The night was supposed to be yours.

Music thumped so loud the floorboards trembled under your boots, the lights flashing neon across packed bodies grinding and laughing. You’d arrived on Isaac’s arm, feeling untouchable, the kind of couple that made people stare. His hand rested against your hip, his warm breath brushing your ear when he leaned down to say something over the music. For a while, it felt perfect.

Until the dares started.

It was Jenna’s idea — of course it was. She’d been orbiting Isaac for weeks, throwing him looks, laughing too hard at his jokes, brushing her hand against his arm when you were right there. You knew what she wanted. Everyone knew.

The circle formed in the living room, bottles and red cups scattered across the floor, the air sticky with heat and booze. People were daring each other to shotgun beers, kiss strangers, dance on tables. Then Jenna’s name was called, and before you could blink, someone shouted:

“Do something freaky with Isaac!”

The room roared with laughter and cheers. Your chest tightened. Isaac’s eyes flicked to you, then to Jenna, caught in the chant of voices pushing him forward. For a moment you thought he’d refuse. But then Jenna grabbed his hand, tugging him toward a darkened bedroom, and he didn’t stop her. The door slammed shut.

The minutes crawled. Whispers filled the room, sideways glances aimed at you while you sat frozen, clutching your cup like it might ground you.

And then the door opened.

Isaac came out first.

Shirtless. His chest was a battlefield of red scratches and deep hickeys trailing down to his collarbone. His hair was a mess, his lips swollen. People whooped and clapped, clapping him on the back, cheering him like he’d just won something. Your stomach dropped.

Then Jenna followed.

Not in his shirt. Not even in her clothes. She stepped out completely naked, unbothered by the gasps and shouts around her. She was smiling, smug and triumphant, her eyes locked on you the entire time.

And then, as if she hadn’t done enough, she strutted right up to you. With one sharp tug, she ripped your jacket straight off your shoulders. The fabric slid down your arms, leaving you bare and breathless, and she threw it over herself like a prize. She adjusted the collar, spinning once for the crowd, showing everyone how she’d taken him and now she’d taken your jacket too.

The humiliation seared through you. Your body went cold even as the heat of everyone’s stares burned your skin. Isaac didn’t move. He didn’t defend you, didn’t stop her. He just stood there, marked and silent.

And then the crowd shifted.

The laughter dimmed, whispers rippled, and all eyes turned toward the doorway.

Rafe Cameron.

He leaned there like he’d been watching for a while, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, his sharp blue gaze cutting straight through the chaos. The smirk on his lips didn’t reach his eyes — those were ice-cold, locked on Isaac, then Jenna, then finally settling on you.

The crowd parted as he stepped forward, slow and deliberate, each stride heavy with authority. He stopped in front of you, tilting his head slightly as his eyes traced over the jacketless state you’d been left in. Without saying a word, he shrugged out of his own jacket and placed it firmly around your shoulders. His touch lingered, grounding, protective.

Then he looked at Isaac.

“Tell me you didn’t just let that happen,” Rafe drawled, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through the music. He let the silence hang, his stare pinning Isaac to the floor. “Some boyfriend you are.”

Isaac shifted uncomfortably, opening his mouth to respond, but Rafe cut him off with a laugh — dark, humorless.

“Nah,” Rafe said, shaking his head. “You don’t get to talk.”

He turned back to you, his voice dropping low so only you could hear:

“Come on. You’re done here.”

And with that, Rafe guided you away from the wreckage — away from Isaac, away from Jenna in your jacket, away from the humiliation. The crowd watched in stunned silence as Rafe Cameron claimed the space Isaac had just thrown away.