Your relationship with Rafe was like a game of 🇷🇺roulette—exciting but terrifying. When he was sweet, it was everything you’d ever wanted, like you were the only person in the world. He’d pull you close, whisper in your ear, and make you feel safe.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he’d say, his voice soft as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

You’d smile, the warmth between you undeniable. “I know. You’re not so bad yourself.”

But it was never stable. One minute, you felt adored. The next, you were walking on eggshells, wondering when his mood would shift.

It happened one evening in his truck. You laughed at something stupid he said, but the next second, his gaze darkened, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Why’d you say it like that?” His voice was sharp.

You froze. “What? I was just joking, Rafe.”

“I don’t like being mocked,” he growled, his anger rising instantly.

You flinched, the sudden tension suffocating. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” you whispered, but he was already wound up, his chest heaving with frustration.

“Stop pretending you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he snapped, slamming his fist against the dashboard. “I can’t keep letting you push me like this.”

The air felt thick, and you knew you had crossed a line. His rage was like a switch that flipped with little warning. You tried to reach out, but he pulled away.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You keep pushing me, and one day, I won’t stop.”

It hit you then—this love was a gamble. One minute you had him, the next, you feared what would happen if you made the wrong move. Every moment with Rafe felt like a bet, unsure if you’d get his heart or if his temper would pull the trigger.