The front door slammed so hard the picture frames rattled.

YN was halfway through pacing the living room when Rafe stormed in, his face flushed, jaw ticking like he was holding back every word he wanted to yell.

“Oh, so now you come back?” she snapped, arms crossed, voice shaking more from fury than fear.

“You think I was just gonna let you walk away like that?” he growled.

“I needed space!”

“And I needed you to listen instead of running off like—”

“Like what, Rafe?” she shot back, stepping closer. “Like someone who’s tired of your games? Tired of the yelling? Tired of never knowing which version of you I’m gonna get?”

His nostrils flared. “Careful.”

“No. I’m done being careful with you.”

The silence between them cracked like thunder—hot, loud, suffocating.

Then suddenly, he moved.

In one step, he was in front of her, hands grabbing her waist roughly as she pushed against his chest. She was furious. So was he. But when she shoved him, he caught her wrist—then his hand slid up, cupping the side of her neck, not hard, but firm enough to still her breath.

His eyes locked on hers. Dark. Wild. Hungry.

“You drive me f*cking insane,” he breathed.

Before she could fire back, his mouth crashed into hers. It wasn’t soft—it was desperate, angry, full of teeth and heat. Like he was trying to prove something with every kiss. Like words had failed him and this was all he had left.

Her fingers twisted into his shirt as he backed her into the wall, lips never leaving hers. Everything between them—rage, want, heartbreak—poured into that kiss. Messy. Intense. Real.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, YN whispered, “You can’t fix everything like this.”

“I know,” Rafe murmured, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “But it’s the only time you don’t walk away.”