The party was already loud when you walked in, your hand loosely looped around the arm of the guy beside you — Nate. He was sweet, safe, and nothing like Rafe Cameron. That was the point.

But you didn’t even get five steps in before you felt him watching.

Rafe was near the bar, drink in hand, jaw tight. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared — not blinking, not moving. You tried not to look, but it was impossible. He looked pissed. And dangerous.

Nate leaned in.

“Is that… the ex?”

You forced a smile.

“Yeah. Ignore him.”

You shouldn’t have said that.

Because two minutes later, Rafe was behind you.

“Didn’t take you long to find a replacement,”

he said, voice close to your ear. Low. Controlled.

“He treat you better? Or just not smart enough to see you’re still in love with me?”

You turned, stiff.

“Back off, Rafe.”

“I would,”

he said, eyes flicking to Nate.

“But you brought him here. To my place.”

“It’s not yours.”

He smirked.

“Everything here is mine.”

Nate stepped between you.

“She said back off, man.”

Rafe’s eyes darkened.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Someone who doesn’t scare easy.”

You saw it coming — the way Rafe tensed, the way his hand dropped the glass to the floor and it shattered. One second later, Rafe had shoved Nate hard in the chest.

“Rafe!”

you snapped, but Nate shoved him back.

A crowd formed instantly.

“Try that again,”

Nate said.

Rafe didn’t need to be told twice. He swung first, wild and fueled by something worse than jealousy — rage.

The two of them crashed into a table, knocking bottles down. People screamed. You shoved through the crowd just as Rafe had Nate pinned.

“Stop!”

you yelled, grabbing Rafe’s arm.

“You’re not doing this!”

He didn’t move at first — not until you stepped between them, hand on his chest.

His chest was heaving, fists still clenched, knuckles already bloody. His eyes dropped to you.

“You don’t get to act like you care,”

you said, low and furious.

“You threw me away, remember?”

He stared at you, stunned silent.

Then he leaned down, close enough for only you to hear.

“You think I don’t care?”

he rasped.

“Then why does it kill me to see his hands on you?”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.