Rafe noticed it the second you stepped onto the porch. You were good at hiding things from others—smiling just enough, laughing on cue—but not from him. Never from him. His eyes scanned you quickly, his chest tightening when he saw the faint bruise blooming along your wrist, half-hidden under your sleeve.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was low, controlled, but his eyes were wild.

You froze. “Rafe, it’s nothing. Don’t—”

He stepped closer. “Don’t lie to me. Who?”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you hated that he could see right through you. You knew how Rafe was—protective, impulsive, dangerous when it came to the people he loved. You didn’t want to light that match.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over,” you whispered, voice cracking.

His jaw clenched. “It matters to me. You matter to me.”

You looked away, heart racing. This was the risk. Being near him. Letting him in. You’d spent so long convincing yourself that Rafe Cameron was the storm you couldn’t survive—but here he was, the only one making you feel safe when everything else was falling apart.

“I still care about you,” he admitted, voice softer now. “Even if you don’t want me to.”

Your walls cracked just a little. “I never stopped wanting you.”

He took your hand—gently this time, thumb brushing over the bruise like he could erase it. “I’ll take care of it… whoever it is. You don’t deserve this. You deserve… everything.”

And for the first time in a while, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he was right.