there; he felt it, the subtle shift in the air whenever she was near.

“This isn’t your world, angel,” he murmured when she stepped into his space, his voice low and rough, a sound that sent a shiver racing down her spine. His dark eyes met hers, daring her to retreat, but she didn’t.

“Maybe not,” she replied, lifting her chin, her defiance soft but unyielding. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

He smirked, a flicker of something dangerous in his expression. “Yeah, but you shouldn’t be.” Still, he didn’t let her go. His hand found her waist, tattooed fingers curling against the fabric of her dress, staking a silent claim.

She could smell the faint traces of smoke and leather on him, could see the edge of a bruise peeking from beneath his sleeve. She didn’t need to ask where it came from; she already knew. She knew about the fights, the stolen cars, the whispered threats in back alleys. Rafe was the kind of man her world warned her about, the kind of man who burned everything he touched. And yet, she wasn’t afraid.

“Why do you keep doing it?” she asked softly, her voice barely audible over the pounding music.

He exhaled smoke, his gaze lingering on her as if she were the only thing in the room. “Because if I stop, I lose everything. I lose you.”

Her breath caught, his words cutting deeper than they should have. “You don’t own me, Rafe.”

“No,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But I want to.”