♫𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞-𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐲

You never leave.

Rafe knows it. You know it.

Even now, as the sting still lingers on your skin, as the weight of his palm still burns against your cheek, you don’t move. You sit there, staring at him, lips parted, chest tight. Your mind screams at you to run, but your body—your heart—stays frozen.

Rafe exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, his knuckles still raw. He’s calmer now. The storm has passed.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, voice steady, controlled.

You don’t want to. But you do.

His gaze flickers to the mark he left, and for a second—just a second—something like regret passes over his face. But it’s gone before you can hold onto it, buried under something colder, something possessive.

He leans in, pressing his lips against the bruise, the kiss almost tender. “You know I didn’t mean it,” he says, voice soft, like he’s trying to convince you of something neither of you believe.

You swallow hard, throat dry.

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t push me.”

There it is. The justification. The excuse. The same one he always gives, the same one you never argue with.

His fingers tilt your chin up, his grip firm, his touch claiming. “Say you love me,” he orders, voice quieter now, but no less demanding.

Your lips tremble. But the words come anyway. “I love you.”

His expression smooths, satisfied. He presses another kiss to your temple, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you in until all you can breathe is him. Until you forget why you were upset in the first place.

“You’re mine,” he whispers.

And even if you wanted to, you could never say otherwise.