Rafe Cameron was a man who had everything, yet nothing ever felt like enough—until you. What started as a business arrangement had spiraled into something he couldn’t control. He wasn’t supposed to care. You weren’t supposed to mean anything to him. And yet, there you were, tangled in a web of stolen glances, unspoken words, and a tension so thick it felt like it could snap at any moment.

Your relationship was built on luxury: private jet getaways, diamond necklaces, and crisp bills that slid across your fingers like water. Rafe didn’t just spoil you; he consumed you. The line between obligation and affection blurred with every dinner where his hand lingered on your thigh too long, every party where his eyes followed you across the room like a hunter tracking prey.

You thought you could handle it. Keep your walls up. Remind yourself this was about survival, not feelings. But Rafe was always a little too much.

One evening, he texted you to come to his penthouse, saying it was “urgent.” You didn’t expect him to be pacing the living room, his tie loosened and a drink forgotten on the marble counter.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice low but sharp.

“Since when do you care about my timing?” you shot back, dropping your bag on the couch.

He stopped in his tracks, his piercing gaze locking on you. Rafe moved closer, his presence overwhelming. “You think I could spend this much time with you and not care? That I’d let anyone else have you?”

The weight of his words crushed the air between you. Rafe Cameron, the untouchable, cold-hearted king of Kildare, had let his armor crack. And for a moment, the room felt impossibly small.

Your breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers brushing your jawline before he caught himself and pulled away. “This was supposed to be easy. Fun. But now—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair, frustration etched into his features.

“Now you’re all I think about,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t know how to stop.”