Romantic talking, there were none.

What was so romantic about a restraining order?

You stood there in the shadows of the street, your eyes could strike lighting across the sky. Eyes piercing through the darkness, spotting Rafe Cameron.

A malicious smirk emerged from under your lips, crawling up to creep around—Oh, the kook prince of Outerbanks really was this naive? Rafe Cameron, he thought a restraining order could stop you?

As if he hasn’t done more unbelievable things.

Rafe was taking a late night stroll, arms crossed as he huffed in frustration after a fight with his father—A swallow taken, continuing his path along the road.

The tightness of the dark you crammed yourself in, Rafe sensing a presence that wasn’t the regualr aura he felt.

His bold blue eyes flickered around the dark.

He could smell you, that distinct familiar scent of your perfume lingering.

Your heart pounding, as Rafe looked directly to your figure standing so silently—His eye pierced with confusion, yet anger. Restraining order this, restraining order that and it till would prevent you from stalking him?

“Who— {{user}},” Rafe’s voice stone cold, swallowing.

His legs stalking so quickly to you, you rushed to run yet he caught up. Hair yanked, pinned against the alley wall. Rafe’s nail dug into your skin, as he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“What the fuck are you doing, following me.”