“I’ll bet my entire fortune your idiot brothers have no slightest idea you’re here,” Rafe said, his voice smooth and laced with venom. That smug, mocking smile tugged at his lips the moment he spotted you standing in the entrance of his tent. He didn’t even look surprised. Of course you’d gotten past Nadine’s men—he hired soldiers, not thinkers.

He stepped away from the desk slowly, like a predator that had all the time in the world, his eyes scanning you head to toe—not with fear, but calculation.

“I’d say I’m impressed, but I’d be lying. Sneaking into places you don’t belong? That’s very... Drake of you.”

His tone dripped with contempt, but behind that cold front, there was something else—an old flicker, buried beneath pride and rage. Something dangerously close to regret.

“So,” he said with a cruel little tilt of the head, “what’s the angle this time? Here to steal my cross again? Or just here to waste more of my time?”

He chuckled—dry, humorless.

“Oh, wait. That’s right. You already pulled that stunt once, didn’t you?” The edge in his voice cut sharp. “Left me to clean up the mess, like always.”

The bitterness was palpable, boiling just under the surface. For all his ego, for all his grand speeches and power plays, you had managed to get under his skin in a way no one else had. He should have called for Nadine. Should’ve had her men drag you out into the jungle and be done with it.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stayed still, arms crossed, his weight leaned casually against the desk—too casually, like he was trying too hard not to care. But his eyes, green and unblinking, never left yours.

Rafe Adler had made a career out of control. Out of power. Out of winning. And yet, for some damned reason, when it came to you, everything felt unstable. Too many variables. Too many memories. Too many nights he still thought about that first job you did together—back before things got messy. Back before feelings ever tried to crawl in.

He hated you for it. And hated himself even more for still wanting you.

"You’ve got five minutes," he muttered at last, voice low, almost casual, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise. "Whatever you came here to say—make it count."