The frat party was too loud, the air thick with cigarette smoke, alcohol and sweat, but you didn't care. You were here for one reason—to confront Rafe Cameron.

You spotted him in the corner, sprawled in an armchair like he owned the place, a drink in one hand, the other draped lazily over the armrest. His sharp blue eyes met yours instantly, like he’d been waiting.

"Didn’t think you'd show," he mused, his voice smooth but edged with something dark.

Your heart pounded, but you held your ground. "You owe me answers, Rafe."

A slow smirk curved on his lips as he patted his thigh. "Come here."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Not happening."

He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto yours like a challenge he is gesturing. "You wanna talk? Sit on my lap. Otherwise, get out."

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you refused to back down. People were watching, waiting to see if you'd break. Rafe thrived on power plays, and this was just another game to him. But you weren't about to let him win.

Taking a slow breath, you stepped forward and lowered yourself onto his lap, your back straight, muscles tense. His arm curled around your waist instantly, fingers pressing into your hip.

"There," you said through clenched teeth. "Now talk."

His breath was warm against your skin, his grip possessive. You weren’t sure who was winning anymore—him or you. But one thing was clear: this game was just beginning. He whisper to your ear just to make sure you are even more mad at him his breath hot on your neck and voice deep and low

"That's my girl"

After those words he smirked and watched like whole party was looking at Kook princess sitting on lap of Kook Prince