The bass thumped through the packed house, neon lights casting shadows over sweat-slicked bodies moving to the beat. You weren’t much for parties unless Rafe was by your side—and he was. Always. His arm draped over your shoulders, fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. A silent claim.

But then, he slipped away for just a moment to grab a drink, and that’s when it happened.

Some guy—too confident, too stupid—sidled up to you, his smirk dripping with arrogance. “Didn’t think Rafe Cameron was the type to leave a girl like you all alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “He didn’t.”

But the guy didn’t take the hint. His fingers brushed your wrist, the barest touch, but it was enough. Enough for you to shove him back just as a blur of motion cut between you.

Rafe.

He moved fast—one second calm, the next a storm. His fist collided with the guy’s jaw so hard you heard the crunch over the music. The guy barely hit the ground before Rafe grabbed him by the collar, seething. “Touch her again, and I’ll break more than just your face.”

Your breath hitched. Rafe’s jaw was clenched, his knuckles split, but his eyes—his wild, possessive blue eyes—were locked on you.

He let the guy go, stepping toward you instead. He cupped your face, his touch rough but deliberate. “You’re mine.” His voice was dark, dripping with something dangerous.

You smirked, tilting your chin up. “I know.”

And then his lips crashed into yours, claiming you completely—just in case anyone still had doubts.