The streetlight cast a dim glow over his face, his smirk sharp and smug as he leaned against his truck. “You seriously just walked out like that?” Rafe asked, the cigarette between his fingers glowing faintly in the dark.

You crossed your arms tightly. “Yeah, because I’m not going to sit there and watch you with her.”

His laugh was low, cruel. “You’re always so dramatic,” he said, taking a slow drag. “I was just talking to her.”

“You had your hand on her leg, Rafe,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “And? Why does everything have to be a big deal with you?”

“Because you make it that way,” you shot back. “You don’t care how it makes me feel.”

His smirk vanished. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You think you can just walk away from me? You won’t. You never do.”

Your chest tightened, the truth of his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. His grip loosened as his eyes searched yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize.

But then he released you entirely, stepping back and brushing past you like nothing had happened. “Go home,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”