The rain drowns out everything—your thoughts, your breath, even the sharp knock against your window. You almost don’t hear it. Almost.

But then it comes again. Harder. More desperate.

You push the curtain back, and there he is. Rafe Cameron.

Soaked. Shaking. Wild-eyed.

You don’t think—you just open the window. He climbs in, dripping onto your floor, breath ragged. The moment his feet hit the ground, he’s on his knees.

On. His. Knees.

Your chest tightens. “Rafe, what the hell—”

“I can’t do it anymore.” His voice is wrecked, raw, like something inside him has already snapped. His hands reach for you, fingers gripping your thighs like he needs to feel you solid, real. His ruin, right in front of him. “I don’t want her. I don’t want anything that isn’t you.”

Your stomach twists. “You’re with Sofia.”

“I don’t care.” His fingers tighten, his nails digging in like he’s scared you’ll pull away. “She doesn’t make me feel like this. Like I’m losing my mind. Like I—” He swallows, shaking his head, rainwater dripping from his lashes. “Like I’d destroy myself just to have you.”

Your pulse is in your throat. This isn’t fair.

Because you’ve always wanted him. Even when you shouldn’t have. Even when it felt impossible.

But this? This is dangerous.

“You’re not thinking straight.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

Rafe laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just something broken. “I haven’t thought straight since the day I met you.”

You should tell him to leave. To go back to his world, to Sofia, to everything that isn’t this.

But then he presses his forehead to your stomach, breath shaky, and whispers, “Please.”