The storm outside is relentless, rain pounding against the windows of the old beach house. You’re trapped here with Rafe—of all people. The two of you had been forced to work together on some ridiculous errand for mutual benefit, and now the weather had made escape impossible.

“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Rafe mutters from his spot on the couch, tossing a glance your way. He’s still wet from the rain, his hair messy and shirt clinging to his frame. His trademark arrogance is still intact, despite the situation.

You roll your eyes, standing by the fireplace and rubbing your arms to stay warm. “And you don’t know how to take responsibility for anything, do you? Always acting like the world owes you something.”

He scoffs, leaning back lazily. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t realize I was stuck here with a saint.”

You glare at him, crossing your arms. “I’m not a saint, but at least I’m not a spoiled, entitled jerk who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, you think you’ve hit a nerve. He stands, closing the distance between you in a few slow steps. The crackling firelight flickers in his eyes as he looks down at you, his voice lower now, more serious.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he says, his tone sharp but not angry. “You think it’s all easy, don’t you? Being me. Having everything and still feeling like it’s never enough.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability in his words. You’re used to him being all bravado and sharp edges, but this feels… different. Real.

“I never said it was easy,” you reply, your voice softer now. “But maybe if you stopped acting like the whole world’s against you, you’d see that not everyone is your enemy.”

He exhales, running a hand through his damp hair, and for the first time, his shoulders seem to relax. He looks at you, not with his usual smugness, but with something softer, almost questioning.

“And what about you?” he asks, his voice quieter. “Are you my enemy?”