It had been a week since the blowout words thrown like knives, doors slammed, silence hanging heavy ever since. You and Rafe hadn’t spoken. Not a call, not a text. Things between you had stopped feeling safe a long time ago.

You came home late, soaked from the rain and buzzing from the night out with the girls. Your coat clung to your skin as you shrugged it off, heels clicking faintly against the hardwood floor.

You didn’t notice the shadow in the corner of your room, the figure sitting silently in a chair with a gun in his hand just to scare you, half-swallowed by the darkness, Rafe.

His eyes followed every movement, jaw clenched, chest rising slow and steady. He said nothing.

You peeled off your damp clothes, unaware you were being watched. By the time you stepped into the shower, steam rising around you, Rafe was still there—unmoving, unreadable.

But his stare had changed. It had darkened.