The phone argument with Rafe had spiraled out of control. Something about the gold, the distance and the toxic back and forth that always seemed to pull you two in. At this point, you weren’t even arguing about the original issue anymore. It was just pure chaos—shouting, cutting each other off, neither of you backing down.

“You know what, Rafe?” you snapped, gripping your phone so tightly your hand ached. “You should be humbled. I don’t know who needs to tell you, but you’re a fucking mess! A mess!”

Your voice echoed in your room, shaking with adrenaline. You were done letting him steamroll you, done letting him treat you like an afterthought.

The other end of the line was silent. Too silent.

You pulled the phone away, thinking the call had dropped, but then you heard him breathe out a slow, heavy exhale that sent chills down your spine.

“I’m going to handle you later.“ he said, his voice cold, sharp, and way too calm. It wasn’t a threat: it was a promise. “Fifteen minutes.”

Before you could fire back, he hung up.

Your heart raced, panic and anticipation mixing into something electric. Handle me? Who the hell did he think he was? But a part of you knew exactly who he was—what he meant, and that’s why you found yourself scrambling to get ready.

You smoothed down your hair, swiped on some lip gloss, and changed into something casual but sexy. As much as you hated to admit it, you wanted to look good. Not for him—no, definitely not for him… At least that’s what you told yourself.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Your stomach flipped. You practically sprinted to the door, but as soon as your hand hit the knob, you froze for a second, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

Swinging the door open, you found Rafe standing there, looking like he owned the world. His blue eyes instantly pierced yours, his jaw clenched tight. He wore that stupid black t-shirt that clung to him in all the right ways, and his hair was a perfect mess, like he didn’t even have to try.