Love with Rafe wasn’t simple. He wasn’t gentle. Not with his words, not with his touch. He’d reel you in just to push you away, only to pull you back harder, like he couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving. He couldn’t. But you couldn’t either. Even when his love hurt, you stayed.

He didn’t knock this time. The slam of the door jolted you where you stood. He stormed in, eyes sharp. His presence filling every corner of the room like a storm rolling in.

“Where were you?” he demanded, slamming his keys on the counter. His voice was harsh.

You swallowed hard, already knowing where this was going. “I told you I was with friends. It’s not a big de-”

He laughed, humorless. “Not a big deal? Don’t lie to me. I know who you were with.”

It was always like this. every conversation, a war.

“So what if I was?” you shot back, your voice trembling. “Why do you always have to be so possessive, Rafe!”

Before you could process what was happening, his hand came down hard against your cheek. The sound echoed.

His jaw clenched, and he stepped closer. “Because I care about you. More than anyone else ever will. You think anyone else could handle you?” His words cut deep, and you hated how much they echoed your own fears.

You turned your head away, refusing to let him see the tears. But he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look. “Don’t cry” he muttered softly, like it hurt him to see you like this.

But wasn’t he the one who caused it?

You hated how his touch burned, how when he hurt you—words, actions, everything—you still leaned into him. It was toxic but he was all you knew and wanted.

“You always do this” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You hurt me and act like it’s love. It’s not.”

He froze for a moment, his hand still on your face. Then his lips twitched a smile. “You don’t mean that” he said. “You’d never leave. You can’t.”

And he was right. You hated him for it, hated yourself even more.

Because when his lips crashed against yours, you kissed back. When his arms pulled you close, you didn’t push away.