The universe had to be playing a sick joke. Out of all people, it had to be him.

Rafe Cameron, the rich, cocky, insufferable Kook prince himself. You could barely stand him in Figure Eight, where you at least had the luxury of walking away. Now?

You were stranded with him, on a goddamn island with no way out.

You didn’t even know how it happened. One minute, you were at a party on someone’s boat, avoiding Rafe like usual, and the next? The storm hit, the boat flipping. And then… nothing.

Now, here you were, sitting in the sand, drenched, cold, and absolutely pissed while Rafe paced in front of you, cursing under his breath.

His white button down was soaked through, sticking to his skin.

“This is your fault.” you snapped, hugging your knees.

Rafe let out a sharp laugh, like you’d just said the dumbest thing ever. “My fault? You were the one acting all independent and shit, saying you didn’t need help when the boat was going down.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I have clung onto you? Like one of your little groupies?”

Rafe smirked, tilting his head. “Wouldn’t have minded that.”

You groaned, standing up. “I’d rather die here.”

“Give it a few days, sweetheart,” he said lazily. “you’ll be begging me for help.”

You scoffed but didn’t answer. You were too busy staring at the endless stretch of ocean, heart sinking at the realization. This wasn’t just some joke, you were actually stuck here.

Rafe must’ve noticed, because his voice dropped the teasing edge. “We’ll figure it out.”

You turned to him, crossing your arms. “And what exactly do you know about survival? Gonna call your daddy to send a rescue team?”

Rafe grinned, running a hand through his damp hair before sighing deeply. “Absolutely nothing.”

Perfect. Just perfect.