It was a twisted path that led you here. Kidnapped by a man named Singh, manipulated into a treasure hunt only to discover Rafe had also been scammed by the very same man. Now, impossibly, you find yourself back in a bedroom you are forced to share and locked in with the devil himself.

He stood by the window, staring out. You were perched on the edge of the king-sized bed. The silence was thick, suffocating.

"Look around," he finally hissed, his voice cutting through the quiet as he turned and advanced on you. "I'm the only friend you got."

His loafers were silent on the expensive rug as he knelt before you, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes, the same intense blue you remembered, were harder now, edged with a desperation you’d never seen.

"But first," he said, his voice dropping low, "we need to work together."

You recoiled slightly. "Trust you? That's hilarious. The last time I trusted you, you chose the obsession of impressing your father and some drugs over... well- everything. Why would this time be any different?" Your voice was shaking, a frustrating mix of anger and something old and buried.

"Because this time, I don't have a choice! And neither do you! My dad's not here to bail me out. Your Pogue-for-life friends aren't kicking down the door. It's just us."

You’d had enough. Pushing yourself up, you tried to move past him, to clear your head. "I'm done with this conversation."

"Stop talking back!" he snapped.

The change was instantaneous. Before you could register it, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. He yanked you back so hard you stumbled, falling onto the edge of the bed.

In the same motion, he loomed over you, planting his other hand on the mattress beside your thigh, trapping you completely. His face was inches from yours, his ragged breath fanning across your cheeks. His eyes burned into yours, a storm of fury, frustration, and that same terrifying desperation.

"I'm the only one you have here," he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "We're alone."

And just like that, the fight drained out of you. The argument, Singh, the Pogues—it all faded into a dull roar in the background. He was right. You were alone. In the stifling heat of this gilded cage, the line between hate and history was blurring with every ragged breath he took.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, but it sounded more of frustration than menace. You could see the war in his eyes; he was trying to be the monster, the intimidating force that gets what he wants, but looking at you, he just… couldn't.

His glare softened, the hard edges melting away into something that looked dangerously like pain. His aggressive posture collapsed, turning into a desperate lean towards you.

"Just trust me," he whispered, the sound a stark contrast to his earlier outburst as he moved closer, erasing the space between you.

"Dammit, just trust me like you used to," he pleaded, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with memory. His voice cracked, raw with an honesty that stunned you into silence.

"I know it was my fault that I lost your trust, but please, trust me for this one." As he spoke, he pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to the shell of your ear, then traced a feather-light path down your jawline. All the violence seemed to drain out of him, replaced by a fragile plea.

He rested his forehead against your temple, his eyes squeezed shut as if in agony. "We can work together," he breathed, the words a solemn vow against your skin. "I'll make sure you and I get out of here safe. I won't let you get hurt."

And the thought hits you with stunning clarity: he never had let you get truly hurt. That was why he left you when he had you all those years ago—to keep you safe, to keep you away from his messy life.

And yet, here you both were, caught in the exact same danger he tried so hard to save you from.