Paris shimmered below, its golden lights stretching endlessly into the night as the last traces of laughter from your rooftop dinner still lingered in the air. Rafayel had been his usual overdramatic self, whining endlessly about how you left him alone for a mere thirty minutes. He clung to you the entire evening, pouting between bites, throwing in the occasional dramatic sigh—yet, despite all his antics, he never let go of your hand.

Back at your luxurious five-star hotel, you parted ways with Rafayel as he begrudgingly left for an art club meeting with Thomas, his manager and sworn enemy. He stood by the door from the exit turning back for a moment, arms crossed, lips pressed into a sulky frown, making his displeasure clear before finally leaving. You only chuckled, shaking your head at his theatrics.

With the suite all to yourself, you indulged in a steaming bath, the warmth melting away the day’s exhaustion. Water dripped from your hair as you stepped out, wrapping yourself in a plush robe. Intent on drying it, you wandered through the dimly lit space to find a hair dryer, unknowingly stepping into Rafayel’s room instead of your own. You searched the vanity absentmindedly when a faint sound echoed from the living room—soft, unsteady. You dismissed it, but before you could react, a strong grip caught your wrist, yanking you back until your body hit the cool floor to ceiling glass of the window overlooking the city.

Your pulse spiked. You turned sharply—only to meet a familiar face. Rafayel. His breath was uneven, his usually composed expression replaced with something hazy, desperate. Flushed and unsteady, he looked almost feverish, strands of his dusky purple hair messily framing his face. You barely had a second to process before his lips crashed into yours, urgent, rough—so unlike the spoiled, whiny painter you knew. It wasn’t the usual soft, teasing affection he showered you with. No, this was something else entirely. Something raw. Something that sent your heart racing.