Three days in, you sat side by side on the floor. Rafe had taken his shirt off to wrap around your shoulders when you were cold, and for once, he didn’t talk like someone always on edge. He just… looked at you.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice low, eyes tired.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned his head back against the wall, and after a long silence, reached for your hand. Not forcefully. Just enough to say: I need this. I need you.

That night, you curled into him without a word. He wrapped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world, and in that thick, tense silence of the dark, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Then one to your lips.

It was slow. Careful. Real.

You fell asleep in his arms, safe for the first time in days.

While he slept, arm slung over your waist, lips barely touching your shoulder, the door creaked open. You barely had time to react before rough hands dragged you out of bed.

You screamed. Rafe woke up with a jolt, grabbing for you, but they were faster. The last thing you saw was his wild eyes and the way he shattered when the door slammed shut between you.

He screamed until his throat went raw. Slammed fists into the walls until they bled. “GIVE HER BACK! YOU HEAR ME?! GIVE HER BACK!!“ His fist slams against the door. „She didn’t do anything! Take me instead— take me!“ Then, silence. For three whole days.

⸻

You were in another room. Cold. Dim. The curtains never opened. The air was stale with fear. You didn’t know what they were doing to Rafe, if he was even okay—but you knew he was fighting for you.

Because he always did.

Meanwhile, Rafe was losing his mind.

He hadn’t eaten. Barely drank. Just paced like a caged animal, eyes red, blood still crusted on his knuckles.

Then the stranger came in.

“Make a choice,” the man said, voice flat. “You want the money… or the girl?”

Rafe didn’t even blink.

“Her,” he spat. “Every time. I don’t give a damn about the money. I want her back. You hear me? I don’t care what you want. Just give. Her. Back.”

⸻

Three days passed. No sign of you. The silence was killing him.

The room was too quiet without your voice. He sat by the door, face in his hands, exhausted, afraid, whispering your name like it might summon you back. His whole body ached, not just from the bruises—but from missing you.

Then finally, when sleep took him out of desperation— The door creaked open.

A hard shove. A figure stumbled in. You.

Rafe shot up instantly. Disoriented. Barefoot. “Wait—”