You reach for the door, the urge to escape coursing through you like adrenaline. Rafe’s words still ring in your ears, the way he yelled, cutting deep with every accusation and insult. Your chest feels tight, your head spinning from the argument, but just as your fingers brush the doorknob, a sudden, hard grip wraps around your arm. Before you can react, you’re jerked backward, spun around to face him.

Rafe’s face is inches from yours, his eyes blazing with anger, his grip firm, unyielding. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is low but sharp, laced with a menace that sends a shiver down your spine. He yanks you closer, and you can feel the heat of his fury radiating off him. His hold on your arm tightens, his fingers digging into your skin.

You try to pull away, but he’s not letting go. Not even close.

“You think you can just walk out after that?” he snaps, his tone hard, cutting. “No, we’re not done. Not even close.”

His free hand moves swiftly, grabbing your other wrist and pulling you even closer, trapping you. Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising. His face is twisted in frustration, and you know that pushing back right now could make things worse.

“Let me go, Rafe. Please,” you manage to say, trying to stay calm. But he shakes his head, his eyes narrowing, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like you’re shrinking under the weight of it.

“Let you go?” He laughs bitterly, but there’s no humor in it. “You think you can just storm off and leave me hanging? You don’t get to decide when we’re done. I do.”

He grabs your chin roughly, tilting your face up to meet his glare. His touch is harsh, fingers digging in as he forces you to look at him, control written all over his expression. “You’ve been acting out for days now,” he growls, his voice low, dripping with accusation. “What the hell’s gotten into you, huh? Why are you being like this?”