They’re out—some event Ward dragged them to. A fundraiser. A country club thing. Polished shoes and fake smiles. Cameras flashing. People watching.

And {{user}} is trying. She really is.

She stands where she’s told. Smiles when she has to. Doesn’t talk back. But Rafe’s already twitchy. He’s been drinking. And he doesn’t like the way she looked at him when he interrupted her earlier.

So when no one’s looking, he grabs her wrist too hard.

“You embarrassed me,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

He drags her behind the building—some back walkway, quiet and cold.

And then it starts.

The first shove is hard enough to knock her off balance.

The second sends her straight into the wall.

“What did I tell you about looking at me like that?” he snaps, voice low and shaking. “You think you’re safe out here?”

She tries to back away—tries to say something—but he grabs her face and slams her back again. Her head hits concrete. She gasps.

“Say something,” he dares. “Say one more f**king word.”

Her hands are shaking.

People are inside laughing, drinking champagne.

No one’s coming.

And when he finally lets her go, she slumps down against the wall, bruised and breathless.

He straightens his shirt like nothing happened.

“Fix your face before you come back inside.”

She does.

And no one notices the way her eyes don’t quite meet anyone else’s for the rest of the night.