pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafeâs friends bet that he canât charm you into sleeping with him, he canât say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and youâre determined to break his heart.
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Youâre standing by a sliding glass door, and while the crowded house is warm, the January cold still presses through the glass. Itâs another house party in Figure Eight, and being back here reminds you that the island never really changes.
You lift your cup to your lips. No alcohol, since itâs better that you donât drink right now. The pain that dug into you since the last time you saw Rafe hasnât gone away, and getting drunk will just make it worse.
Itâs been three weeks since you left his bedroom. Since the last words between you twisted everything you thought you understood about the two of you. The holidays came and went, and now itâs mere days before everyone here heads back to their colleges to start the spring semester.
Youâve spent so much time telling yourself Rafe didnât even hurt you, that you were simply angry that he tricked you. But youâve resigned yourself to the truth now.
At some point over the months you spent getting to know him, you did give him the power to hurt you. And he used it.
The worst part is you donât even know how much of what he said was manipulation. Which parts were fake. If any parts were even real.
The party hums around you as your friends talk over the music. You havenât told Ivy and Alayna about any of it. They asked about the bet and you said you gave up, that Rafe was too annoying for you to pretend to like him. They laughed it off.
Through the glass door, thereâs a backyard bonfire in a stone pit, a group gathered around it. Rafeâs there, shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.
Heâs been drinking a lot. Even from here, you immediately noticed the way he keeps tilting his beer back, again and again.
Itâs only been minutes since you and your friends drifted toward this corner of the house, relieved when you didnât spot him inside. But then you glanced out the door.
The glass reflects your face back at you. You canât believe how easy it is for you to look unaffected. Like nothing he did ever got to you. But then again, youâve gotten very good at burying things where no one can see them.
You think about the last time you spoke to him, how he stammered and cried and told you he wanted to be with you. But even if that were true, this started because he saw you as a challenge. You were just a girl to fuck so he could brag about it to his friends.
At least you could tell that you really did hurt him when you told him it was all fake for you. You broke his heart, but what you never saw coming was that heâd break yours, too.
You force yourself to stop looking outside. You turn back toward your friends. You let yourself get pulled into their conversation, and for a few minutes, it works. Then Ivyâs eyes widen, her gaze toward the backyard. You turn.
A fight has broken out near the bonfire. And Rafe is on the ground, surrounded. You wait for someone to step in, but the guys not involved just watch. You stare, hoping someone will do something, but heâs getting pummeled.
And despite everything youâre feeling, the pang of fear is the loudest.
Impulsively, you set your drink down and push through the crowd inside the house. Itâs easy to spot one of Rafeâs friends, Topper, leaning against the kitchen island. Youâve known him by sight for years.
You lean in close so he can hear you over the music.
âYou need to help Rafe,â you say. âHeâs in the backyard.â
Topperâs smile disappears and he shakes his head like heâs irritated, used to the fact that his friend is always stirring up trouble. He grabs two other guys and they head for the backyard. You follow, zipping up your hoodie the second the chill hits you.
His friends manage to get the group to back off, shouting and shoving. The crowd around him loosens.
Rafe is still on the grass, though. Heâs curled on his side. His hairâs fallen into his face, and heâs breathing hard. He doesnât even try to get up when his friends tell him to.
He doesnât look like the man who once made you feel protected. Now it feels like you have to be the one to save him.
Worry digs into you. You step closer, leaning down.
âRafe,â you say sharply. âGet up.â
Hearing your voice does something to him, even though the last time he saw you, youâd proven what people say about you is true.
âGet up,â you repeat.
Rafe lifts his head and his eyes finally land on you. From where heâs lying, youâre framed against the starry sky, the bonfireâs glow catching the edge of your face. You look unbelievably beautiful.
Your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. He hates how nice it sounds. Hates that it still gets to him. Hates you.
But even with all that, this is the first time in a long time that he feels a semblance of steadiness. He forces himself onto his knees, swaying slightly.
Your eyes scan the massive yard, searching for somewhere you can take him that isnât in full view of the crowd. Then you spot the poolhouse tucked behind the inâground pool. You hope itâs unlocked. And you hope your friends donât see you doing this.
You donât want Ivy or Alayna to catch you worrying about him. You donât even know how youâd explain what youâve done so far. Youâre not sure you can.
âLetâs go,â you say firmly.
He tries to stand and nearly tips, so your hand finds his arm, steadying him.
The moment your fingers close around Rafeâs bicep, traitorous warmth buzzes under your skin. You despise him. Youâve told yourself that a hundred times. He hurt you. He made you feel stupid. You should want nothing to do with him.
But your body wonât listen. Itâs unfair that it brings you comfort to touch him again.
The walk across the yard is long. Rafeâs breaths are ragged and he leans some of his weight into you and the voices fade the farther you get, replaced by the distant hum of ocean waves.
When you reach the poolhouse, you try the handle and thankfully, it turns. You push the door open and guide him inside. The space is dark and chilly and smells like chlorine. You flick on the light.
Rafe sinks down onto the closest couch, elbows on his knees, staring ahead with a blank expression. And now, you can see him clearly.
His bottom lip is split. He obviously got punched in the nose, too, because itâs covered in blood. His hands are trembling, and he keeps blinking as he stares ahead.
A drop of blood falls onto his thigh, soaking into his jeans, and you unzip your hoodie, shrugging it off even though the cold immediately sinks into your arms. You canât believe your instinct is to choose his comfort over yours.
Rafe is dazed. Then he sees a bunchedâup cloth in front of his face. Youâre standing over him, offering him something to press to his nose.
Past the blood, he can smell you on the fabric. Your expression is tight and unreadable. But he could never read you all that well. Obviously.
âTake it,â you state.
Youâre helping him. After everything. Itâs what he always wished for, someone to look after him after he loses it and gets hurt, but itâs ruined, because all he can remember is the cruel way you told him you could never feel anything for him.
He lifts a hand, takes your sweater from you, and presses it to his nose with a wince.
You watch him shaking, standing a few feet away, arms wrapped around yourself. You canât make yourself move any closer. And you canât make yourself leave either. What the hell is it about him that makes you act this way?
Youâre curious and worried and angry. You try to piece together what happened, why he got ganged up on like that. Obviously he couldnât fight back for once because of how drunk he is.
You teeter between caring and refusing to care, because as much as you tell yourself youâre done with him, walking out of this room while heâs shaking and bleeding feels impossible.
âWhy are you even here?â Rafe mutters, not looking at you.
Heâs been hanging on by a thread. The guys by the fire were already annoying him, laughing about how wasted he was. Normally heâd just tell them to shut up, but tonight he was drinking because heâs trying to forget you.
Rafe was already close to snapping. He made a comment to one of the guys about his parents just to piss him off, some gossip he heard a while ago. To get Rafe back, the asshole said something about his dad.
Thatâs what broke him. He swung. The other guy swung back, harder and with his friends backing him up.
You donât know how to answer his question, because you have no idea why youâre here. You stay silent, staring, never having felt this before.
âThey said something about my dad,â he says under his breath, trying to justify himself. His words are slurred. Heâs too drunk to filter anything. âBet heâs real proud.â
You still. You remember Rafe saying that heâs not what his family wants him to be. To know he lost it over a stupid comment about his dad makes it clear that thatâs really something that gets to him.
Or maybe not. You donât know anymore. Every memory you have of him feels poisoned, warped by the fact that he was lying to you through so much of it.
Rafe hates the silence, that youâre just standing there, that you shattered his heart.
âWhat? Youâre thinking I deserve this, right?â he rasps, bringing the bunched up hoodie to his lap, looking down at the blood sinking into the fabric. Heâs simply repeating what you told him. That he deserved to be fucked with, that heâs stupid.
Anger floods you so fast itâs dizzying. Heâs actually feeling sorry for himself, after he got himself in this mess, after he admitted to trying to use you. The audacity almost makes you laugh.
âDo you expect me to feel sorry for you?â you say.
Rafe lets out a breath, your cold words slicing into him. And finally, he looks up at you.
âNo,â he mutters, shaking his head slightly, squinting, grimacing. âI donât expect anything from you.â
Thatâs what makes you snap. You scoff and storm out, the door slamming shut behind you. You shouldâve just left him on the cold ground.
Rafe doesnât move. He keeps staring at the floor long after youâre gone, shoulders hunched, breath shaky, his nose and jaw pulsating with pain.
The silence presses in around him. All he can smell is blood now. Tears burn his eyes and he squeezes them shut.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
You never get attached. Every fling youâve had always stayed surfaceâlevel. It wasnât even a conscious effort; it was how you protected yourself from getting hurt.
But with Rafe, itâs like he broke you apart, like he lit a fire in you and doused it in fuel until you became someone you didnât recognize.
And you had the same effect on him, because while he did lie to you when this started, there was no faking the meltdown he had. His voice cracked in a way that didnât sound like him as he told you he regretted the bet, that you deserve better.
You hurt him, too. It doesnât even feel satisfying, though.
Itâs Sunday afternoon and youâre lying in bed in your sorority house bedroom. Your mind keeps going back to Friday night in Kildare. The way Rafe looked, bloodied and hurt. The way your instinct kicked in to help him.
Youâd caught up with Ivy and Alayna at the party after leaving the poolhouse. And you lied. You told them that even though you donât like Rafe, you just couldnât stand there and watch him get hurt. No matter who it was, youâd help.
The guilt of lying has been eating away at you. But how can you possibly confess to making a fool of yourself for someone who disrespected you the way he did?
You got back to campus yesterday. You desperately want to pick up where you left off before Rafe. Itâs like he knocked something loose in you and you canât get it back into place.
You stare up at the ceiling, wired. You told your sorority sisters you were going to take a nap, exhausted from the trip back. But you havenât slept. Youâve just been lying here, listening to the muffled voices drifting up from downstairs.
The loud rumble of an engine drifts in from outside and you push yourself up on your elbows to peek through the sheer curtain.
A black pickup rolls to a stop in front of the house. Rafe steps out, something bunched in his hand. You stay still, watching him.
Time drags by and then thereâs a knock at your bedroom door. Your breath catches.
He canât see you like this. You want to have the power here. Even after you helped him on Friday night, he still looked at you with so much hatred. Like you donât give a shit about him. And itâs best that he thinks that.
You edge back toward the window to see Rafe walking away from the house, heading for his truck again. Relief finds you. Itâs not him.
âYeah?â you call, forcing your voice to sound normal.
Jada cracks the door open. âSorry, did I wake you?â
You shake your head no.
âRafe came by,â she says, stepping inside. âHe dropped this off.â
She holds out your hoodie. The same one youâd pressed against his face in the poolhouse. The fabric is soft and clean now, scrubbed of every trace of him. You take it, thanking her.
âHe looked rough,â Jada adds, watching you. Youâre still, staring ahead as you hear his truck drive away. âYou okay?â
A while ago, youâd told her you were done with the bet, that youâd keep seeing Rafe just for fun. Then, when things fizzled, you told her you got bored. You never said how you actually let your guard down for the first time.
You clutch the hoodie to your chest. And you donât have it in you anymore to pretend.
âI liked him,â you say, the words thin. Your eyes well up before you can stop it.
Jada sits beside you immediately. You can see it in her face: sheâs never seen you like this. Youâre supposed to be the one who never cries over a boy.
âHe had a bet with his friends that he could have sex with me,â you tell her. âThatâs why he started this whole thing.â
âWhat?â Jada breathes, stunned. âAre you serious?â
âHe cried when he admitted it,â you say, letting out a scoff. âAnd I couldnât even feel bad for him. Like, what, you realized I was a person and now youâre sorry?â
Your breath catches. You look away.
âI told him that I was in it to break his heart. And he said I did.â You swallow hard. âI forgot about that bet with my friends a long time ago, but I said that just to hurt him back.â
âIâm so sorry,â she says softly. âWhat a mess.â
âI know.â You wipe your eyes, your breath shaky. âWhy does it hurt so bad?â
Jadaâs brows pull together, her expression warm and aching with sympathy. She reaches for your hand.
âIt wonât forever,â she tells you. âI promise.â
You nod, even though you donât believe it yet. Youâd give anything to feel like yourself again. To feel like Rafe never touched a single part of you.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Rafe thought he wanted you to open the door. Once he got to the front step of your sorority house, though, he realized he couldnât face you. He barely said a word when your roommate answered.
He held out the hoodie, muttered that it was yours, and went. He only returned it because he hates having something of yours lying around.
His hands are tight on the wheel. He turns off Greek Row. He doesnât have a destination. He just needs to move to protect himself from drowning in his thoughts.
His stomach pinches in pain and he realizes he hasnât eaten all day. He imagines you in the passenger seat, teasing him as you go to get food together, and he hates that his mind goes there.
Friday night crashes back into him, the way you grabbed his arm and led him to the poolhouse. He thought youâd never speak to him again. He doesnât know why you did it. And he canât read into it, because it wasnât that long ago that you looked at him like he was nothing.
How could you do that to him? He keeps replaying it, over and over, torturing himself. The way you sat in his bed, eyes cold, telling him it was all a bet for you, too.
Admittedly, before all that, it felt good that the girl who seems to hate every guy saw something in him. But now he knows you faked it all.
He tells himself he doesn't need you. But all he can think about is how easily you said you never liked him, that you never could, and how much it hurts to know you meant it.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Rafe sits in the lobby of the main lodge while his friends talk around him.
He didnât want to come. He got out of the spring day trip for the past two years, but Trey was serious that everyone needed to show up after the whole probation bullshit.
And Rafe doesnât care for orders, but he cares enough not to let the frat president make an example out of him. He refuses to look weak, to be cut out socially, to be even more isolated than he already feels.
Rafeâs been bracing to see you since the moment he stepped out onto the college-owned retreat center. The place is huge, a cluster of buildings that face a lake. Itâs big, but not big enough that he can fully avoid you.
He rubs a hand over his face. He has no idea what heâs supposed to do if you come.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Youâve been excited for this all year. Itâs one of your favorite parts of Greek life. This day trip is a longâstanding tradition. Every spring semester, every chapter is invited out for a Saturday of teamâbuilding and fun.
But this year, youâve spent the entire 45-minute drive wondering if Rafe will be here. Youâre in the backseat of your sorority sisterâs car, music blasting as you approach the retreat center.
Your phone buzzes in your lap. Itâs the guy you met at a party earlier this week. You hated how, the entire time he talked, you kept comparing him to Rafe. He didnât catch your humor, didnât look at you like youâre the most interesting thing in the world like Rafe used to.
Usually you can distract yourself with someone new. It wonât work this time.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
The chapter leaders, made up of the frat and sorority presidents, welcome everyone in front of the main lodge. There are a lot of people here. With most members of all the chapters on campus, maybe a hundred students total. With so many people gathered, the air feels even hotter, sun beating down hard.
You spot him. Rafe is standing with his frat, that stupid hat sitting backwards on his head again. Heâs too far away for you to see how much heâs healed since that fight he got into.
But you can tell he looks tired. He doesnât want to be here. Youâre not surprised. The last time you saw him was through your bedroom window a week ago. He looked just as tired then, like a light he once had is gone now.
And if you didnât believe it in that moment, you do now. You really did break his heart. Itâs painfully obvious.
He looks up. Your eyes meet through the crowd. For one second, itâs just you and him, standing on opposite sides of a crowd, pretending youâre strangers.
Youâll have to get used to that. You look away.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Fireflies drift over the grass in the warm night air. Itâs the last stretch of the day, the lull after a big dinner. Itâs tradition to end the day trip with a dip in the lake. You did it last year and youâre eager to do it again, to plunge into the water after a hot, tiring day.
Some cars in the lot are already gone, surely the chapter presidents. They know all about the swim, and they donât forbid it, but they donât encourage it. They just slip away once dinner ends, leaving the night to everyone else.
You walk with your sorority sisters to the trunk of the car to grab the towels youâd packed, then head back to the lake, hopeful youâll be able to keep avoiding Rafe like you have been all day.
Rafeâs frat brothers talk over each other as they exit the dining hall, hyping up the lake jump, saying he skipped the last two years so he doesnât get to bail on anything.
He didnât even know about it until five minutes ago. Heâs exhausted, though, and the idea that the day isnât over yet annoys him.
He just wants to leave. Unfortunately, he got a ride with them, which means heâs stuck until theyâre done splashing around like idiots. He tells them heâs not coming, so Mac tosses him the keys. They jog off toward the lake under the moonlight while Rafe stays behind.
He reaches the car and yanks open the door, thinking he can sit inside, but the moment he leans in, a wave of trapped heat slams into him. He ends up leaning against the side of the car instead and pulls out his phone to kill time.
From the lake, he can already hear the distant splash of someone jumping in, followed by cheers.
Minutes later, he hears footsteps on the gravel. He assumes itâs someone heading back to their car, someone else who decided not to jump. But the footsteps angle closer, weaving between the cars.
Then he glances up. Itâs you. And you donât notice him.
Youâre heading for your sorority sisterâs car, your phone tight in your hand. Youâd forgotten to drop it off earlier, too rushed to think straight. Now youâre back to stash it in the car before heading back to the lake to finally jump in.
You reach the car, find the backseat handle, and pull. Itâs locked. Your friend swore it wasnât. You sigh and try the driverâs side next. Nothing.
Rafe is watching you, because like always, he canât tear his eyes away. Heâs angry. Embarrassed. Confused, because he still feels a pull towards you, and itâs the worst part of this whole thing.
You tug the handle again out of frustration. Thatâs what makes him speak.
âI think itâs locked,â he mocks you, words edged with annoyance.
The sound of Rafeâs voice hits you. You look up to see him slouched against a car parked at a diagonal, barely ten feet separating you.
And immediately, itâs effortless to be mean to him again. Youâd let your guard down with him once, but before that, snapping at him was second nature. And you want to be that old version of yourself again.
âReally?â you scoff sarcastically, turning away. âAsshole.â
Rafeâs jaw firms, the sting of anger and hurt and betrayal rushing through him.
âIâm the asshole?â he replies.
You stop in your tracks, blood boiling. And you canât let any of your heartbreak show. He lied to you, humiliated you, was so mean to you when you helped him at that party, and now heâs acting like heâs blameless.
You turn and glare at him, arms crossed, the words sitting on your tongue. Youâre just close enough that you can see the tight line of his jaw in the moonlight.
âYou think youâre totally innocent here?â you mutter, taking a step forward, heart pounding.
Rafe looks away and scoffs. What he did doesnât compare. It doesnât even come close. He came clean. And he never set out to hurt someone. You did.
âIâm better than you,â he mutters.
âSure,â you huff. âStarting a bet with your friends that you can trick a girl into fucking you is what a really good person does.â
He grimaces. He knows how it mustâve sounded, like he was just another asshole who wanted you for only one thing. Youâd told him how men make you feel that way, and while nothing you shared with him was real, he knows the anger you felt when you told him that was.
âItâs not like that,â he mutters. âI didnât think youâd care.â
You scoff, the sound of splashing and laughter carrying from the lake. You canât help thinking how different things would be if youâd never let him in. You could be out there in the water, light and unbothered, instead of standing here with this weight pressing on your heart.
âIs that what you tell yourself?â you reply.
Rafe adjusts his hat as if itâll steady him. Heâs thrown by how merciless you sound, how easily you can cut him down when heâs trying to explain himself.
âCome on,â he says. In the back of his mind, he hears every rumor he ever absorbed about you, about the girl who treats guys like theyâre disposable. âYou know what people say about you.â
âRight. They say Iâm a bitch, soââ
âThey say that you donât even have feelings,â he cuts in, fast and sharp.
It stings. You thought itâs what you wanted, for people to think that you donât get hurt. That you canât. But hearing him say it, like itâs the truth, makes you realize how much of yourself youâve hidden.
Silence settles between you. Rafeâs expression shifts, pain flickering through it.
He thinks about everything youâve been through together, everything people say about you, and how not that long ago, he thought that none of it matched the girl standing in front of him.
Youâd told him to stop bothering you. But if youâre letting him bother you right now, if youâre still here, still talking, still glaring at him like heâs actually getting to you, then maybe a part of you cares.
âIâve never been a guy who can just mess around,â he admits, realizing how weak it makes him sound, but needing to get it out nonetheless. âBut I thought I could with you because I didnât think itâd mean anything to you. And I was right.â
He says it hoping youâll refute it.
âThat doesnât make it okay,â you tersely say instead.
Then, your eyes flick down. He hates the way you go quiet, the way you slip somewhere he canât follow. You do this. You shut down without warning.
âWhen were you going to tell me?â Rafe asks, voice tight. He needs to know how long you wouldâve kept stringing him along.
You remember how fast everything collapsed when he told you about the bet, when you told him it was a bet for you, too. And as your gaze remains on his chest, simply to avoid eye contact, you hate that you also remember how good it felt to be pressed against him, to feel his heartbeat, to hear his breath.
âWhen I felt like it,â you say simply.
Itâs too much. The whole conversation, the way heâs looking at you. You turn, your phone still in your hand, planning to hide it somewhere in your clothes and hope you can find it again after the cold plunge you desperately need.
Rafeâs heart picks up when you start to walk away.
This canât be where the conversation ends. Thereâs a part of him that always wants clarity, always wants the truth spelled out, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts. He canât stand loose ends, and youâve become the biggest one in his life.
He moves before he even thinks about it.
Rafe rounds you in a few quick strides, cutting off your path. He steps into your space, close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. Heâs inches from you when he speaks.
âWhyâd you help me the other night?â he asks, because it hurts not knowing anymore.
Now that heâs close enough, you can see the stillâhealing bruise at the bridge of his nose. It reminds you of the jolt of panic that shot through you when you saw him on the ground at that party back home. And itâs a quiet accusation of how much you care about him.
âI wish I didnât,â you mutter. âYou were such a dick.â
You step to the side, but Rafe blocks you and sternly says your name. Just like the night at the beach when this all started, when he tried to apologize for spilling his drink on you, when you told him to fuck off and you wish heâd listened.
âMove,â you say sharply. But he wonât. He canât believe that he actually had an effect on you that night. Or ever.
And the possibility that you bluffed about your bet rattles him now. The way you said it that night was almost too perfect to be made up on the spot, but he so badly wants you to tell him you were lying.
âWas there really a bet?â he says.
You sigh. It hurts, knowing youâd once agreed to something so cruel, knowing heâs asking you if you ever saw him as more than just a game, knowing that he started this whole thing with bad intentions, too.
âWas there?â he presses.
You look down at the gravel. And you donât know what possesses you to be honest, whether itâs the bruise on his nose, or how close he is, or how he said your name. Or maybe itâs simply because youâre tired of pretending.
âAt first,â you relent.
âAt first?â he echoes.
âI decided to forget about it.â
âWhen?â he asks.
âThat day you came to my room after I got off the phone with my mom,â you tell him. You look up at him again, and the eye contact is both hard and relieving, slicing through the distance youâve put between you. âI felt guilty about it because I thought I was wrong about you. I thought I saw good in you.â
You see the impact of your words in the way Rafeâs brows pull tight. Your instinct is to be spiteful, to hurt him the way he hurt you.
Rafe remembers that day in your room so clearly. It was a long time ago. You forgot about the bet, and you still wanted to keep him around, even though youâd been clear it wasnât for a relationship.
You being the person who saw something in him felt better than anything else. It felt like proof that he could be someone good. Someone better. And then he showed you that he canât be trusted.
âGot it,â he says, clipped, his voice low. He didnât think he mattered enough to hurt you, but itâs obvious that youâre already checked out and done with him.
The defeated way Rafe says it makes it clear to you that heâs given up. You swallow hard. You know that if you tried to step away now, heâd let you.
âYou think I donât have feelings?â you scoff, the accusation still pressing on your chest. âYou donât know me at all.â
Nobody knows you. And with him this close again, the fear flares that heâll see you for who you actually are, and heâll realize youâre not someone worth putting time into.
âI tried to,â Rafe murmurs, his voice coming out sharper than he means it to be.
You think about how he apologized to you, cried over you, told you he wanted more than whatever the two of you had. And then you called him stupid, told him you never liked him, to dig the knife in deeper.
Loss, guilt, and betrayal crash together in your chest, a vicious pressure that wonât ease up.
Youâre just two people who never expected to like each other. Something between you ran deeper than either of you meant it to, but you donât have it in you to try with him. Not after he lied. Not after you lied, too.
âI regret it, too, okay? I⊠actually liked you,â you admit. Your lips press together, your body heavy with pain. âBut it doesnât matter anymore. I told you this is over and I meant it.â
Rafe gets it now. Even though you felt something, he sees that this was never going to work. Because you donât want it to.
He purses his lips, offers a curt nod, and steps aside to let you pass. He gets a dose of you, and it sticks with him like it always does, like it always will. But he knows he canât get any more.
You walk past him. Youâre not built for wanting someone, for letting them want you back. And as you pace towards the lake under the night sky, hearing crickets chirping and people splashing, an unexpected relief settles in your heart.
Because for once, you didnât hide or pretend you were above anything. You showed Rafe that this hurt you, too. Itâs an honest kind of victory, and itâs so much lighter than the forced pride youâve been carrying.
Laying everything out feels good. Clean. And now you can focus on trying to put it all behind you.
(to be continued) (next part is the last)
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafeâs friends bet that he canât charm you into sleeping with him, he canât say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and youâre determined to break his heart.
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Your chest tightens the moment you spot Rafe across the frat houseâs main floor.
He texted you the day after you abruptly got out of his truck two weeks ago, asking if he could see you. You never replied. You shouldâve just texted him back, but itâs not fair that youâre the one feeling guilty when you clearly needed space.
But youâre over it now. And you want to be around him. Youâve never felt chemistry like you do with him, and itâs a shame that he couldnât have just kept things uncomplicated.
His fratâs probation is done. Thatâs why youâre seeing him at a party for the first time in a while. This frat house is the largest on Greek Row and youâve always joked that itâs made up of the loudest guys on campus.
Rafe is in the corner of the living room, surrounded by his friends. He looks happy. Youâre glad. You never let a guy get close enough to make you think that way, but thereâs more to him than what youâre used to.
He admitted to you that he knows the pain that comes from a parent walking away. And it tells you even more that he still answers his momâs calls. Heâs forgiving in a way you donât understand. Heâs softer in places youâve hardened.
Youâre on a weird middle ground now. Rafeâs absence doesn't break you, but seeing him again is nice. Youâve recentered yourself, got a grip on the feelings you thought you were developing for him, and with that out of your mind, you can admit you kind of miss him.
You want to get a moment away from the noise. Itâs so loud here that you know itâs a matter of time before this frat is next on the probation list.
You tell your friends youâre going to the bathroom, then navigate through the crowded hallway, knowing thereâs a chance youâll lock eyes with Rafe as you pass him.
You wish heâd glance your way. You want things to get back to how they were with him, physical with no feelings involved. Maybe itâs a silly hope, but itâs one you have regardless.
As you squeeze past people, the music suddenly stops. Without the throb of bass, the smaller sounds of the party rush in, conversations fading into confused silence, your breath loud in your ears.
Then, a guy shouts, âClear out!â
Youâre not surprised. Of course this house is getting busted by security. Youâll need to go through the back door.
Everyone starts to scramble. You let yourself be swept up in the tide, pushed deeper into the house, figuring you can just follow the crowd.
But people are moving too slowly, so you follow a group of girls rushing through an interior door. More people shuffle in behind you into the laundry room, a mix of hushed voices, and the door swings shut.
Most are laughing through their whispers, drunk and loving the adventure, while you lean against the washing machine, not in the mood for this. You cross your arms, realizing thereâs at least ten bodies crammed in here, and in the small, darkened room, you see him.
Rafeâs leaning back against the door. In the dimness, he still looks content, clearly tipsy and chuckling at something a friend just said, until his gaze sweeps the room. When he meets your eyes, his face falls just a fraction.
âCome on,â a guy snips frantically. âWe gotta get out.â
Youâre certain heâs an overeager freshman in this houseâs frat. He scrambles onto a table, straining as he cranks open the narrow window at the top of the wall. He pushes out the screen and pulls himself onto the grass.
People follow, clearly finding a thrill in all of this, but you refuse to shove yourself through the window, especially after hearing a girl tell her friend behind her to watch out for the pointy bush.
As the room empties, Rafe remains at the end of the line. Normally, heâd vault through that window without a second thought, but he lingers, the pull you still have over him keeping him here.
He watches you from the corner of his eye. Youâre just standing there, arms crossed, looking bored. He hesitates, like his sneakers are stuck to the tile, torn between the exit and the girl who rejected him.
You find Rafeâs eyes as the guy in front of him scrambles up onto the table. After a second of silence between you, you lift your shoulders in a shrug.
âIâm not drunk enough to do all that,â you explain to him, and hearing your voice again, especially with that familiar laugh behind it, keeps him from moving.
He doesnât smirk like he usually does. Instead, his gaze is heavy, the corners of his mouth tight. He looks angry at you, and it leaves a sinking feeling in your chest.
âI think thatâs a closet over there,â you say, gesturing toward the door on the other side of the room, saying it casually so he doesnât think youâll be offended if he doesn't take the veiled invitation.
âRafe! Come on, man!â one of his friends calls from the other side.
His eyes stay on you as you pass by him to open the closet door and he shakes his head, looking back up to his friend.
âJust go,â he says.
Cooper hesitates for a second, but then sighs and leaves, the window open, the room quiet.
The sound of heavy footsteps and muffled radio chatter filters in from the hallway. You snag Rafeâs hand, your fingers curling around his. The adrenaline of almost being caught hits you now, and youâre sure itâs because Rafe chose to stay back with you.
âHurry,â you whisper through a breathless laugh, pulling him into the small, dark closet and clicking the door shut.
The space is tiny, barely enough for two people to stand without touching. He stands directly across from you, and the fact that he followed you speaks louder than the silence between you. If heâs mad, heâs clearly not that mad.
You pull out your phone, the screen casting a blue glow as you reach up to tug at the light bulb string. It clicks, but the closet remains covered in darkness.
âGreat,â you mutter sarcastically, letting the string drop. Your phone screen goes black and you pocket it.
Rafe doesnât speak, unsure of what to say. It feels so damn good that you decided to touch him. It was an unexpected jolt to his system when your hand curled around his.
He stands in the darkness, his heart thudding against his ribs, breathing in the scent of your shampoo that fills the cramped space.
The silence stretches and the guilt youâve been harboring rises up. You left him, after heâd opened up to you about his mom, and then never replied to him. It wasnât your best moment.
âSorry I didnât text you back,â you say, your voice soft.
The apology undoes Rafe immediately. Itâs like a weight has been taken off his shoulders, and the anger evaporates.
He spent the last two weeks bitter that you ghosted him, but the truth is, he was expecting you to force a feeling that wasn't there. You donât want him, youâve been clear about that, and wishing that youâd like him is the same thing as wishing that he didnât like you.
Pointless.
At this moment, he remembers that last conversation, the way you spoke about your dad. For a girl who keeps people at arm's length, opening up meant something, and he knows he fucked up by texting you. It was overbearing. Too much.
Heâs always too much.
âNah,â he responds. âI shouldâve left you alone.â
The tired honesty in Rafeâs deep voice makes you want to console him, and that impulse is proof of how heâs managed to become someone you care about.
Heâs accountable, and he listens to you, even when itâs a rejection he doesn't want to hear. It makes it impossible to be cold with him like you are with every other guy.
Youâve never been this drawn to a man before. You canât afford to trust him with your heart, but pretending the spark between you doesnât exist feels unrealistic.
âHey,â you say, deciding to be bold, âif you want to keep this⊠uncomplicated, we can.â
Rafe flexes his fingers at his sides. Youâre suggesting to go back to touching each other like you used to, to do what your bodies so clearly want without feelings attached.
The prospect sparks fire through him. Agreeing to this feels reckless, selfâdestructive, but itâs the only way he can have you. And heâll take that over nothing at all.
âYou miss me, huh?â he rasps, pushing away his thoughts, acting like the man he thinks he ought to be.
You smirk, relieved heâs joking with you again.
âGet over yourself,â you say with a soft chuckle.
Itâs an overwhelming relief when his hands cradle your face, holding you like he used to. He ducks to kiss you, and your hands drag up his arms immediately, fingers interlacing around the back of his neck to bring him closer.
You hear the door to the laundry room open. Low voices follow. Itâs security, most likely. If they decide to check the closet, theyâll find you in seconds.
But you stay where you are, holding Rafe and letting him hold you, your mouths opening together. Nothingâs more important than kissing him right now.
The voices retreat, and youâre in the clear again, and when Rafeâs tongue slips into your mouth, you accept him completely, tilting your head back so he can kiss you deeper. You feel his cock twitch against you, hardening, making your stomach curl with heat.
One of Rafeâs hands trails down your back, squeezing your ass, cupping under your thigh to bring your leg up to his hip. He shifts to press you against the door and his fingers dig into the back of your knee as he presses himself up against you just so you can see what you do to him.
You sigh into his mouth and he knows youâre getting wet for him, he remembers how good you tasted, he wants you more than anything right now.
He shifts to kiss your neck, and when you lean your head back against the door, it loosens out its frame behind you, causing you to nearly stumble back. In a fit of laughter, you catch yourself before falling into the empty laundry room. The doorâs clearly not as sturdy as you both thought.
Rafe laughs with you as he holds you by the hips. You donât need the help to stand, but that doesnât stop him from touching you.
âSo⊠maybe not here,â you half-whisper through your giggles.
He dips his head to kiss you again, simply because he can. His mind shuffles over the possibilities, wondering the best, quickest way he can get you in a bed will be, because if he finally gets to have you, he needs to be able to see you, to take his time.
âWe have a party tomorrow,â he murmurs against your lips, knowing heâll have his bedroom to himself then. âYou should come.â
âI will,â you say with a smile, now aware of the buzzing in your pocket, sure your friends are calling to ask where you are.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Rafe hasnât told his friends that the betâs off. He realizes it when you walk into his fratâs house party the next night and Mac nudges him.
âHey,â he grins. âWhatever happened with her? You owe me money, donât you?â
âMaybe not,â Cooper adds. âHe stayed back with her last night, remember? Maybe they fucked in that laundry room.â
Mac laughs. Rafe doesnât.
Itâs been over two months since the night on that front porch, when Rafe watched you walk away down Greek Row, irritated with how perfect and unattainable you always were, and placed that bet.
His jaw tightens. He hasnât told his friends it stopped being a joke the second he got to know you. That the idea of reducing you to some stupid dare makes him feel sick now.
He just wants the conversation to die. And it does when you walk up to him, gently squeezing his forearm.
âDo you guys ever learn your lesson?â you tease, looking up at him through widened, pretty eyes. âThis party has to be the rowdiest one youâve ever had.â
The house is packed, as if the frat is making up for the weeks they werenât allowed to throw a party. Before Rafe answers, two of his buddies turn away to laugh. Youâre sure they didnât hear what you said, so clearly something about you simply being here is hilarious to them.
Rafe watches your brows pull together, that small crease forming between them. He hates to see that angry, uncomfortable look on you.
âWhat the fuckâs so funny?â you mutter to him.
âItâs not about you,â he lies. âTheyâre just assholes.â
You brush it off. For a long time, you assumed Rafe cared only about what his friends thought, but his passing insult makes you reconsider that heâs not just a guy who always plays along with their bullshit.
âI like when youâre honest,â you reply. âLetâs get me a drink.â
It hits him hard. Honest. You tug him deeper into the crowd, and he follows.
This whole thing between you has been a mess of halfâtruths from the start. Heâd approached you with the wrong intentions, with something to prove. But then you surprised him. You were nothing like he thought you were.
He watches the back of your head as you weave through the party, your hand brushing his. Does he need to tell you? Would it change anything? Would it ruin everything?
The truth feels too big to say, but too wrong to keep. He tries to stifle it, but he canât â he has a conscience and it eats him alive.
You both stop at the keg, the noise of the party swelling around you. Youâre reaching for a cup when you glance up at Rafe, at the clear blue eyes always trained on you, at the adorable way his hair falls.
âSo,â you say lightly, âyou survived probation.â
âBarely,â he says with a small laugh. âYou girls never get in trouble, huh?â
âWeâre just great at not getting caught,â you reply.
He smirks, and as your eyes flicker down to his smile, you realize now just how much your mood has lifted since you started talking to him a minute ago. With Rafe, you donât feel like you have to perform.
âItâs good to hang out with you again,â you add, and you donât hide the sincerity in your voice. You mean it.
Rafeâs eyes dart away. The guilt sits in his chest, another reminder of the bet. Hearing you say that would normally make him feel amazing, but it only makes it worse.
Youâre confused by his tension, following his gaze behind your shoulder. You spot a couple kissing by the stairs.
âWhat, does he have a girlfriend, too?â you murmur. Rafe realizes youâre referring to his frat brother blatantly cheating at the beach. You think heâs irritated by the same thing now. Heâll let you believe it.
Then, you recognize him. Itâs the guy from the gym, the one Rafe snapped at for staring at you, wearing the same frat insignia on his shirt. He threatened his own frat brother for you.
Rafeâs really not desperate for his friendsâ approval like you thought he was.
You turn around and look up at him again. His face is tight in contemplation. He canât hide anything in his expression.
You fill your cup at the keg, the sound of the tap rushing loud. He still looks upset.
âItâs messed up,â you say with a sigh. âThatâs why I wonât give anyone the chance to do it to me.â
The words come out easily. Youâre not usually this open, but Rafe makes you feel like you donât have to keep a front up. Itâs because youâve already agreed to keep things casual, to be friends with benefits.
You feel more relaxed around him than you have with any guy in a long time. For once, youâre not trying to win anything or protect yourself.
Itâs sitting on Rafeâs tongue. But he canât say I wouldnât do it to you. This arrangement between you has no strings, so itâs just another thing he swallows down.
âHey,â you say, noticing the faraway look in his eyes. âYou okay?â
He could tell you right now. He could get it over with. He could ruin everything. Or he could keep it buried and pretend this is simple, the way you both agreed it would be.
âYeah,â he lies. âJust thinking.â
âYou can do that?â you tease.
Rafe chuckles and nudges your shoulder, but itâs barely a touch, so light it doesnât even move you. Itâs strange, knowing how strong he is, how easily he could shove someone twice your size, yet with you, heâs gentle.
Youâre relieved things are back to normal between you. Rafe wanted something real with you at some point and he seems to have pulled that back, and thatâs for the best. Because whatever he thought he liked doesnât exist. He doesnât know you. Not the real you.
Even though youâre being more direct with him than usual, itâs still a version of you. No one gets the full thing. It makes you feel like youâre always lying, at least a little bit.
Rafe notices you drift, your thoughts pulling you somewhere he canât follow. Youâd shared an ugly truth, admitted your dad cheated on your mom and left you both, so no wonder you hate this topic. He still feels like a dick for trying to make you talk about it the other night.
He clears his throat.
âYou goinâ home for the break?â he asks. Itâs nearing the middle of December, which means campus is thinning out, everyone scattering for winter break.
You nod, grateful for the shift in topic. Itâs like he sensed youâre about to shut down. He definitely learned that he has to steer things around for you the hard way.
âYeah,â you say. âI donât really like being at home all the time, but I love seeing my friends.â
He gets it. When a family loses someone, the gap never closes. Life keeps moving, but the empty space stays. Heâs sure your home feels as cold as his.
âI donât like either,â he says.
You offer a sardonic chuckle.
âI guess that explains all the fights?â you ask.
Rafe shrugs. Here, he still has surface-level friendships with guys who occasionally piss him off, but itâs just less intense. Either way, he has to put on a persona no matter what. Heâs always had to act tough and overcompensate for how soft he really is.
âIâve heard you even scrap with the guys from the Cut,â you add, trying to avoid sounding accusatory. Admittedly, youâve grown curious about that part of his life, the part youâve always witnessed but know barely anything about.
Rafe looks down at his beer. Those fights werenât about territory or reputation or any of the excuses he used to throw around. It was about the way anger controls him. About feeling bigger, when his whole life, heâs felt small. Pogues were always easy targets.
âIâm not proud of it,â he admits. âIâm trying to be better.â
His words make you realize youâre not exactly proud of yourself, either. Youâve spent years dragging guys along, dropping them the second they wanted something real. Playing with their feelings. Putting yourself first.
Rafe wants to be better. Youâve never really done that. It makes you wonder if youâd ever want to be any different, if thereâs a guy out there worth that.
You love your friends, but a deeper kind of connection, something romantic, demands an open heart. Itâs not safe. But maybe you could give it a try.
You shake the thought away, nearly cringing, refusing to think about it any longer. Youâre with Rafe for fun. Thatâs it.
âWell, you didnât start a fight at the gym the other day, so thatâs progress,â you respond, shifting the mood again. âI can admit you were a good personal trainer, by the way. A little handsy, though.â
He laughs, thinking back to how heâd stood behind you, palms cupping your elbows as he led you through a free weight set, touching you as much as he possibly could.
âIâm handsy?â he replies. âYouâre always touchinâ me.â
âOh, you want me to stop?â you challenge.
He tilts his head, eyes dragging down your face, his bottom lip trapped behind white teeth. The charge between you is still burning hot, and with the way heâs looking at you, you can tell heâs just as hungry for you as you are for him.
You like this part. Lust. Itâs easy.
You nod, a quiet way to tell him you want to go upstairs. He puts his drink down, you do the same, and you slip away together.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
As soon as his bedroom door shuts behind you, Rafe pushes you up against it, lips locked on yours like he couldnât wait another second to kiss you.
Every inch of your body loosens as he holds you, breathing him in, the mix of cologne and detergent and musk that makes him him, the taste of beer and heat on his tongue. Your fingers lace into his soft hair, tugging gently as your core heats.
His hands cradle your jaw as he pulls you closer to him, guiding you to his bed, settling onto his back so you can hover over him. He shifts to grip your hips, tugging down so youâll put on your weight on him as you continue to taste each other, kissing in a perfect, unique rhythm that only the two of you have.
Rafe is completely here physically, but mentally, heâs halfway out. I like when youâre honest. Your words from just minutes ago wonât leave his mind, rattling around, stabbing at his conscience.
âYou have something?â you breathe against his lips, figuring if he doesnât have a condom, you can surely find one somewhere in this house.
Rafe nods, but, fuck, the heat in his muscles is fading, shame flooding into every crevice of his being. Itâs embarrassing that he canât even stay hard.
The guilt from lying to you, that heâs been lying to you since the beginning, claws into his heart so sharply that he knows he canât do this.
Even though itâs purely physical for you, itâs not for him, and because he wants so much more with you, because this all started with a lie, he canât go through with it. He canât live with himself, tricking you.
Your brows furrow in confusion when you realize Rafe is slowly pushing you away. Your lips part in a quiet smack as you sit up, studying his face for an answer.
âI need to - I need to say something,â he says, his voice low.
You stiffen, shifting up off of him to sit on the corner of his bed, watching him shuffle to sit, too. You swallow hard. Maybe heâs lost his attraction for you. Maybe he doesnât like you anymore.
Damn it. Why did your mind go there, and why did the thought hurt so bad? Your heart starts to race, the reality sinking in. You like him. More than you should. Way more than you should.
Itâs good he stopped this. You should leave.
âWe donât have to do anything," you tell him, looking away.
âI want to,â he murmurs. âItâsâŠâ
Rafe turns, his long legs swinging off the side of his bed, his broad back to you as he rakes his hand through his hair.
âWhat?â you ask, studying his wide shoulders, the freckles scattered across the back of his neck.
Rafe is sure this is it. He knows enough about you to be sure you wonât forgive him for this. Itâs so easy for you to detach, and he barely even has you at all right now.
Heâll say this, and heâll lose you, and itâs all because of the man he was when this started. The man heâll always be. Weak and soft and doomed to feel too much.
âYou know I like you, right?â he begins. âI want more than just⊠this.â
Your pulse hammers in your ears. So, he does still have feelings. Itâs a relief. And itâs scary that itâs a relief. Last time he told you he had feelings for you, you felt yourself retreat. This time, you want to reach out and touch him.
But youâve never done that before. Youâve never been given a chance to be vulnerable with a man and actually taken it.
Rafe rubs his hand over his jaw, hating that thereâs a flicker of hope in his chest that that wasnât the last time you kissed him. But once he tells you this, heâs sure it will be. Unless, maybe, you see something in him worth keeping.
âThat night that I, uh⊠spilled my drink on youâŠâ he says.
âWhy arenât you looking at me?â you ask in a thin voice he hasnât heard before. He turns to meet your gaze, realizing heâd do anything you asked of him.
Youâre right. He should look you in the eye when he tells you this.
âIt was so fucking stupid,â he tells you. âAfter you left, my friends⊠those guys downstairs, we started a bet that I could hook up with you.â
The burning in his eyes fills him with humiliation. Heâs about to cry in front of you. He didnât think this would happen, but itâs overwhelming. The guilt. The love.
âI swear, I⊠I know what a dick I was to do it,â he stammers, voice starting to weaken. âI regret it. Iâm sorry. I donât - I donât want to lie to you. I donât care about the bet. But you deserve to know. You deserve better.â
You stare at Rafe, his eyes glossing over, his nostrils flaring as he tries to swallow down his tears.
Youâre dumbfounded, your lips just barely parted. It stings. It stings so deeply. This is the kind of pain a person can only give you if you let them in. If you trusted them.
He did it. He broke through your wall, reached a hidden part of you, all to prove what you suspected of him from the start. That heâs a liar. A user. A selfish asshole who saw you as someone to have sex with, and nothing more.
Thatâs surely what his friends were cracking up about downstairs. You were right. They were laughing at you.
Youâre furious. Shocked. And slowly losing your composure. But youâre good at smothering your feelings, wearing a mask, and you know whatâll hurt Rafe most now is if youâre completely indifferent. Unfeeling.
You never thought about telling him about the bet, simply because it was a thing of the past. Inconsequential. You started this off wanting to break his heart, and then thought you saw good in him, and you completely forgot about the plan.
But now, itâs back in your mind, and youâre going through with it.
âI knew you were like every other guy,â you reply, flat and cold and spiteful. âI just didnât know it was a bet. I canât even be mad at you, though. This was a bet for me, too.â
Rafe grimaces, confusion swimming in his glazed eyes.
âYou can ask my friends if you donât believe me,â you say. âOnce you started following me around like a lost dog, we had the idea to fuck with you. They challenged me to break your heart. Because obviously, you deserve it.â
Rafeâs eyes frantically search your face, his face pinched.
âYouâre lying,â he says with a brief shake of his head.
âAsk them,â you reply. âOr donât. I really donât care.â
You shift to stand up, desperate to leave, to be in private so your body can react the way it needs to.
âIâm over this,â you mutter. âDonât bother me anymore.â
Your throat is thick, your chest heavy. And you stop at the door with your back to him, youâre determined to dig into him as painfully as you can before you cut him off completely. Youâll deal with the ache in your heart later.
âI donât know if you believe your own bullshit about how you want to be a better person,â you murmur, âbut if you do, youâre even stupider than I thought. I could never like you for real.â
Rafe hears the doorknob twist. You wanted to break his heart. You did it. Itâs in a million fucking pieces right now, his pride torn up in front of him.
He can see where you get your reputation from.
âLet âem know you did it,â he mutters to your back.
You donât even turn around at the confirmation, at his confession that you broke his heart. You only shut the door behind you.
(to be continued)
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafeâs friends bet that he canât charm you into sleeping with him, he canât say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and youâre determined to break his heart.
< prev
The sorority house is quiet. After your day at the beach, most of the girls, including your roommate, left to go to a party on the other side of campus. You were too tired to tag along.
You slip into bed after a long shower, wearing nothing but underwear and a soft, oversized t-shirt. The quiet room is dim with the glow of your desk lamp. Your body is sleepy, heavy after a day of soaking in the sun, but your mind isnât ready to shut down.
You know Rafe isnât out tonight on account of his fratâs probation. Heâs probably bored in his room, just like you. And you want to have some fun.
Seeing him shirtless all day today, feeling his skin on yours stoked a fire in you. It made you want to slip away with him somewhere and give into the pull you both feel for each other.
You text him to come over. Youâre not surprised when he quickly texts back that he will.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
When you open the front door with a sweet, relaxed smile and an offer to hug, Rafe feels like heâs in heaven. You never text first. Maybe youâre starting to feel something for him, too.
He ducks down to wrap his arms around you, squeezing gently, reveling in the smell of soap on your neck.
He was kidding himself when he thought this would be the way to get a hold of his emotions. Heâs falling off the deep end, and all he can do now is hope you are, too.
The bet is a distant, stupid memory. He doesnât want to just hook up with you and be done with it. He wants to have something with you and he can only hope you want the same.
You land back down on your heels after getting up on your tip-toes to hug him, swinging the door closed behind him.
âYou burned a little,â you say, gently poking the pink tinge at the top of his cheek.
Rafe winces dramatically as if you hurt him, earning a laugh from you. Endeared, he canât stop himself from kissing your forehead before you turn to guide him up the stairs.
Just like the first night he was here, he watches the shape of your legs as he trails you, his gut already coiling with the anticipation of feeling them wrap around him.
Being next to you all day with no opportunity to kiss you was its own class of torture, and now, the baggy t-shirt youâve draped over your body just barely covers your ass, making him hard before heâs even in your bedroom.
The door clicks closed behind him as you sit on your bed, leaving space for him.
âEveryone went out?â Rafe asks, the stillness in the house making him unsure whether anyone else is even here.
âNot everyone,â you reply. âBut most.â
You remember what he said about hating boredom. Itâs the first weekend into his fratâs probation and heâs already restless to party.
âToday was fun,â he says, taking a seat at the foot of your bed.
âYouâre welcome for the invitation," you reply with a squint.
âDid I not say thank you?â
âNo, but Iâm used to you not having manners.â
He grins, dimples cutting deep, and itâs almost starting to irritate you how charming his smile is, your lampâs light casting shadows over the planes of his face.
âThank you,â he says, his voice low. And he means it. Youâre prickly at times, but how could anyone call you a bitch? You invited him today to give him a loophole out of his fratâs probation, to give him fun. You have a heart, no matter how much you try to hide it.
You smirk, eyes on his. The tension sinking between you is getting heavier with every passing second. The attraction that sits deep in your stomach is hotter than you expected.
You realize itâs because he doesnât touch you the way you thought he would. Heâs firm, but never aggressive or selfish. Every taste heâs given you of his touch has left you hungry for more. Itâs like he knows what you want without having to ask.
Rafe leans in, cupping your face like he doesnât want you looking at anything but him. The tension cracks when your lips finally meet, and you can feel it, how badly youâve both wanted each other all day.
You drag your hands up his arms, skimming over his hot skin to the cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him towards you. When you guide him to lie over top of you, you feel how hard he is, how his body is begging for yours.
Rafe doesnât sink onto you completely, but the weight he does put on you is heavy in the best way. The sounds of your slow, wet kisses fill your ears as he gently grinds against your middle, biting your bottom lip just once, enough to make you impatiently writhe against him.
Slowly, you slip your fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, guiding it off his body, tossing it to your floor. His chest is warm and firm against you as his mouth finds yours again.
Moments later, he drags your shirt up, pulling it off over your head, exhaling sharply once he sees youâre braless. He kisses you harder, until eventually, he shifts, and his fingers press between your legs, slowly, torturously.
Your breath hitches at the touch, at how wet you are already.
And he wants it so bad. So bad that it aches. But he knows he barely scraped by with your forgiveness after he snapped at you for walking out of his room the other night, and he canât do it again. He canât risk losing you.
âHey,â he rasps against your lips.
âHmm?â your voice comes out weak.
âIâm not going to do what I did last time,â he says. âWhenever you want to stop, just⊠say it.â
You nod, pulling him in to kiss you again. The softness in Rafeâs voice is teetering toward romance, and you have no interest in letting it go there. Truthfully, even if he is an asshole about whatever you end up doing tonight, youâre not attached enough for it to sting.
You spread your legs wider, finding pure bliss in the pressure of his hand on you, only your thin panties keeping him from having full contact. You lose yourself in the way heâs trailing his fingers up and down, steady and firm as his tongue sinks into your mouth.
He pulls back, forehead on yours, and whispers as he gently taps his fingertips against your heat, âYou want my mouth here, baby?â
Every muscle in you twists, throbbing.
âYes,â you sigh in relief.
He shifts lower to settle between your thighs and places a languid kiss over your panties, coaxing a slow moan from you. He drags the fabric down your hips, your legs, your ankles, letting them bunch at the end of your bed, before he sinks onto his elbows with his head between your legs.
Rafeâs heart is pounding in his ears when he sees you bare, up close, glistening and so fucking perfect. His thumbs skim over your folds as he gently spreads you apart so he can see every part of you.
Heâs in deep and he knows it, because all he wants to do is please you. Even though his cock is so hard that itâs aching, making you come is all that matters to him right now.
His eyes drag up to your face. You watch him stare up at you like he always does, skin tingling with desire. With anticipation. You shudder as his hot, wet mouth finally meets your core.
The taste of you makes every part of his body ache with hunger, like no matter how much he gets, heâll always be starving for you.
He doesnât waste any time teasing you. He gives you what you want, starts to lick and suck, the sounds of your staggered breathing and moisture filling your bedroom. His tongue trails over every bit of you, wriggling over your clit, and when you feel his tongue nudge inside, he groans and you breathe out his name, drunk off the pleasure.
Rafeâs hands dig into your thighs as you pulse around his tongue and fill him with your scent, your taste, everything that makes him so damn lost for you. And he knows now, entirely, that he was an idiot for thinking he could do anything with you without getting attached.
As he continues to lap at you, his nose brushes against your slick clit, making you thread your fingers through his hair and gently pull. No matter how much you writhe, he keeps his mouth hard on you, refusing to lose contact.
It takes almost no time. You press against him as your orgasm crashes into you, every nerve ending pinching with bliss as you come on his tongue. He sucks your clit until you breathe an overstimulated whine, placing a hand on his cheek so heâll give you a break.
Rafe shifts up to meet your lips again, hovering over you as he lets you see how good you taste. Heâs savoring this, covering your mouth with his, breathing you in and unable to believe that just a few weeks ago, you were always around, yet a complete stranger.
He canât believe what heâs been missing out on. Itâs like the world narrows in on him, on both of you in this moment. It feels right to be here with you, in your bed, his lips on yours. He could only do this, feel this with a girl he genuinely likes.
Your body is still buzzing from the rush heâs given you as you trade slow kisses. Youâre not sure youâve ever felt this type of chemistry with a guy before. You want more. Maybe youâll even become friends with benefits if itâs as good as you think it will be.
You shift to touch him over his shorts, feeling him exhale against your mouth as you cup his thick shaft. He gently jerks against your hand, grinding over you. Heâs so hard, so big, that your heart skips in anticipation of feeling him stretch you, fill you.
You move to the button of his jeans, expecting him to help you take them off, but then he pulls back, ending the kiss.
Rafe stares down at you, at the blissed out expression on your pretty face, and he canât do it. Although every part of him, every muscle, every goddamn vein is hot with his desire for you, he canât separate his feelings. Theyâre a part of his core, too permanent to untangle, and as much as he tells himself to get a grip, he canât.
His emotions control him, not the other way around. Heâs lost in you now. And if heâs going to do this, he needs to tell you the truth.
âI really like you,â he half-whispers.
And then he feels it, the way you stiffen. You lift your hand off of him, shifting up a little.
âAm I not supposed to say that?â Rafe teases, trying to pretend your reaction isnât hurting him, that he doesnât regret telling you. Why canât he just keep his fucking mouth shut?
You sit up, finding your t-shirt to cover your bare chest, the mood in the room completely shifted now. You look over your shoulder at him. You were hoping to do more tonight, but you canât. Not when heâs talking to you like this means something.
You need to tell him you arenât looking for this. For feelings. For a boyfriend. You may have wanted to hurt him at some point, but now, you wonât. You canât.
Rafe traps his bottom lip under his teeth for a second, eyes searching like he can find an answer in your face if he looks hard enough.
âWere you serious today?â he asks before you can reply. âWhen you said every guy does it?â
Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Rafe hangs onto your words. Itâs obvious that the things you say stay with him, circle his mind. He almost seems worried about you thinking every guy cheats.
âIt was a joke,â you reply.
He sits up, leaning against the wall, close enough that you can feel his breath on your shoulder.
âWhy are we talking about this?â you say, tense from the sudden shift in atmosphere.
âI wanna know,â he replies.
It feels crazy that you once thought he was just another careless asshole. Rafe has an intensity to him that youâve never seen in a man before. A passion that nobody can fake. But you canât reciprocate it.
âWe donât need to get all serious," you say with an awkward laugh. While youâve had to tell guys this before, for some reason, doing it feels really hard this time. âThis thing between us is just⊠fun, okay?â
Rafe shakes his head just slightly, unable to understand why. He likes you, more than he ever meant to, and he doesnât know what to do with the fact that you want to keep him at a distance.
Now that heâs actually spent time with you, heâs sure thereâs a deeper reason for why you have the reputation that you cycle through guys and never stick around. It bothers him that he doesnât know what that reason is.
He wants to understand the girl sitting in front of him. He canât help wondering what pushed you into being like this. If some guy stepped out on you, then he was an idiot.
âDid it happen to you?â he asks.
Heâs clearly still stuck on the whole cheating thing. Why canât he just take no for an answer?
âRafeâŠâ you huff in frustration.
âDid it?â
âIâm not talking about this,â you snip, your tone sharp.
Questions circle Rafeâs mind. But he doesnât ask them.
He still has his pride. Itâs obvious that youâre only into him for sex, and that youâve seen enough of him to know that you donât consider him worth more.
Itâs jarring to go from such heated lust to this cold tension within a minute. He hates this about himself. How he speaks before he thinks. How he canât just keep doing this with you and convince himself that how he feels doesnât matter.
âShould I go?â he finally asks, half-hurt, half-frustrated.
You look away.
âYeah,â you say flatly.
He shifts to stand up and finds his shirt on the floor. You watch the fabric fall down his taut back, a strange mix of sympathy and rejection settling in your heart.
He checks his pockets for his things and sets out to leave. But he stops halfway, lingering in the middle of your bedroom for a second, as if heâs trying to figure out if he should say something.
But he doesnât. You stare at him. He doesnât look back.
The door shuts behind him, leaving you sitting up in your bed, your top pressed against your chest, your heart pounding. This time, heâs the one who stopped things from going any further, and itâs clearly because you refused to open up to him.
Rafe is not who you thought he was. Youâve witnessed his temper, his impatience, his spite, but thereâs a tenderness to him that you never saw coming. All things that youâre sure some other girl would want. Not you.
This is probably the end of your fling. And itâs okay. Itâs familiar and comforting and right to say goodbye before things get too messy.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Rafeâs heart is racing. And it wonât stop. Itâs always like this after his mom calls.
Itâs a rainy Sunday morning, a week since he saw you last. And he canât stop thinking about you. Since that night, every time his phone has buzzed, his body has flooded with anticipation, hopeful that it was you, just to be let down.
He was about to leave for the on-campus gym when his phone started buzzing in his pocket and once again, he wanted it to be you. But it was his mother, and now heâs sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at his phone.
He never knows when sheâll reach out, and every time, it gives him whiplash. It was a quick conversation, a surface-level check-in, but thatâs always enough to throw him. She talks to him like heâs an old friend, not his son, not one of the kids she left behind.
Maybe itâs self-sabotage. Or an ill-fated belief that he can prove to you that heâs someone worth keeping around. All he knows for sure is that he misses you, so he texts you that heâs going to the gym if you want to come.
You respond that he can pick you up in fifteen.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
You watch Rafeâs truck pull up from your bedroom window.
You figure he made peace with the fact that you want to keep your relationship strictly physical. Some guys canât, acting like theyâre entitled to you because they caught feelings, and you always cut them off when things get to this point.
You decided to accept Rafeâs invitation, though, because you really enjoy being around him. Thereâs something so effortless about it. You couldnât have been clearer that you donât want anything serious, so youâre optimistic heâs back in your life because he got his emotions in check.
Rafeâs eyes meet yours when you open the passenger-side door. Despite every twisted up way youâve made him feel, his lips curl into a smile. You have that effect.
âTaking me to the gym isnât some excuse youâre going to use to improve my form, is it?â you say, climbing into his seat. Light raindrops sink into the thin material of your gym clothes as you toss your duffel bag to the back.
Rafe smirks as you shut the door. Heâs so glad you agreed to meet him. You lift his mood in seconds, clear the murkiness in his head, move past the tension from the last time you spoke like it wasnât ever even there.
âIf youâre doing things wrong, then I gotta help,â he replies.
âBye,â you sigh jokingly, reaching to open the door again, but he drives off before you can. You playfully nudge him, and he glances over at you with another smirk, eyes flickering over your beautiful features.
You grin, then your eyes trail down his big arms, the way his t-shirt clings to his taut body. Itâs ridiculous, the pull he has on you. The memory of last weekend rushes in, the feeling of his mouth between your legs, the desire to do it all again, and more.
âYou go there a lot?â you tease. Itâs obvious that he does.
âYou canât tell?â Rafe says, reaching for your hand to put it on his flexed bicep.
âYouâre so annoying,â you say, pulling away. He laughs. He loves your sharp teasing, the way you show your humor by giving him shit.
Itâs a part of you, one of the layers he doesnât fully know, and thatâs what keeps dragging his mind to the last time he saw you, to how cold and closed off you suddenly became when he tried to actually get to know you.
He told himself to stop trying to break through your wall, but here he is, with you again, silently hoping he can.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
An hour later, youâre downing water as you pace towards the gymâs entrance, still a little breathless from the workout as music pulses from the ceiling speakers, weights clanking around you.
You and Rafe spent the whole time making jokes, playfully competing through sets, touching each other wherever you could, catching each other looking. Youâre happy you came.
Your legs burn from the squats you finished off with, and as you turn to make a joke about needing him to help you stretch, you realize Rafe isnât walking behind you anymore.
You spot him across the gym, posture rigid as he talks to some guy by the benches. His hands flex at his sides, and for a second, you think heâs about to swing.
The other guy is already backing up a step, looking intimidated. Itâs just like the Rafe you always saw back in Kildare.
But then he looks up, catching your eyes, and shakes his head in frustration, like heâs snapping himself back into reality. You watch as he approaches you with long strides, his jaw slowly losing its tension.
âWhat was that?â you ask.
He exhales, a sheen of sweat over his face, and replies, âNothing.â
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
After a quick body shower, you find Rafe by the front doors, already waiting with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets.
You walk out of the gym together into the humid air. The rain has stopped now, puddles scattered across the parking lot. Your sneakers squeak across the pavement as you walk to his truck.
You can feel the tension rushing through Rafe, and it surprises you that you care. Youâre not the type to want to dig into whatâs going on in a guyâs head, but this isnât the first time youâve found yourself wanting to know with him.
âI thought you were about to break your streak,â you say once you both settle in the truck.
âWhat?â he asks, looking up at you.
âI donât fight anymore,â you say, mimicking him in an effort to keep things light. His dimples deepen a little, and you like that youâve made him smile.
You wonât ask more, although you want to know if heâs okay the same way you would with a friend, because thatâs sort of what he is now.
The second Rafe saw the guy at the gym staring at you as you walked past, the way his eyes dragged over you, he snapped. The protective instinct he has for you that only burned hotter once he remembered heâs not allowed to feel it. Youâre not his.
He hated seeing you get leered at, but he hated the reminder that he has no right to be mad about it even more. He had to say something, tell him to stop looking at you, threaten him just to feel some power.
âHe was lookinâ at you,â he finally relents, his voice low. He exhales hard, frustrated that his filter always dissolves around you.
Your forehead creases. You shouldnât enjoy his jealousy. But you kind of do.
âThatâs why you got so pissed off?â you say with a dismissive laugh. âYou look at me the same way.â
Rafe shakes his head, brief but resolute. Youâre cheapening what he feels for you. And itâs a stab in the back.
âI donât,â he replies.
Again, things have shifted between you within seconds. He means that he looks at you as more. Thereâs no misunderstanding that. You donât know what to say. If you can even say anything.
You pull your seatbelt over your body, buckling it in place, frustration rising that heâs not doing the same.
You donât want to sit here and talk about anything serious. Honestly, itâs scary. You donât think you should see Rafe anymore because something in you is cracking and you need to keep your distance so you can seal it up again.
He obviously hasnât reigned in his feelings for you, and you donât want to deal with that.
âLetâs go,â you murmur.
Rafe shoves his damp hair back from his forehead. You both started this with your walls up, but along the line, he let his guard crumble while you never did. Because you clearly expect the worst from him.
âYou really think every guy is the same, donât you?â he finally mutters.
You look through the passenger window at the car parked next to you. If he wants an answer this bad, he can have it.
âAbsolutely,â you reply, simply and honestly.
Rafeâs eyes flick over at you, but youâre looking away, profile silhouetted against the glass. For the first time, he feels the real distance between you.
Heâs never had great self-control, and here he is again, a victim to his emotions, drowning in the silence of a girl who finally gave him the truth he asked for, only to realize he has no idea what to do now.
It doesnât make sense. You have such a good time together. This would be so easy. Why are you so committed to keeping him at a distance?
âI donât get it,â he says.
âYou donât have to.â
His blood boils. He hates how effortless it is for you to decide the conversation is over while heâs ready to tear himself open for you.
âYouâre soâŠâ he sighs bitingly.
You finally turn, your gaze snapping to his. Your eyes are narrowed, daring him to finish that sentence.
âSo what?â you snap.
Youâre expecting what youâve heard before. That youâre cold. Impossible. A bitch.
He stares, regretting letting his temper snap, regretting letting himself care.
âWhat?â you repeat. âShould I walk home?â
The words cut Rafe deep.
This is a reminder of what he learned at ten years old when his mom left, that thereâs something unlovable, something too much about him. And right now, with how easily youâre shutting him out, youâre proving it.
He thought seeing you would make things better. It didnât.
âI shouldnât have texted you today,â he says.
âYeah, you shouldnât have,â you reply.
You unbuckle your seatbelt, reach for the handle, and push open the door, the thick air rushing in. Itâs a twenty-minute walk across campus to your sorority house. Youâre tired, but you can make it.
Before you can swing your legs out, his hand is on yours, his grip firm.
âNo, I meanâŠâ Rafe exhales. Heâs desperate. He needs you to stay, even if it means admitting why heâs so scattered. âIâm just on edge, alright? My mom called me this morning and it always fucks with my head.â
The anger sitting in your chest melts a little. Usually, when men share their feelings like this, itâs a manipulative way to get sympathy or a dump of emotional labor that you have to clean up. But the way Rafe said it felt different.
You relent, pulling the door shut with a thud. You turn to look at him again and the urge to protect yourself softens. Because while youâre mad and confused and admittedly kind of afraid of what youâre feeling right now, you want to know.
âWhy?â you ask, still a bit of a bite to your tone.
âI never know when sheâs going to call,â he admits. âAnd I donât - I donât want to answer, but I always do, and then it just pisses me off the rest of the day.â
Your brows furrow as the questions start to stack up. The curiosity is a tug in your chest.
âWhatâs⊠the deal with her?â you ask.
Rafeâs eyes drift down. He turns on the engine. The truck rumbles to life, giving him a distraction to hide behind. Itâs stupid; heâs the one who started this conversation, and now heâs getting nervous.
He stares through the windshield, focuses on anything other than the girl sitting inches away from him.
âShe left when I was a kid,â he admits. âAnd it always makes me act like an asshole after she calls because I never see it coming. My bad, alright?â
The air leaves your lungs for a moment. Itâs odd to hear an apology from a man you once thought didnât know what accountability even is, but the real shock is the familiarity of that hollowness in his voice.
Itâs the hole only abandonment can leave. Itâs the same one your father carved in you.
You keep your eyes fixed on the dashboard.
âThen donât answer her calls,â you respond.
Rafeâs lips flatten together. Itâs such a you thing to say. Donât deal with the problem.
His dad didnât care to hide the truth. Heâd told Rafe that his mother wasn't going to fight for custody. She only said that sheâd keep in touch, as if she was saying goodbye to an old friend instead of the family she decided she didnât want anymore.
That rejection is a permanent part of him. Heâs been angry since. He hates her for quitting, for not sticking to her responsibilities, for being immature, for not loving him and his sisters enough.
She simply didnât want to be a mother anymore. But he answers her sporadic calls because she is. Heâs trapped, hating the woman he canât bring himself to cut out.
âThatâs not me,â he replies.
You meet his eyes again. Usually, the story of your dad is something you only share with friends who have earned your trust. But looking at the hurt etched into Rafe's face, it feels wrong to let him sit there thinking heâs alone with this gut-wrenching feeling.
The words are pushing against your teeth, demanding to be shared, demanding to help him.
âMy dad left, too,â you reply. âAnd if he tried to call me, Iâd block him. People who can do something like that to their own kid never change. And they donât deserve access to the people they hurt.â
It crashes into Rafe, cold and sudden. Heâs not angry anymore. Not at all.
Thereâs a hard sting of sadness for you buried in him now. He finally understands it. Understands you.
And deep below, thereâs also a flicker of relief. You told him. He felt like he was screaming at a wall, and now heâs not anymore.
He looks at you with a softened, searching intensity, his heart pounding.
âReally?â is all he can say, because he thinks saying heâs sorry would only offend you.
âHe was a selfish cheater,â you say with a shrug. âHe did whatever the fuck he wanted to do without thinking about anyone but himself.â
He grimaces. Youâd once told him you like structure and it makes sense because if you felt the same pain he did, of someone whoâs supposed to love you leaving, it means you never had predictability.
You expect the worst from everyone, because then you never have to watch them fuck you over.
âI know Iâm guarded. I hate being treated like itâs a problem.â You sigh, shake your head. âAnd I think you want more from me and I canât give it to you, okay?â
Rafe just sits there, the engine idling, his gaze fixed on you with a newfound clarity.
Regret washes over you. Youâve said too much. Itâs almost laughable how this all started as a stupid bet, and now you feel like youâve ripped open a wound for him. And his silence is making it worse.
âIâm walking home,â you say. You reach for the handle, your movements hurried. You need a clean break.
Usually, you cut contact with a guy because you can feel him falling, and you have no intention of letting things get any deeper. But as you step out into the humidity, you can tell that you aren't just running because of Rafeâs feelings. Youâre running because of yours.
Somewhere between the weeks of getting to know him, of discovering the depth in him between silly jokes and easy conversations and effortless chemistry, itâs obvious now. Heâs almost found a way into your heart.
And you canât let it go any further than that.
(to be continued)
new parts come out every friday at 8 pm est. if you want to be alerted of when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications đ
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafeâs friends bet that he canât charm you into sleeping with him, he canât say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and youâre determined to break his heart.
< prev
Rafeâs bedroom feels cramped. Itâs about the same size as your room, but with the way he fills the space as he walks ahead of you, it feels smaller.
And yours is much more organized. One side of his room is a disaster, sheets twisted, clothes scattered on the floor. The other side is a neater. The bed is made. His Kildare Island Surfboard Co. hat is tossed on the bedframe.
You shut the door behind you, the muffled thump of the party fading. You walk past Rafe and tilt your head towards the bed thatâs made.
âPlease tell me this oneâs yours,â you say, even though you know it is.
âYeah, it is,â he says amusedly. Every little dose of approval he gets from you feels too damn good.
You sit on the edge of Rafeâs bed, the mattress sinking beneath you as you take in just how tidy his side of the room is.
His desk is cleared, his laundry basket tucked into the corner. You pictured him as a typical rich guy, messy and careless, the type who didnât bother to pick up after himself, so this throws you.
But it makes sense. He clearly puts effort into how he looks, so maybe it shouldnât shock you that he cares about the space around him, too.
He sits next to you, watching you take it in. Youâre wearing that blank look on your face again, studying his room, making it impossible for him to know what youâre thinking.
âYou okay?â he asks quietly.
You look at him, your knee brushing his.
âYeah,â you say. âWhy?â
He hesitates. He needs to play it cool, but the longer heâs around you, the harder it is to keep up the charade.
âI never know what youâre thinking,â he confesses with a defeated chuckle.
Your knees are still touching, expensive denim on your bare skin. Itâs like heâs always trying to figure you out. But you donât want to be figured out. You want escape. You want him.
The buzz in your veins, the heat licking your stomach, the way heâs looking at you is all too tempting. So you lean in, letting the moment shift from emotional to physical, from complicated to simple.
He closes the space between you and you pick up right where you left off the other night, skipping the gentle pecks for deep kisses, carding your hands through his soft hair.
Rafe loosens at your touch, both of his hands suddenly on your cheeks, and as desire pools in your gut, reveling in his soft dominance, the way he holds you when he kisses you.
You donât want to waste any time. You shift to turn just enough to stand and straddle him. He breathes a deep groan against your lips once he feels your weight on his lap, your legs framing his.
Rafeâs head is spinning. His hands drag up your bare legs, resting under your dress on your ass as your tongues meet. Your bodies hungrily press together and while he once felt irritation over how you act like youâre better than him, he can admit to himself that it feels true now, that heâs lucky that you want him.
He continues to gently squeeze your flesh, to dig his fingers into your skin just hard enough that it makes the ache between your legs nearly unbearable.
âTake your jeans off,â you whisper, perching up to your knees. His lips press against your collarbone as he shuffles beneath you, the hum of his zipper being pulled down coaxing you.
Once his pants are on the floor, you sit to press against his hard length, only his briefs and your panties between you. The sensation sends another rush of heat through you. You roll your hips just a little and he breathes a heavy, breathy, âFuck.â
The way Rafeâs hand cups your face is firmer now, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you tight against him. You feel his urgency in the way heâs holding you and kissing you.
You want to go all the way, to ask him if he has a condom, but this is meant to be a game to keep him wanting more and never getting it. Instead, you shift to sit on his thigh, slowly starting to grind as you grip his shoulders.
You feel his smirk against your lips before he tilts his head back just a bit, gaze meeting yours, his eyes drunk with pleasure.
âYou want to get off like this?â he murmurs, tightening his grip around your waist so you grind harder against him. The feeling of your wet heat through your panties is mindblowing, making him tense with need.
âYes,â you breathe, finding relief in putting pressure where youâre so desperate for it. You whisper a soft, satisfied moan at the feeling of his hard thigh against you, fabric still in the way but not too much that youâre not finding pleasure.
Your kisses grow quick and sloppy and you lose the warmth of his hand cupping your jaw, but soon find it again on your shoulder, where heâs pulling down the strap of your dress.
Rafe lowers his head, leaving your cheek pressed up against his temple, as he pulls down the front of your dress. Slowly, he brings your bra down to your waist and expels an almost inaudible moan when he sees you.
You tense with pleasure when you feel his hot mouth close over your nipple, continuing to ride his thigh, your grip on his shoulders loosening as you start to come undone.
Rafe doesnât want this to stop. He doesnât want anything with you to stop. He canât be the only one feeling this, that this is more than just attraction. He wants you in every way. And he wants to be the only one who gets to have you.
He rolls and flicks his tongue over the hard peak of your nipple, gently squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts, feeling you soak his thigh. Every sense of his is filled with you and he canât get enough.
The pressure builds up and you toss your head back when your orgasm rolls through you, tensing and relaxing, every inch of your body numb with bliss. Rafe cups your face to lead you back to him, kissing you even though youâre too spent to kiss back, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.
It happens like every other time. The comedown of pleasure with a guy you feel nothing for. Itâs an incredible high and a deep, heavy low. Slowly, as you catch your breath, you start to readjust your clothes, pulling up your bra and fixing your dress.
Rafeâs hands rest on your hips as you remain in his lap, showing him youâre stopping this, maybe even leaving. His heart sinks. He kisses you, tries to keep you here, but you stand up, pulling down your dress.
âIâm thirsty,â you say with a tired laugh.
You meet his eyes, and you can see the disappointment. Heâs not getting what he wants. Youâve seen that exact look on so many guysâ faces. When they realize youâre not giving them what they think they deserve.
âYou donât want to stay here?â he murmurs. Youâre not sure if he means to continue this, or just to hang out with him, but youâre not the type to stick around.
âNo,â you reply simply, adjusting the hem of your dress.
Rafe almost offers to go downstairs and get you a drink. To get you to stay. But the happiness he was feeling just seconds ago has been replaced with the sting of rejection. He can tell when heâs not wanted. When heâs been used.
His temper takes over, anger rushing over the hurt.
âFine,â he mutters. âGo.â
It confirms everything you ever assumed about him. Heâs just like all of them. Nice when he thinks heâll get something. Cruel when he realizes he wonât.
And this is exactly why you stay unattached.
You leave Rafeâs bedroom, sure that if you never speak again, you still won the bet. Maybe you didnât break his heart, but you definitely bruised his pride, and thatâs enough for you.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
âNo fucking way,â Mac says when Rafe approaches him in the throws of the party in the living room minutes later. âI saw her coming down the stairs. You seal the deal?â
Rafe could lie. Admittedly, after you walked out of his room, he realized he has no idea what heâs doing. Whatever it is between you has gotten more complicated than he ever planned for.
Heâs always hated how easily his emotions swallow him. This is his chance to prove something to himself. Heâs not weak. He can stay in control. He can sleep with you and not let it mean anything.
âSheâs a tease,â Rafe plays along, even though heâs not doing this because of the bet anymore. âIâll get her.â
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The front lawn of your sorority house is packed. Under the cloudy morning sky, you watch from your bedroom window as students from every chapter mingle at the philanthropic event your sorority is running, a pancake breakfast to raise money for a local charity.
Youâre supposed to be downstairs, but when your phone buzzed in your pocket and you saw it was your mom returning the call you made to her yesterday, you slipped away just for five minutes.
It was to tell her the good news about a midterm you were anxious about. You did well. But your mom has been distracted since you started the conversation. You can tell by her oneâword answers.
âAre you busy or something?â you finally ask, a bite slipping into your tone.
âGeorge had a stressful day yesterday,â she answers. âHe got home late. I just want to make sure his breakfast is ready before he wakes up.â
You never fully bonded with your stepdad. He tried, but you didnât. The resentment of your fatherâs betrayal hollowed you out, urging you to believe that a man will never stay.
It broke your mom. And she poured everything she had into the next relationship, as if loving George enough could erase the fact that your dad walked away.
With the phone pressed to your cheek, you feel anger clawing its way up your throat, tears burning behind your eyes.
You just wanted to share good news with your mom, but right now, sheâs focused on someone else. And the lonely feeling that brings hurts.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Nobody pays attention when Rafe slips into your sorority house. The event in the front lawn is too chaotic for anyone to notice him.
Since last night, when you left him in his bedroom, you havenât spoken. He didnât see you outside and he needs to find you.
He knows he handled things wrong. And he canât quit this. Youâre too addictive to watch walk away.
Heâs not doing this to win the bet anymore. Heâs here to prove to himself that he can think like a man who doesnât feel so much. That he can have a good time with the hottest girl heâs ever been with without getting attached.
Heâs at your bedroom door, finding it easily after the night he carried your roommate over, and lifts his hand to knock.
â...canât even listen to me for a minute?â
Itâs your voice on the other side. Choked up.
âOkay. Yeah. Fine,â you eventually say, clipped and shaky.
You hang up and settle onto your bed, trying to center yourself. After you snapped at your mom that she wasnât listening to you, she snapped right back that she was doing her best to focus on your conversation, and thatâs when you began to tear up.
Then thereâs a knock on your door. You assume itâs Jada or one of your sisters checking up on you. The last thing you expect is to pull the door open and find Rafe standing there.
You freeze. Youâve never cried in front of a guy youâre seeing. If thatâs even what youâd call whatever this is with him. You figured after last night, the whole thing was over.
His forehead creases when he sees you, his gaze deepening.
âAre you okay?â he asks, voice low. He notices your phone in your hand, realizing you just hung up on whoever was making you cry.
Thereâs no point in lying. Your eyes are still wet.
âIâm great,â you mutter sarcastically, dabbing your cheeks, brushing away the last traces of your sorrow. âWhy are you here?â
âFor the pancakes,â he says to lighten the mood.
Itâs such a stupid answer that despite yourself, your mouth twitches into a small smile.
âIâm serious. Why are you at my door?â you ask, simply confused why he hasnât cut his losses. You donât know why heâs sticking around after last night. Most guys wouldâve bailed by now.
âTo say sorry,â he says.
You put a hand on your hip. Heâs here to grovel. It sends a satisfying spark through you. You always love a power trip, especially when itâs over a guy looking like heâs about to beg for another chance.
âI need to fix my makeup,â you say. âCome in if you want.â
Rafe steps inside, clicking the door shut behind him. He sits on your bed and you settle in front of your mirror and open your makeup bag. Your skin is still warm from crying, still a little tight around your eyes.
You feel the heat of his gaze. Knowing heâs seeing you vulnerable like this makes your stomach twist in discomfort. But you invited him in to show him how easily you shake things off. Then your body betrays you.
A quiet, involuntary postâcry shudder ripples through you. A sharp pang digs itself into Rafeâs chest when he hears it.
âYou donât have to tell me what that was about,â he offers.
âI wasnât going to,â you say, straightening your posture. âWhat did you hear?â
âThat someoneâs not listening to you.â
You let out a breathy scoff.
âEavesdropping is rude.â
âIâm rude,â he replies with a shrug.
You have to laugh. His shoulders ease hearing it.
âI didnât expect selfâawareness from you,â you say.
âYeah? Whatâd you expect, then?â
You meet his eyes in the mirror.
âWhat happened last night,â you reply. âWhat every guy does when he realizes heâs not going to get what he wants from me.â
Rafe scratches the back of his neck, the regret sitting in his stomach.
âIâm sorry. Seriously.â
âSave it,â you respond, waving him off, truly indifferent to it anyway.
Rafe chews on the inside of his cheek. He canât defend himself without admitting too much. He canât tell you that last night didnât piss him off â it hurt.
âI thought weâd hang out. And then you just⊠left,â he finally says. âI shouldnât have acted like that. IâŠâ
âHad a tantrum?â you say.
He tensely runs a hand through his hair.
âIs that why youâre always getting into fights?â you ask, thinking about what youâd seen on the island, the way heâd explode at the smallest thing.
Rafe stills for a moment. Itâs good to hear that youâd noticed him back home. That he existed to you.
âWait⊠youâve been watching me?â he says amusedly.
You sigh, tipping your head back toward the ceiling with a groan.
âYour ego kills me,â you breathe.
He smirks and stares at you again as you continue to touch up your makeup, looking beautiful even with your eyes still a little puffy.
âI got mad because youâre confusing, alright?â he says. âYou just ran out.â
You huff. You donât believe him. The only thing you trust that comes out of his mouth is anything he says about his physical attraction to you.
âAnd I donât get into fights anymore,â he adds.
Itâs true. He hasnât gotten into a single fight since he came to college. He still gets angry, because of course he does, but the distance from the island has done him good.
âWhyâs that?â you ask, keeping your tone light, almost bored.
The more he talks, the more he opens up, the more material youâll have later. Because you know now that you could still break his heart. You see the way he looks at you, the way heâs trying to apologize, the way he came here in the first place. His feelings are growing.
âBeing hereâs good for me,â he admits.
He looks out the window, jaw tight. You mull over his words. It doesnât sound like itâs specifically here thatâs good for him. It sounds like itâs anywhere that isnât Kildare.
âYou donât like it back home?â you probe.
He breathes a humorless laugh. This pain is all too familiar. Life on the island was nothing but trying to outrun the truth that he was never wanted.
And the only way he ever learned to cope was by letting the anger take over, letting the chaos distract him from the feeling that he wasnât enough.
âItâs because of shit with my family,â he finally replies. âIâm not what they want me to be.â
And like a wave, embarrassment that he just spilled so much to you crashes into him. This is what he hates about himself, the way everything sits right at the brim, always threatening to overflow. Somehow youâve cracked him open.
Rafeâs defeated tone almost, almost makes you feel for him. You can relate more than heâll ever know. Because on that phone call, your mom expected you to be fine with the fact that her husband comes first, and you donât.
You turn around in your seat to finally look at him without the mirror between you. Rafeâs eyes are fixed on your floor now. You need to even the playing field. Make him think youâre opening up too, when youâre not.
âIt was my mom on the phone,â you say. âShe has a very particular idea of how I should act. Itâs annoying. I get it.â
Itâs a halfâtruth, close enough to what he said to feel like youâre meeting him in the middle.
And he buys it. The way he looks at you, like he thinks this is some moment of shared understanding, confirms that heâs trusting you. Heâs giving you pieces of himself without realizing it. And you can use every single one.
But right now, you realize you donât want to.
What you once thought would feel satisfying suddenly doesnât anymore. Every time youâve hurt a guy in the past, it wasnât intentional. You never set out to break anyone. But this time, you did, and it doesnât feel good like you thought it would.
You donât exactly like Rafe, but you donât mind him. And if you go through with this, deliberately pulling him in just to tear him down, then what does that make you?
Whatever your reason, youâre still putting energy into a man. Itâs not the same as your mother pouring herself into her husband, but itâs still a direction you donât want to go into.
This started off as a little game of revenge to put Rafe in his place, maybe even to get payback on all the pain one particular man left in your heart. But you donât see the point anymore.
âWhat does she want?â he asks, oblivious to the decision youâve just made.
You lift a shoulder in a small shrug.
âFor me to keep the peace,â you reply. âDonât know if you noticed, but I donât like to shut up when Iâm mad.â
Rafe chuckles, relieved. He was convinced he blew it with you, but youâre not shutting him out.
âI like that about you,â he murmurs.
Itâs the first thing Rafe has ever complimented you on that wasnât about your appearance. And itâs about something youâve always assumed people saw as a flaw. He talks about your short fuse like itâs good.
In the few minutes heâs been alone in here with him, youâve seen a side of him you never have. And while youâll never trust him, you can admit this is the most honest youâve ever seen him be.
Your mind flickers back to the charter Olympics, to the way he made those guys who were bothering you leave you alone. You still donât think that he did it out of sincerity, but the memory of him protecting you lingers right now.
And the way heâs looking at you now, with that same intensity he had then, only makes it harder to ignore the part of you that wonders what his intentions really are. That maybe you were wrong.
Not that it matters.
âWe should go downstairs,â you say, pushing back your chair.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Later that day, Rafe pushes open the door to his bedroom, gym bag slung over his shoulder. Heâs barely stepped inside when Cooper looks up from his laptop.
âDid you see the email?â he asks. Rafe drops his bag onto the floor with a thud.
âWhat email?â
His roommate turns the screen toward him. Rafeâs stomach sinks when he sees the subject line. Notice of Disciplinary Action.
âWeâre on probation,â Cooper says. âWeâre actually banned from partying. We could get suspended.â
âThis is a joke,â he mutters with a chuckle.
âNo, dude, itâs real,â Cooper confirms. âWeâre off probation after four weeks if we follow the rules. Trey called a house meeting tonight.â
Rafe exhales, frustrated and confused.
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The meeting starts with Trey, the frat president, standing at the front of the living room. He doesnât bother hiding how pissed he is.
âWe shouldnât even be having this conversation,â he says, glaring around the room. âWe just got warned and you geniuses still thought throwing that Halloween party was a good idea.â
He exhales sharply and reads off the email from the disciplinary committee.
âTheyâre serious,â he says afterwards. âTheyâll be checking. Campus security will do random driveâbys. If they see cars lined up or people outside or literally anything that looks like a party, weâre done. No one here can even risk being seen at other parties. I mean it.â
As the guys break into complaints, Rafe just sits there, growing more pissed off as the reality settles in. No parties means no distractions.
Eventually, he realizes that the conversations are going nowhere, and he stands and walks out into the night air without a destination in mind. He gets into his truck and sits there for a minute, hands on the wheel, jaw tight.
Then he pulls out his phone and taps on your name. Because right now, youâre the only person who makes him forget everything better than anything else ever has.
He doesnât even know what heâs going to say when you pick up. He just needs to get out of his own head.
âHello?â you answer.
âHey,â he says. âYou around?â
âIâm home,â you say. âAnd Iâm in my pajamas, so the farthest Iâm going is the porch.â
He smirks despite himself.
âIâll be there in a minute.â
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
When Rafe parks under the streetlamp in front of your sorority house, he sees you already sitting on the steps, arms wrapped around your knees. You look unbothered. Beautiful. Like usual.
He sits beside you on the porch, leaving just enough space to pretend heâs not desperate to touch you. For a few seconds, neither of you talk. Crickets sing. Cars pass.
âAs peaceful as this is,â you say, picking up on his tension, âwhat the fuck happened?â
Rafe huffs a quiet, defeated laugh.
âWeâre on probation,â he admits. âNo parties or anything for a month. Everyone in the house is losing their minds.â
âOh, wow,â you say. âNo fun for a month?â
Rafe shrugs, eyes fixed on the street.
âSitting around doing nothing drives me insane,â he admits.
âYou could finally do those discussion boards youâve been missing out on,â you say, nudging him with your shoulder. He breathes a laugh again. âYouâre telling me you canât survive thirty days?â
Rafe finally looks at you. And he realizes that just by being with you, his chest isnât as tight anymore. He feels better around you.
âIâm not good with being bored,â he says.
You stare at him for a moment. Maybe heâs not as shallow as you expected. Maybe he likes noise because it keeps him from thinking. Maybe thereâs something heâs outrunning.
This is exactly the kind of conversation you stay far away from with a guy. This is stuff a girlfriend would deal with. And youâre not his girlfriend. Youâre not here to fix him or soothe him or get pulled into whateverâs going on in his head.
You need to shift the mood and offer him some sort of comfort, without the vulnerability. Because while you donât have any real feelings for Rafe, you can admit you donât like seeing him tense.
Youâll let this fling play out. One of you will eventually get bored once itâs obvious this isnât going anywhere. But youâre no longer trying to hurt him. You canât bring yourself to be cruel to someone who isnât the asshole you thought he was.
âWell,â you say lightly, leaning back on your hands. âThe girls keep talking about a beach day.â
He glances over, curious.
âAnd if you guys come to that,â you continue, âis it really that bad? Itâs not a party. And itâs off campus.â
Rafe nods, his mouth curling into a smile, the rigidity in his posture easing.
âIâll text you the details,â you say. âCome with drinks. And donât bring everyone, okay?â
You push yourself to your feet, brushing off your hands.
âWait,â Rafe says. He stands too, and because heâs a step lower on the porch, you end up almost eyeâlevel with him. Even from here, heâs still taller than you.
He looks at you with that intense focus youâve seen so many times. And then, like always, he cups your face with both firmness and restraint when he kisses you.
For a second, the world goes quiet around him. The more he gets of you, the more he wants. Your lips are warm and soft and perfect and it hurts that you want to go back inside so soon after he arrived.
You pull back from the kiss first, like always. He stays where he is, stuck between hope and frustration, wishing youâd change your mind and just to sit here with him.
But you only offer a heartbreaking smile before you turn and leave him unable to stop wanting the one thing he canât get enough of.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Youâve been at the beach for about an hour now, soaking in the early afternoon sun.
Everyone is sprawled out, a mix of your sorority sisters, girls from other houses, and a few guys they invited. Music hums from a speaker over the crashes of waves against the shore.
Youâre sitting crossâlegged on your towel, gazing out at the lake. Itâs beautiful, light blue contrasted against a wide stretch of beige sand, but it doesnât compare to the ocean you grew up admiring. Even so, you canât help enjoying the novelty of sitting on a beach in November.
A faraway voice makes you look toward the parking lot. You see a group of six guys, all in swim trunks and sunglasses, talking loudly and hauling a cooler.
Rafe is easy to pick out. Heâs taller than the rest, wearing a white t-shirt over his swim shorts, looking better than everyone on this beach.
Youâd sent him a location pin so he could find you. He drops the cooler into the sand and greets the guys already there with his usual confidence.
Rafe hates to see that there isnât an open spot beside you, that youâre wedged between two of your friends. He chooses a place just across from you, sitting on the corner of a beach blanket.
Heâs supposed to be keeping his feelings in check. But how can he when you look like that, sitting there wearing a bikini and an amused smirk that tightens his chest?
You pull at two sides of him, the part that craves to be wrapped up in you, to be deep inside of you, and another part that he tries to ignore. A part that wants to be needed.
âHey,â he says to you over the surrounding conversations.
âHey,â you reply. âYou staying out of trouble?â
He gives a halfâsmile and says, âTrying.â
Itâs been a couple of days since you spoke on the porch, since he kissed you and you walked away. Since then, youâve taken up his every thought, and it sucks having to pretend like you havenât.
The groupâs conversation shifts to the probation. As some of Rafeâs frat brothers whine about the punishment, you stretch out your legs, playfully nudging his knee with your toes. He looks at you, mirroring your smile.
A few weeks ago, you had to make yourself flirt with him. You had to think about the bet and tell yourself to play the part. Now you want to do it. The version of him you thought you hated has been erased, and heâs just another guy youâre having a fling with. Something fun thatâll burn out.
Thatâs always been the rush. Getting close enough to feel the spark, but never close enough to get burned.
Youâve known for a while now that Rafe really likes you. You can see it in the way he looks at you, in the way his attention keeps drifting back to you, no matter whatâs happening around him. You know when a guy is in deep.
But heâs only enamored with a version of you. Guys fall for the cool, detached girl all the time. You never let them see the real you.
Rafe is no different. He probably thinks heâs getting close, but heâs not. Youâre enjoying the temporary thrill, and if he stopped talking to you tomorrow, youâd shrug and move on.
Besides, youâre still pretty sure heâs putting up a front, too. Acting nicer than he really is. You know the routine that every guy does when he wants you.
Eventually, Rafe gently cups your ankle. You meet his eyes.
âSwim with me,â he says quietly. You nod.
He tugs his shirt off and you slip your hand into his, letting him pull you up. Jada smiles at you over the rim of her drink. You told her yesterday that youâre over the bet, that it feels wrong to keep playing this game.
She didnât look surprised. Sheâs seen you go through enough flings to know exactly how this will go.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
The sand shifts under your feet as the two of you approach the shore. When the water reaches your ankles, itâs cool enough to make you wince.
Rafe steps in ahead of you, the surface rippling around his calves as he looks ahead, giving you an opportunity to look at his bare, muscled back.
âItâs nothinâ like ours, huh?â he says.
You smirk to yourself, finding it funny that heâs thinking the same thing you did. And that heâs calling the island ours like itâs something you share, when all you did there was avoid each other.
He keeps his eyes on the horizon. While he seems to appreciate the beaches at home, he admitted to you that itâs better heâs not there. You always assumed he coasted through life with no concerns, but you know now thatâs not entirely true.
You wade deeper into the water. It curls around your thighs and you let out another sharp exhale as you adjust to the temperature.
âCome on,â Rafe teases. âItâs not gonna bite you.â
You roll your eyes, familiar easy tension settling between you. When this whole thing started, he had to watch every word, rein in the way he normally teases because he wasnât sure how to handle you. But now, he doesnât have to do any of that. He can just be himself.
âThis is a shock to my system, okay? Iâve been in the sun for a long time,â you flirt. âSee how warm I am?â
You wrap your hand around his bicep. The warmth of your skin sinks into him, and you feel the subtle flex of hard muscle under your palm.
His eyes drop to where youâre holding him, then lift back to yours with an amused look. He likes the way you touch him. And that you chose to.
âNot really,â he replies. He dips his chin toward you. âProbably should feel more of you.â
He uses the excuse to tug you closer by the wrist. You laugh as your bodies meet, the water now at your hips, your shoulders nearly level with his chest. You stare up at him, and in the sun, the freckles on his face stand out, soft, scattered spots.
âOh, yeah, youâre hot,â he rasps with a smirk as you press up against him. He thinks back to the other night, to the feeling of you grinding on his thigh, his mouth on you, your breathy moans.
âYouâre not as smooth as you think you are,â you tease. Rafeâs grin widens.
âWhat? Iâm just talking.â
The water sways around you both. You take a deep breath before finally sinking in to your shoulders, the cold rushing up your spine.
And, like always, your conversation drifts effortlessly. Itâs nothing heavy or deep, but you get to know each other a little more, trading jokes in between.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Eventually, the quiet you and Rafe found in the water breaks as more of the group joins to swim. The sun keeps sinking, and by the time everyone wanders back to shore, itâs just about to touch the horizon.
Your section of the beach is a sprawl of towels, drinks, and snacks. Everyoneâs stretched out in the sand, talking over each other as all your sorority sisters brag about winning silver in the charter Olympics.
Rafe sits beside you, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers while conversations blur around you.
Heâs pissed off. Heâs never claimed to be a good person. He knows exactly what he is. But loyalty means something, and if someone loved him, heâd never fuck them over, so when he spots his frat brother with some random girl thatâs definitely not his girlfriend perched on his lap, frustration coils tightly in his gut.
Rafeâs seen the way his girlfriend dotes on him. And he can admit it made him jealous. Not because he likes her, but because he wants someone to care that much about him.
Seeing his frat brother throw that away makes his blood run hot. Why do some people get handed the kind of love Rafe would kill for, and treat it like itâs nothing?
You take a deep breath as you gaze out at the water. At first, Rafe looks like heâs just zoning out, but then you notice heâs been quiet for uncharacteristically long.
âWhat are you pouting about?â you tease.
He flicks his eyes toward the group, then lifts his chin in the direction of one of his frat brothers. The guy is laughing, a girl on his lap, her arms around his neck.
Rafeâs voice drops low.
âHeâs got a girl,â he mutters with a shake of his head. He takes a slow sip of his drink, still watching the scene with a judgmental look.
You study his profile, trying to figure out if heâs genuinely bothered by his friend seemingly cheating or just saying what he thinks sounds good. But he actually seems angry. The guys youâve known wouldnât flinch at something like this.
âWhy does it annoy you?â you ask.
âIf you got someone, you donât do that shit,â he mutters.
âDoesnât every guy do that shit?â you chuckle.
The words slipped out before you could stop them, pulled from the memory of your dad leaving, emptying the house of his belongings, teaching you that men will always choose themselves.
Rafe looks at you, eyebrows pulling together like he canât believe youâre excusing it.
âNo,â he says. The conviction in his tone is hard and unexpected.
âIâm not saying itâs okay,â you reply with a laugh, trying to keep things light. âIâve just seen it a million times.â
âYeah, well, some guys actually give a shit about loyalty,â he responds.
The noise of the group swells around you again and you donât say anything, letting the conversation slip away. It feels too deep.
You trail off into other topics, joking around, pretending youâre not preoccupied. But Rafeâs reaction lingers in your mind, even after you say your goodbyes later that afternoon.
(to be continued)
new parts come out every friday at 8 pm est. if you want to be alerted of when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications đ
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafeâs friends bet that he canât charm you into sleeping with him, he canât say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and youâre determined to break his heart.
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Rafe absentmindedly scrolls on his phone as his truck idles in front of your sorority house, the windows cracked to let the breeze in.
Itâs been a couple of days since your kiss. He texted asking when he could see you, and earlier today, you told him to pick you up after ten p.m.
You step onto the front porch to see Rafe waiting in a black pickup truck. Youâre sure itâs the same one youâve seen him drive around the island. Itâs loud and way too big. He probably chose it because he thinks it makes him look tough. Like the dirt bike youâve seen him on.
Late nights are nothing new for you. You prefer to see guys after dark. It keeps things casual because then, they wonât try to impress you with expensive dates or big gestures. They get the wrong idea when they treat you like a girlfriend. They think that you owe them. And thatâs the last thing youâd ever agree to.
When you slide into the passenger seat, Rafe looks you up and down, warmth creeping up the back of his neck.
âSo,â you say, shutting the door and buckling in, âwhere do you want to take me so bad?â
He stares at you first, the words forming only after heâs had his fill. He wants to kiss you right now. He would if this wasnât a game. He canât look too eager.
âYou said to surprise you,â he answers. He pulls away from the curb with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console, inches away from your thigh.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Rafe drives off campus and toward the south end of town, the road curling upward into the hills. His truckâs headlights sweep over gravel as he turns into a pullâoff overlooking the city. Below, the lights glow in pockets of white.
He turns the truck to face the trail he drove in on and shuts it off, allowing the humming of crickets and ticking of the cooling engine to fill your ears.
Without a word, Rafe drops out of the truck, the door thudding shut behind him. You exhale before climbing out after him. Of course heâd just walk off without saying anything. This man has no manners.
You meet him outside at the back of the truck, where heâs unlatching the tailgate. You step out, drifting a few paces toward the edge to study the view.
After throwing a blanket over the truck bed, Rafe follows you. When he looks at you gazing out below, he sees softness crossing your face. For a second, you almost look happy.
This whole thing might work. He came here to get the one thing he wants with you. Privacy.
âNice, right?â he says. âWe can sit in the back. I brought a blanket.â
âJust one?â you reply. âIâm shocked.â
He breathes out a low chuckle. You think about how many other girls heâs brought here. How many times heâs used this view to impress them. Rafe seems like the type whoâd want to prove how much he can afford, yet he took you somewhere so lowkey.
You figure itâs because he wants to pick up where you left off the other night. But itâs not like you donât want to be in private with him. This may all be a scheme to break his heart, but kissing him was nice. And you want to do more of it.
The manners he seemed to have forgotten come back as he cups your hand to help you up to the back of the pickup. You lean against the rear window, sinking into the comforter he spread out, pulling a corner of it over your lap.
Rafe lets out a soft grunt as he settles beside you, the side of his thigh pressed against yours as you take in the view together. Lights sparkle across the streets below, the night air smelling faintly of damp earth.
âWhatâd you do today?â he asks.
âI helped with prepping for that Olympics event,â you respond. âA bunch of us are volunteering.â
Rafe already knows the gist. The charter Olympics is some lame spirit thing for frats and sororities to compete in games. Itâs a dry event. That was enough for him to decide he was skipping it, even with the talks heâs been hearing about his frat being at risk for probation.
âAnd thatâs fun for you?â he asks.
You glance over at him, catching the teasing curve of his lips.
âLet me guess,â you retort. âYou joined Greek life just for the parties?â
âWhy else?â
You scoff, shaking your head. The more you learn about Rafe, the more you know that once this is over, you wonât miss it. Heâs such a typical shallow guy.
âWhyâd you join?â Rafe asks.
His eyes are softer, like heâs curious. He either actually wants to know or is doing a good job pretending to.
Thereâs no chance youâre admitting the real reason. Being in a sorority gives you the stability you never had growing up. Your friends are your chosen family, and joining gave you a place to belong.
But vulnerability, even faked, will pull him in faster. Itâll make him think he can earn deeper access to you. Youâll give him a very light version of the truth.
âI obviously like the parties,â you reply. âBut I like the events, too. I can appreciate when things are structured. And predictable.â
Rafe just stares. Hearing the girl whoâll snap at anyone over nothing saying she wants structure doesnât really register. Itâs intriguing.
âWhat?â you laugh, tilting your head at him when he doesnât look away.
âYou donât seem like you like predictable,â he admits.
âWell, I do,â you reply with a shrug, looking back out at the view again.
His jaw tenses. He wants you to care what he thinks, but you donât. Itâs like your attention is already full with everything else in your life and heâs trying to find space where there isnât any.
âIâll probably come to that, too,â he decides. âSome guys were saying we could be put on probation, so we gotta get more involved in things.â
âSeriously?â you say with a disbelieving laugh.
âSecurity showed up a few times âcause of noise complaints,â he says. âApparently, you get enough warnings and the school steps in.â
You wince, but Rafe shrugs. Heâs used to getting in trouble. When his world crumbled around him as a kid, he lost all control, and heâs been fighting to gain it back since. It turned him into a man who never had patience for being told what to do, who never cared for authority.
âI can tell youâre really torn up about it,â you say, sarcasm thick in your tone.
âItâs just annoying,â he admits. âTheir rules donât make sense. They just like having something to hold over us.â
Of course. The entitlement you always suspected in Rafe is alive and well. He believes that rules are optional for him, that consequences are something that should only happen to other people.
âYou realize probation means none of those parties you care so much about, right?â you tease. âSeems like itâs all you care about, actually.â
Maybe it should piss him off that you think thatâs all there is to him, but itâs a compliment. Youâre wrong. He cares too much, feels too much, but if you think heâs this apathetic, that means heâs selling it.
âTheyâre just trying to scare us,â Rafe murmurs. âIf we come to that Olympics thing and act like we care, weâll be good.â
He readjusts his backwards hat, licking his lips before speaking again.
âToo bad we canât be on the same team again, yeah?â he says, thinking back to your game of beer pong the other night.
You meet his eyes. Youâre more aware of yourself now. The way you toyed with men used to be instinct, but now, with this bet on your mind, you can feel yourself doing it in real time.
Itâs an art. Giving warmth in small doses. You realize that while you hate unpredictability, you love being the unpredictable one.
âIt is too bad,â you play along. âI canât believe we never talked before. We shouldâve.â
Heat blossoms in Rafeâs chest, spreading to his limbs. It feels so good to hear you say that, and heâs not sure if itâs because of this bet heâs trying to win or if he really is looking for validation from you.
His eyes sweep over your features in the moonlight. Itâs dizzying, watching you lean towards him, showing him that you want him.
You tilt your head just a little, taking your time with closing the distance, teasing him in a silent promise that heâll get you for now, but if he messes up, heâll lose you again.
He canât remember the last time he was this nervous around a girl.
Rafeâs lips press on yours, as warm and soft as you remember them. Your eyes flutter shut as the tip of your nose brushes against his, and his hand cups your cheek just like it did the other night, guiding but gentle, as if he needs to ground himself.
When you part your lips, allowing his tongue to touch yours, he tastes impossibly good, better than you thought he would. Heâs not forceful or rough like so many guys are. Thereâs no need to back away or tell him to slow down. Heâs firm, but careful, almost gentle in a way you didnât expect.
Rafe pulls you in closer. Your lips are so soft, your mouth hot as you breathe each other in. He realizes he revels in the way you taste, wanting more and more of it.
The deeper and longer your kisses grow, the more Rafeâs stomach tightens with need. Heâs already so hard. His grip tightens on your cheek as he leads you to tilt your head back just slightly.
The cool air presses against your wet lips as he leaves languid kisses along your jaw, moving down the column of your throat. He presses his hot, open mouth on the most sensitive parts of your neck.
You bite your bottom lip as tingles cover every inch of your skin, your craving for him flooding your senses. His hand drags down to your thigh, and when you let out a breathy moan, his grip tightens. He skims higher, testing.
âYouâre so fucking hot,â Rafe huskily murmurs against your skin as his palm lands over the curve of your ass. You respond by kissing him again, deeper this time. He squeezes your flesh over your jeans, and now, his kiss is even hotter.
Your pulse is loud in your ears as time bends in itself, the sounds of your tangled breaths and wet kisses consuming you. Eventually, slowly, his hand trails to your hip, the pad of his thumb brushing under your top.
You want him to move his hand higher. You want to crawl into his truck and let him peel your clothes off and touch you. And you would, if you were here for any other reason.
You pull back, taking in a soft breath, your foreheads brushing together.
âCan you take me home now?â you half-whisper.
Rafe straightens, his heavy lidded gaze trailing down your face.
You move first, scooting forward to get out of the bed of his truck. After you slip into the passenger seat, he sits behind the steering wheel. He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, undoubtedly trying to hide his arousal after making out with you.
His keys jingle, and his engine roars to life. But before he drives off, he looks at you.
âEverything good?â Rafe murmurs.
You nod, wanting to keep him invested without giving him much clarity at all.
âYeah,â you say with a soft smile. âI just need to slow down.â
Itâs a promise thatâs more to come, a way to keep him on the hook without blowing him off. He looks ahead and you take in his profile, watch his Adamâs apple bob with a slow swallow as he puts his truck into drive.
You wanted to keep going, but you want to hurt him more.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
The sun is already scorching, even though itâs only the first event of the chapter Olympics, music blasting from a portable speaker.
Youâre standing in your chapterâs lane, waiting for the waterâballoon toss to start. Jada is a few feet away, rolling her shoulders to warm up. The rules are simple: toss the balloon, take a step back, last chapter standing wins.
Rafe ends up right beside the guy next to you. When he looks over and sees you, he grins, his dimples dipping into his cheeks. You return the smile.
Insecurity isnât new for him. He hasnât stopped replaying the other night in his head. The heated makeout session, the way you pulled away, the quiet car ride home.
It was almost a week ago, and you havenât talked since, and itâs made him restless. Heâd normally just text a girl in this situation, but he keeps needing to remind himself to play this carefully.
Now here you are, beautiful, smirking at him like you know youâve been driving him insane.
The game starts. The guy between you and Rafe eventually misjudges his toss, the balloon slipping through his hands and exploding at his feet. He groans and steps back, and suddenly Rafe is closer. He leans in slightly.
âHey,â he murmurs, voice barely threading through the noise from the speaker and people shouting and laughing all around you. âDid I totally fuck up the other night?â
Heâs asking because he wants to win the bet. Mostly.
Thereâs another reason, one he hates admitting even to himself. He wants you to think good things about him. He wants your approval. And that feels really fucking embarrassing.
Heâs not sure how to manipulate this anymore. The whole be forward but not desperate thing gets harder every time he sees you. His instincts keep pulling him in toward you, and itâs getting harder to pretend heâs above it.
Heâs not the type to play coy when he wants a girl. Heâs usually direct. And he wishes youâd want him just as bad as he wants you.
âNo. I had fun,â you reply with a small smile, squinting in the sunlight.
You can see worry in the way his eyes dart away. And it feels like victory. Worry means he cares, and caring means heâs slipping. Heâs starting to have feelings. Youâre sure of it.
The next toss comes. Jadaâs balloon slips right through her fingers and soaks her shoes when it pops. She screams out an angry groan so loud that it scares her neighbors. You burst into laughter.
Rafe finds himself smirking. Your laugh does something to him.
You step out of the lane, brushing past him. Your hand finds his bicep, warm and solid under your fingers, and he meets your eyes.
âGood luck,â you say.
You feel it, the charged pull between you, heavy and unignorable. Even with all the noise around you, the air between you feels louder than all of it.
Rafeâs gaze lingers when you let go.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
You report for your volunteer shift at the snack table, ready for half an hour of collecting tickets and handing out whatever people want.
From under the tent, you catch sight of Rafe across the field, digging his heels into the dirt during a game of tugâofâwar. Heâs all muscle and it sends your mind straight back to the night in his truck.
The losing team is supposed to fall backward into a kiddie pool filled with cold water, and you find yourself hoping that Rafeâs side slips. You want to see the way his shirt would cling to him afterward, plastered to every line of him.
Your sexual chemistry is undeniable. He knows exactly how to touch you. But youâre here to give him what he deserves. And you know now that youâre at the point where you can toy with him.
Three guys wander towards the snack table together, interrupting your daydreams.
âWhat do you have?â a guy with sunglasses says.
You can tell by the way his eyes are trailing down your body that heâs checking you out. You donât bother answering. You just tap the laminated sign hanging from the front of the table, showing that youâre offering popsicles, granola bars, and chips.
âIf I get a popsicle,â he begins, âcan I watch you eat it?â
His friends snort, elbowing each other like theyâve never heard anything funnier. You scowl and step to the side.
âNext,â you say to the girl who just approached behind them. You help her quickly, but the guys linger, still expecting service.
One of his friends steps forward and tries to hand you his ticket.
âSorry,â he says. âIt was a stupid joke. Can I just get some chips?â
You scoff and wave curtly to dismiss them.
âWait for the next volunteer,â you tell them flatly.
âI was just having fun,â the one who made the comment to you says.
âBy being a disgusting pig?â you mutter, your voice sharp.
They don't move. You cross your arms, staring daggers at them, furious that youâre stuck behind this table and that they refuse to leave.
Then, someone approaches. You look up.
After his team won tugâofâwar, Rafe spotted you, noticed your hand lifted in an irritated gesture. Even from a distance, he recognized that pissed off look on your face.
He realizes a group of guys are hovering around your table, annoying you. Heâs seen them before. Theyâre members of the rival frat his house is always competing with.
âYou guys botherinâ her?â Rafe says, light but edged.
âImmensely,â you answer before they can speak. âThey wonât leave.â
Normally, you hate when a man acts like you need rescuing. But right now youâre trapped. You canât walk away from the table. And these guys wonât go away.
Rafe feels a flare of protectiveness burn in him when he sees just how angry you are, and how these assholes are trying to intimidate you. The rivalry between their houses makes his temper snap tighter.
âGo,â Rafe tells them, the sharpness in his voice unmistakable now.
âI want some food,â one of the guys mutters.
âYou lost your chance,â you snap.
He scoffs, rolling his eyes like youâre the unreasonable one.
âYou heard her,â Rafe says, daring him to push it. You donât want to expect any good from him, but heâs standing with his broad shoulders squared, making it very clear whose side heâs on.
The guys finally leave, muttering as they stalk off. Itâs just you and Rafe at the table now. You donât want to believe he stepped in because heâs sincerely looking out for you. You canât. But youâre still grateful because you had no escape and he just gave it to you.
âIâll give you all the snacks you want,â you say in a show of appreciation.
Rafe huffs a small laugh, but his eyes stay on you.
âWhatâd they do?â he asks.
âThey were gross,â you mutter. Admittedly, youâre tired of pretending the way men objectify you doesnât get to you. âLike all guys, treating me like Iâm only good for one thing. Itâs so fucking degrading.â
Rafe is thrown by your honesty. You can tell. But when youâre this angry, you donât care about putting up a front. Just like the night he spilled his drink on you, when you snapped at him with no inhibitions.
And that memory hits you now. Rafe asked if you were always so sensitive and it reminded you exactly why you donât let yourself trust guys like him. Whatever heâs doing right now is a game. You have to keep your guard up where it always is.
âWant anything?â you ask, attempting to brush the thought away with humor, to continue to charm him. âOr I could keep ranting if youâre into it.â
âIâll take one of those,â Rafe says with a small smile, pointing at the granola bars. Your eyes dip to his lips, reminded of how they felt on yours, before you hand him a bar. Your fingers brush his for half a second.
He steps back as he realizes someone is in line behind him. But heâs still staring at you like heâs trying to figure you out. You break eye contact first. And he steps aside to let the next person through.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Later that night, you read Rafeâs text while standing in front of your mirror in your bedroom. Jada is in the bathroom, blasting music as she does her hair.
You coming tonight?
You check your reflection, smoothing your hands down the sides of your deep red miniâdress. Youâre dressed up for an âangels and demonsâ theme party, your dress soft and skimpy, paired with a plastic headband of two red horns.
His frat shouldnât be throwing their annual Halloween party tonight. Theyâre almost on probation, and everyone knows it by now. But thatâs not your problem. If they want to risk getting shut down, thatâs on them.
Probably, you type back, even though youâre fully planning to head over there.
Rafe has never been afraid to come on too strong with a girl. He either cares or he doesnât. But tonight, sitting on the couch in the frat house living room, surrounded by his brothers, he feels different.
He keeps checking his phone, rereading your text.
Probably.
His friends are shouting over the music. Normally, he escapes into this loud chaos. He loves not having to think about anything. But you might be coming, and your attention feels different than anything else.
Rafe leans back, letting the music wash over him, pretending heâs relaxed even though heâs anything but.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
The second you step into the frat house, the air is thick, too many bodies packed into one place. Music thumps through the floorboards, vibrating up your legs. Your friends pull you deeper inside, weaving through clusters of people.
Rafe stands near the kitchen doorway with his friends. His hair is pushed back instead of hidden under a hat, a little tousled. He didnât bother with a real costume. Just a red polo and jeans, the bare minimum effort to dress on theme.
You look away before he can catch you staring and go further into the house, pretending youâre not aware of where he is in the room.
Eventually, while youâre dancing with your friends, you feel a hand graze the small of your back. You turn to see Rafe towering over you, close enough that you can smell his cologne under the haze of sweat. His eyes are on you like youâre the only person in the room.
âWho cares about probation, huh?â you say, motioning to the chaos around you. This party absolutely should not be happening.
âAw, you worried about me?â Rafe replies, leaning in just enough that you feel his breath on your cheek.
âIâm losing sleep over it,â you deadpan.
He laughs under his breath and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side like itâs the most natural thing in the world. He doesnât want to second guess himself with you, even though itâs all he does.
Suddenly, heâs aware of every guy in the room whoâs staring at you in that tiny dress. The twist of possessiveness burns in him.
Rafe has no claim over you. But it feels like he does. Like he should.
You gaze up at him, at the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead.
âI like your hair like that,â you flirt.
His grin widens. Itâs a full, toothy smile he tries to hide by ducking his head for a second.
âCould barely shower,â he says. âMy arms are killing me from today.â
âWeak,â you tease.
âHey,â he says, laughing. âI carried my team.â
âWhatever you need to tell yourself,â you reply with a nod. He chuckles and shakes his head.
âYou have a good time?â
âItâs fun to get competitive,â you say. âYou?â
âYeah,â he says, rolling his shoulders. âJust need a massage now.â
âNice try,â you laugh.
He pauses for a moment to take in your bright smile, the sweet sound of your laugh.
âWho do you think won?â he asks.
âUs. Definitely.â
âYouâre so sure,â he says with a squint.
âWe can put money on it if you want to bet,â you say.
Rafeâs smile falters.
The goal was just to hook up with you. It was supposed to be a game. Now heâs standing in front of you, and youâre joking with him, and heâs having so much fun with you that he already misses you before youâre gone.
Youâre not just some stuck-up princess. Thereâs more to you. Heâs seen it. How funny you are. How sweet you can be. And today, when he saw that anger in you flare yet again, he realized itâs rooted in how much you have to protect yourself.
He knows what thatâs like.
He wonders whatâll happen if he wants more than what he promised his friends. Heâs definitely attracted to you. That part was never in question. But thereâs something else now that makes the bet feel cheap.
It pisses him off that heâs doing what you vented to him about. He tried to convince himself that he could see you as just a girl to fuck around with. And he was an idiot to do that.
You study him, curious about what his sudden silence means. Heâs looking at you like he always does, like heâs trying to read your mind.
But you donât make it a habit to read between a guyâs lines. All you can feel is the heat of your need for him. The way heâs looking at you only makes it harder to ignore.
Youâll stick to the plan. You wonât go all the way. But youâll do more.
âYou want to show me your room?â you ask, already knowing the answer.
Rafe licks his lips, nodding gently.
âYeah,â he says, voice low. âCome on.â
He leads you through the crowd, up the stairs, the noise fading behind you with every step. His palm covers yours, sending a hot current straight through you.
He opens the door to his bedroom. And you follow him inside.
(to be continued)
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafeâs friends bet that he canât charm you into sleeping with him, he canât say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and youâre determined to break his heart.
< prev
Your Saturday morning starts slow. Sunlight spills through the curtains of your room as you rest under your comforter. You can hear girls laughing in the hallway of the sorority house.
Your roommate is on the other side of the room in her bed, and youâve been drifting in and out of conversation with her, scrolling on your phones and lazing together.
âSo⊠you gonna tell me what happened with that guy last night?â Jada asks.
You didnât say much when you reunited with your friends at the party after disappearing with Rafe. Jada recognized him as the jerk who spilled his drink on you, but you brushed it off, saying he apologized.
You take a deep breath.
âYou canât judge me for what Iâm about to tell you,â you say, your voice low.
Jada perks up immediately, pushing herself upright. She grins, dropping her phone on her lap.
âI love it when a story starts that way,â she says. You chuckle and roll onto your side, resting your head on your hand as you look at her from across the room.
âHis name is Rafe. I know him from back home,â you say. âHeâs a total dick. And since heâs started trying to get with me, my friends⊠bet me that I couldnât break his heart.â
âYouâre kidding,â Jada says in amusement. âWhy would I judge you for that? Itâs never a bad thing for a guy like that to get put in his place.â
Her words are vindicating. He does deserve it. You think back to the way Rafe talked to you and touched you last night, smug like he can take whatever he wants from you.
âIt did seem weird to me that you went off with him after he was so rude the other night,â she says, pointing at you. âI know youâre not one to forgive. Wow, itâs all coming together now.â
You laugh. Youâve been called many things, all by guys who felt slighted by you, and Jada affectionately implying that youâre unforgiving is nothing compared to it. Youâve built a reputation. Itâs better to be the girl no one fucks with than the girl who gets hurt.
âHow are you going to do it?â she asks.
Your eyes drift to the ceiling.
âIâll make him think I like him, then act like I canât stand him, which, honestly, I canât, so at least that part will be easy,â you say. âI swear, the second a guy realizes youâre not dying for his attention, he tries way too hard to make you care. Iâve never wanted to make a guy fall for me, though, so thatâs new territory.â
âHeâs done for,â Jada says.
You chuckle again. Youâve strung along guys many times before, but this is the first time youâre doing it on purpose. Youâve never tried to hurt anyoneâs feelings; keeping your distance is just how youâve always kept yourself safe.
You feel bad for those youâve burned, but itâs not like you promised them love or loyalty. Because you learned as a kid what happens when you give a man trust. Your father walked out like it was nothing. If your own dad didnât stay for you, why would anyone else?
Rafe will make this easy. Heâs simple, like most men. He gets a little attention and thinks a girl is powerless to him. Heâs sure that youâll let your guard down. But you donât do that. You never have.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
âHowâs it going with her?â Mac asks.
Rafe drags his gaze away from his beer to glance at his friend. The two of them stand near the back doors of the sorority house, the air smelling like perfume.
He realizes Mac is looking at you. Youâre laughing at something one of your friends said, beaming a pretty smile. For a second, itâs like heâs back in Kildare, seeing you from a distance at a party, another stranger he never bothered to know.
âSlow,â Rafe answers honestly. It was just last night that he asked for your number and you passively declined. Heâs still annoyed.
âIf you canât do it, manâŠâ
Rafe smirks and nudges his friend. He refuses to lose.
âI can, asshole,â he chuckles.
Tonight, Rafe will make you wait. By the time he finally decides to approach you, heâs sure youâll be relieved.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
You shouldâve seen it coming. Jada mentioned she skipped dinner. Sheâs only had a couple drinks, but her empty stomach clearly made them hit her hard. Itâs barely an hour into the party and sheâs already wobbling.
Her knees are giving out every few steps, and youâre not confident youâll be able to catch her if she goes down. In the couple of years youâve known your roommate, youâve never seen her so wasted.
âYou should sit,â you shout over the music, hands on Jadaâs shoulders.
âBut Iâll fall asleep,â she slurs.
You breathe a defeated laugh.
âLetâs go home,â you decide. âYou can sober up. In your bed.â
âI love my bed,â Jada sighs with a grin.
You should get her out of here and with how much sheâs stumbling, youâll need a second body to make sure she doesnât fall over. Youâll ask one of your sorority sisters to help.
But thatâs when you spot Rafe.
You werenât planning to even look at him tonight. But youâve learned that if you give a guy youâve been stringing along a chance to do you a favor, heâll always take it.
You leave Jada with your friends and weave through the crowd toward him. Heâs leaning against the wall, talking to a couple guys, wearing that backwards hat he always wears. You spot Kildare Island Surfboard Co. stitched on the front.
âDo me a favor?â you ask once you close the distance.
Rafeâs head flicks toward you. A self-satisfied smirk grows on his face.
âWhatâs up?â he says, his voice low, eyes drifting to your lips.
âI need help getting my roommate home. You seem strong enough.â
Rafe sets his drink down on the nearest table without breaking eye contact. Then he tilts his head toward the door, a silent come on.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Warm night air wraps around you as the three of you step out onto Greek Row. The bass from different houses overlaps out of rhythm and the sidewalks are crowded with clusters of students.
Youâve only made a couple of steps together when Jada stumbles. She apologizes through a giggle, then leans on you so hard that you nearly lose your footing.
You grip her forearm, and Rafeâs hand is suddenly on yours, steadying Jada. His other hand settles on the small of your back.
âYou canât walk,â he snips at Jada.
You huff, feeling protective over your friend, and say, âYou donât have to be so rude.â
Rafe scoffs to himself. Thatâs rich coming from you.
He shifts to slide an arm under Jadaâs knees and another behind her back. In one smooth motion, he lifts her off the ground and settles her over his shoulder, earning her drunken laugh.
His biceps bulge under his t-shirt sleeves, and heat rises to your cheeks as you realize how effortless this is for him.
âWhich house is it again?â he asks, glancing over at you as he continues to walk forward.
âAt the end of the block,â you reply. You point to the red-brick Victorian style home, having to pick up your pace to catch up to his wide strides.
Jada begins to quietly sing, laughing at herself as she stumbles over the lyrics.
âPretty early in the night to be so wasted,â Rafe murmurs, looking over at you.
âAt least she didnât dunk her drink on anybody,â you respond, still pissed off at how he spoke to Jada. But youâre not surprised. As much as heâs trying to pretend like heâs a nice guy, you know better.
âAre you ever letting that go?â he says with a smile that you donât return.
âNot until weâre even,â you reply.
You unlock the front door of the empty house and turn to Rafe as he shifts Jada higher on his shoulder.
âI got it from here,â you tell him.
âYou kidding? She almost took you down,â Rafe says, his voice raised just enough to cut through the distant music. âJust go.â
You sigh, but as much as you donât want to admit it, youâre relieved you wonât be the one dragging Jada up the stairs tonight.
Rafeâs eyes are fixed on your legs as he trails you up the stairs, the dim light catching the perfect shape of them with every step.
The place smells like fresh laundry, unlike the staleness settled into the frat house he lives in. And the floor doesnât creak at all here.
âYour house is way nicer than ours,â he says.
âProbably âcause we actually take care of it,â you respond. He rolls his eyes to himself. Is every response of yours some kind of cut?
You reach the second floor and flick on the light in your shared bedroom. You point to Jadaâs bed so he knows where to set her down.
Rafe lowers her slowly, and as you lean in to brush her curls from her face, he takes a chance to look around, quietly absorbing the details of your room.
âHow do you feel?â you ask Jada.
âDizzy,â she murmurs, eyelids half-shut.
âIâm getting you water,â you say, âand you have to drink it all.â
âI donât want water,â she mumbles.
âDoes it look like I care what you want?â you reply, but your voice is soft in a way Rafe hasnât heard from you. He's kind of thrown by how sweet you are when you want to be.
âDo you think youâre gonna be sick?â you ask her.
âNo,â she murmurs. âIâm dizzy.â
âI know that,â you say with a gentle chuckle. âStay on your side. Iâll be back.â
You stand up to face Rafe, and just like that, the warmth disappears and the tone heâs used to returns.
âIâll walk you out,â you say.
You brush past him on your way into the hallway, and he catches a faint whiff of something sweet; heâs not sure if itâs your perfume or your shampoo or just you, but he doesnât like when it fades.
He follows you back into the hallway, watching the confident sway of your walk.
âYouâre way nicer to her being drunk than me,â Rafe says as you start down the stairs.
âSheâs my friend.â
âWhat am I?â
You donât answer right away. The light catches the side of your face as you glance back at him.
âYouâre⊠a lot of things,â you finally say.
Rafe huffs a scoff as he trails you down the last few steps. He just hauled your drunk roommate over here for you and you didnât even thank him. You went right back to being a brat.
Fuck this. He thought heâd enjoy this chase, but you seem to have a talent for making people feel like theyâre below you. He hates the thought of failing this stupid bet, but you seem impossible to win over. Why torture himself?
You reach the bottom of the stairs first, hand curling around the banister.
âIâll stay with Jada,â you confirm in case heâs expecting you to go back to the party with him.
You take a step back toward the kitchen. And then you remind yourself you need to sweeten Rafe up. This is the perfect moment to give him just enough warmth to keep him hooked. You soften your voice, tilt your head slightly.
âThank you for your help,â you add. âI couldnât have done that alone.â
You offer a smile. It does something to him. Not that heâd ever be weak for you. But he gets it now, why other guys embarrass themselves for you.
âSo, weâre even now,â Rafe flirts back, even though a second ago, he was planning on storming out.
Youâre both standing closer to each other than either of you probably meant to be. His features are all hard, strong edges, and itâs kind of irritating because you know he knows how handsome he is.
âUntil the next time you spill a drink on me,â you tease.
Rafeâs eyes flick down to your lips again, curved with that soft smile. Instantaneously, heâs been thrown back into his attraction to you, letting it consume him.
âI want to say something, but I think itâll piss you off,â he murmurs, his voice low.
âIâm sure it will,â you say.
âThen I wonât say it.â
âJust do it, Rafe,â you sigh, resigned. He realizes he really likes hearing you say his name.
âYou should smile more,â he says.
âGod,â you groan, throwing your head back. âYeah, you shouldâve kept it to yourself.â
He winces a little.
âI know girls hate hearing that shit, but Iâm just sayinâ youâre cute.â
âDonât try to defend yourself,â you respond, realizing heâs even flirtier than you expected. âJust give me your phone, okay?â
His brows lift. You hold out your hand. Your number is a reward and the trick is making him feel like he earned it.
Rafe wants to make a joke about you saying please, but he keeps it in. He hands you his phone without a word. His thoughts of giving up are a distant memory now. Heâs going to get you where he wants you. Heâs sure of it.
You type in your number, save it, and pass it back.
âIf you text me too much, Iâll block you,â you tease.
âWhatâs too much?â he asks, his gaze heavier than before.
You give a tiny, pitying shake of your head. Itâd be adorable to him if he didnât know your reputation.
âIf you have to askâŠâ you breathe with a giggle.
His smile deepens. You mirror it and turn away, heading down the hallway to leave him hanging.
A moment later, you hear the front door open behind you, followed by the quiet thud of it closing. The sound echoes faintly through the hallway as you enter the kitchen.
You were right. This will be easy.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Rafe texts you the next afternoon asking if youâre free later.
Youâre halfway through getting ready to go to the main campus library when you see his name light up your phone. Strategically, you change into something a little more revealing just to tempt him if he shows up.
You text him back that youâre about to go do schoolwork at the library and that he can join if he wants. You donât wait for his reply.
A while later, your phone buzzes.
Rafe: You still there?
You see it. And you donât respond.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
The library is pretty full for a Sunday afternoon. Rafe circles the first floor twice before he finds you. Each step makes him feel more and more like an idiot, wandering around looking for a girl who didnât even bother to text him back.
He wants to leave, but then he sees you tucked at a fourâseater table by yourself, typing on your laptop. And the work to find you stupidly feels worth it.
You donât notice him when he comes up behind the chair opposite you. Or maybe you do and pretend not to.
But he gets a full look at you before you glance up. And fuck, you look good. Your lips are pouted in concentration in a way that makes it impossible for him not to stare, and your top dips just enough that he has to drag his eyes back up before you catch him.
Your phone is right next to your laptop. You obviously saw his text. Still, he plays it cool. The worst thing he can do right now is make you think he cares. He needs to look like he put effort in, but not too much.
He slides into the chair across from you. You look up at the movement, pulled out of your focus.
âYouâre actually here,â Rafe says quietly, a hint of surprise in his tone.
âDid you think I was lying?â you ask, cocking your head. You knew heâd come. You knew he wouldnât be able to help himself.
You lean back in your chair and it gives you a second to take him in. Heâs not wearing a hat for once, his hair falling over his forehead. He looks good.
âMaybe,â he jokes, dropping his backpack on the chair beside him. âI barely know you.â
âBut youâve known of me for a long time,â you reply.
Itâs a reminder of how he agreed with Macâs insult the other night. How he later told you heâd always wanted to talk to you. You both know how small the island is and how fast gossip travels.
The word heâs heard people use to describe you rings through his head. Bitch.
But Rafeâs instinct tells him that the word feels wrong after he saw you in your bedroom last night. He canât get it out of his head, how caring you were with your roommate.
It fucked with him. He hates how badly he wants someone to be gentle with him. And how seeing that made him realize it.
Heâs been blackout drunk more times than he can count, and no oneâs ever looked out for him. His friends tell him to chill when he starts swinging at parties, but nobodyâs there when heâs actually losing it.
All heâs ever been told is to man up. Heâs never had someone care enough to try to steady him. And seeing you do it for someone only made the constant ache in his chest deepen.
Rafe looks at you now and leans back, pretending heâs unfazed, laying on his charm.
âItâs true what they say,â he answers. âThat you donât take shit from anyone.â
You wish it didnât flatter you. Youâre not naĂŻve enough to fall for his obviously sugarcoated words. But still, it feels good to be seen as someone who stands her ground.
âWhat are you working on?â he asks, leaning over to pull out his laptop.
âDiscussion boards,â you sigh. Forcing thoughts about readings and replying to classmates has eaten up your last half hour. âYou?â
âFuck, I should do those, too,â he says. You blink at him. Itâs already midterm season, and as far as you know, discussion boards make up a huge chunk of most course grades.
âHave you done any?â you say in half-amusement.
âOne.â
You nod, not surprised he expects to coast through everything.
âI donât know what to say,â he murmurs. âAll I can type is true.â
Your laugh spills out before you can stop it. You put your hand over your mouth, looking around the quiet library, hoping you didnât disturb anyone.
Rafe breathes a quiet chuckle, eyes focused on you. Itâs the first time heâs heard you laugh like that. Heâs caught off guard by how much he enjoys it because for a moment, it feels like you actually like each other.
You fall into an easy rhythm after that. You work, talk in between, occasionally catch each other looking.
And Rafe enjoys it. Youâre fun. You always have a retort, challenging his sarcasm with yours, making him feel like he has the potential to be interesting to you if he tries just a little harder.
The sun dips lower outside the windows as time passes, and eventually, Rafe leans back in his chair before he says whatâs on his mind.
Heâs supposed to be charming enough to pull you in, but not so much that you start thinking you have any real power over him. Thatâs how he wins the bet. Make you feel wanted, but not too wanted.
âThis isnât what I was thinking when I asked to see you,â he says.
You look up. Technically, he asked you if you were free, but you donât want him to think youâre hanging on his words.
âWhat were you thinking?â you ask.
His blue eyes are steady as he stares at you from across the table.
âI want to take you somewhere.â
âKeep it a surprise,â you respond, and Rafe smirks, because he knows thatâs your way of agreeing to a date.
He starts to pack up and asks if you want him to walk you home. You agree for two reasons: because itâs dark and because you donât want to say goodbye just yet.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
You set out together, the campus hushed in the late evening. As you begin to walk side-by-side, your hands brush a few times. Neither of you move away. But eventually, just like last night, his strides start to outmatch yours.
âDo you always walk so fast?â you ask.
Rafe glances over, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.
âYou want to take your time with me?â he says, but he still eases his pace.
You roll your eyes, but he catches your smile. His hand brushes yours again.
The two of you drift into conversation again, the quiet campus enveloping you. The lampposts cast pools of light across the pathways, and every time you step through one, you catch a different angle of Rafe. The curve of his grin, the way his eyes flick toward you, the way is hair a little messy from the wind.
But you donât forget the years of half-knowing each other. The stories you heard long before you ever spoke to him. The things you saw back home. The moments that cemented your opinion of him.
And yet here you are, walking beside him like itâs the most normal thing in the world. You donât like Rafe. Not a chance. Heâs being somewhat tolerable today and you donât know what his endgame is, but youâre not stupid. He definitely has one.
You refuse to believe that heâs behaving out of sincerity. But this is unexpected. You thought youâd go through this bet hating every minute with him. Heâs kind of fun. Nonetheless, itâs effortless to keep your guard exactly where itâs always been.
You stop at the front door of your sorority house. Rafe stands close enough that you feel the warmth of him.
He studies you, drawn in despite himself. Even with your posture loose and your expression calm, thereâs still a blankness in your face.
âYou know,â he says, âyouâre hard to read.â
âI get that a lot,â you reply. Youâve heard it from every guy youâve ever been with. Youâre direct when you want to be, but itâs like your inadvertent aloofness makes you some kind of mystery.
He cracks a smile. The porch light hums above you as he tilts his head, towering over you. He feels that pull in his chest again, that desire to close the space between you.
âGuess I have to ask if youâll let me kiss you instead of just going for it, then,â he murmurs.
You blink up at him, feigning innocence, while the anticipation of his lips pressing on yours sends a rush of heat through you.
âYouâre kind of desperate, huh?â you tease.
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head.
âI mean⊠look at you,â he responds.
The air thickens. His gaze drops to your lips for what feels like the millionth time, and itâs ridiculous how good it makes you feel. Rafe is looking at you like heâs starving for you. Itâs pure lust. You feel it too, deep in your stomach.
You reach out, fingers curling into the front of his shirt just enough to tug him closer, to make it clear that if this is happening, itâs happening on your terms.
His breath stops for just a second when you kiss him. His lips are soft and hot, and his hand comes up instinctively, cupping your face with a warmth that spreads across your skin.
He leans in, trying to draw you closer, to deepen the kiss and taste more of you, but you pull back before he can to leave him wanting more.
Rafeâs eyes open slowly, darker now, fixed on you. His lips are still parted and glossed from the kiss.
You knew it would feel good, but it doesnât mean anything beyond the physical. Itâs a temporary pleasure. No spark of anything deeper.
But while you donât like him in any real way, the mutual attraction is strong enough that youâre already intrigued by what more you can do with him.
You offer a smile and reach for the doorknob, leaving him just like you did last night, suspended in the heat of the moment, wanting more.
(to be continued)
new parts come out every friday at 8-9 pm est. if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications đ
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafeâs friends bet that he canât charm you into sleeping with him, he canât say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and youâre determined to break his heart.
tags college au. âit was all a betâ trope. reader is a maneater with a reputation for being bitchy. she feels nothing/he feels everything dynamic. substance use. smut. mentions of parental abandonment.
The front door is only steps away.
Your shoes stick to the stuffy frat houseâs floor, temples throbbing in response to the earsplitting music and overlapping conversations. You cup your sorority sisterâs elbow as she walks ahead of you to not get separated within the tight crowd.
You enjoy parties. Until they get to this point. Itâs way past midnight, when most people are so wasted that they can hardly speak, when your fatigue catches up with you and demands that you lie down.
Jada swings open the door and the night breeze presses against your cheeks, offering you a hint of relief. But itâs ruined once you feel a nudge against your shoulder, followed by a frigid wave of moisture down your back.
You stiffen, anger flooding through you, realizing someone just spilled their drink on you. And then you hear it. Heâs laughing.
âShit,â a man chuckles behind you.
âHowâd that even happen?â another guy shouts over him through a drunken laugh.
You turn to see the person responsible for dunking you in what smells like beer. He towers over you, throwing his head back in defeated amusement, a sloppy grin on his face and a half-empty solo cup in his hand.
Itâs the same guy you grew up around back home on the island. The same guy you spent so much of your life avoiding. A grade ahead of you, close enough to always be around, but just far enough that your worlds never really intersected.
You were thankful for the distance. Because, clearly, Rafe Cameronâs reputation for being an immature asshole precedes him; instead of apologizing like a decent person, he finds this funny.
Itâs infuriating. That and the fact that of all the colleges he couldâve chosen, he picked yours. Youâre a sophomore now, but you still remember the first time you spotted him back in Kildare wearing a shirt stamped with the emblem of your topâchoice school.
At least itâs a massive campus. And even though heâs in a frat and youâre in a sorority and your social circles overlap a lot, youâve managed to avoid crossing paths with him. Until now.
âYouâre not even going to say sorry?â you snap loudly, glaring up at him.
His brows raise a little, the laughter of his friends lifting over the noise. Frustration trickles into his features, but itâs quickly replaced with amusement again.
âAre you always so sensitive?â he chides. His attempt to make his friends laugh, to get them on his side again, works. He grins as he looks back at them, just another fratboy eager to please his social circle. What a loser.
You refuse to let it slide. Before you can think twice, you tip the cup towards Rafe, watching whatâs left of his drink stain the front of his white t-shirt.
His jaw tightens. You smirk and make your way outside, muttering to Jada about what a waste of breath he is.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
âWhat a bitch,â Mac hollers the last word loudly as they step out onto the front porch.
Rafeâs eyes land on your back as you pace away from the frat house and reach the sidewalk. His damp shirt sticks to his abdomen and when you look over your shoulder to give him and his friends a death stare, heâs sure itâs in response to Macâs insult.
And heâs glad you heard.
He tripped. It wasnât on purpose. You didnât have to spill the rest of his drink on him, but he should have expected as much from you.
âYeah, everyone says that about her,â Rafe replies, purposely just as loud.
He and his friends have finally made it outside after talking about going out to smoke for the last ten minutes. What luck to trip into you on the way out.
Even though youâre constantly orbiting each other here just like you did back home, youâve never spoken.
Youâre both on a campus hundreds of miles south from the island, somewhere hotter and brighter, but thatâs the only thing thatâs different. The way you dodge each other is exactly the same.
âOh, yeah,â Cooper recalls, his eyes following you. Rafe had mentioned that he knew you a while ago when Cooper pointed you out at a party with the plan to approach you. Rafe huffed a laugh and told him all about your reputation. âYou know her.â
âWere you guys together or something?â Mac asks.
âFuck no,â Rafe mutters with a laugh.
Heâd be a liar if he said he never thought about it. All the Kooks back home know you for being a stuck-up princess, but he can admit that youâre insanely hot and your attitude wouldnât keep him from having some fun with you if you let him.
âSo, what happened?â Mac presses. He lights a joint, taking a deep inhale before passing it over to him.
âNothinâ,â Rafe responds with a shrug. âSheâs always been like that. She has a stick up her ass and she makes it everyoneâs problem.â
âSheâs bad, though,â Cooper murmurs, taking the joint from Rafe when he offers it.
âThe crazy ones always are,â Mac adds.
Rafe looks back out towards the avenue lit up by streetlights again, watching your silhouette as you continue down Greek Row with your friend.
Heâs still pissed off at your stupid little rebuttal, but the liquor blurring the edges of his senses and the lingering effect of you talking to him, of looking at him so with such intensity for the first time, is numbing it.
Youâre untouchable. Always have been. You hardly ever gave any of the guys back home any attention, and if you did, you strung them along just to drop them. Everyone knows you as the girl who either wastes a guyâs time or snaps at him for even saying hi.
Rafe always kept his distance. It wasnât worth the trouble when he can basically get any girl. The way they light up when he gives them even half a second of attention tells him everything. Heâs used to getting what he wants without having to work for it.
But when Cooper pointed you out at that party a while back, Rafe let his familiar desire pull to the surface. He always thought you were a perfect ten. And youâre ungettable. And a deep part of him has always wanted what he canât have.
âShe just needs some fun,â Rafe says with a smirk, indulging in the fantasy.
âWhat, with you?â Cooper asks.
He looks over at his friends, both staring at him with cocked brows. A competitive fire burns in him suddenly, not liking the apprehension in their faces. Rafeâs never handled doubt well.
âYou donât think I could get her?â Rafe says.
âBro, were you not there?â Mac says, pointing to the front door behind them where you had your tantrum. âShe hates you.â
Rafe smirks, the promise of a challenge burning through him. Heâs always loved a chase, a thrill. Itâs what keeps him going in every way.
âWanna bet?â Rafe asks.
Mac chuckles again, squinting in thought as he takes another pull from the joint.
âFifty bucks says you canât hook up with her,â he says.
Rafe snorts in amusement. He doesnât need money. But heâll take every chance he gets to prove himself.
âDeal.â
âI mean all the way,â Mac clarifies.
Rafe breathes a chuckle, imagining it. Imagining his hands on you. Imagining your pretty face softening into pleasure. He wants it so bad that his pulse picks up.
âEasy,â he agrees.
âGood luck,â Cooper says.
Rafe is sure he doesnât need it.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Itâs the Friday night before fall break and youâre back in Kildare. The air is cool, but not cold enough to keep anyone home. People are everywhere, scattered across the sand, most of them back from their mainland colleges.
The mid-October breeze coming off the water has a bite to it, but itâs comforting. The sea wind drifts over your face, reminding you of how youâd grown up on these beaches, of how much you loved being close to the ocean.
You came closer to the shoreline to fill up your drink at the keg, but now, youâre taking a second to gaze out at the setting sun and the funneling waves before you head back to your friends.
âHey.â
You look up at whoever just interrupted your moment of peace. Rafe is gazing down at you, blue eyes lingering. Your chest twists with frustration, thrown right back to last weekend, when he laughed and jeered at you.
âWhat?â you say sharply.
The corner of his mouth curls into a small smirk. He adjusts the dark blue baseball hat sitting backwards on his head, the brim brushing the edge of the hoodie heâs wearing. He looks out at the water for just a second, then back down at you, noticing the full cup at your hand.
âCan we talk?â he says. âWithout spilling any drinks this time?â
You scoff and shift to return to your friends, but he steps in front of you, tall and broad and annoying.
âListen, Iâm sorry about the other night,â he says. Heâs flashing a cocky smirk, as if he can soften you to forgive him.
âItâs not going to work on me,â you respond.
âWhat?â he says, still wearing that stupid grin.
âYour sad attempt at charming me.â
Rafe tilts his head.
âYou think Iâm charminâ you?â
âThatâs exactly my point. I donât.â
He breathes a soft laugh, and you hate that you notice how nice of a smile he has.
âI was wasted, alright?â he says. âI tripped. I shouldâve said sorry.â
âNext time, donât trip,â you reply. âThat way, you wonât have to say anything to me.â
You step to the side, but he does the same, blocking you again and rasping your name.
âIâll make it up to you,â he says.
âDonât bullshit me. I heard your friend call me a bitch, and I heard you agree,â you reply. âIf you really want to make it up to me, fuck off.â
You donât look at his reaction as you brush past him and find your way back to Ivy and Alayna.
âWhat did he want?â Ivy asks as you approach, clearly having seen your unexpected encounter with Rafe by the shoreline.
âHe spilled a drink on me at a party a while ago and laughed about it,â you explain. âHe just gave me a half-assed apology and said that he wants to make it up to me.â
âAnd?â
âAnd I told him to fuck off.â
âReally?â Alayna says, gazing past your shoulder. âBut heâs hot.â
âHeâs psychotic,â you reply. âAnd heâs not that hot.â
âMe when I lie,â Alayna says.
You shake your head. Fine. You wonât admit to it out loud, but Rafe is easily one of the best looking guys youâve ever seen. He always has been. But he ruins it with his personality.
âIâm not interested,â you mutter. As you take a sip of your beer, Ivy squints in thought as she stares at you.
âBut he is,â she says. âHe obviously likes you if he forced out an apology.â
âLucky me,â you scoff.
âWhat if you went along with it?â Ivy says. âLike, if you dated him as a joke?â
You grimace in confusion.
âOh, my God,â Alayna laughs. âI love this idea.â
Youâre speechless, your gaze darting between them.
âYouâre always talking about how much guys like him never get whatâs coming to them,â Ivy says with a shrug. âYou could humble him.â
âYou make me sound so spiteful,â you respond amusedly.
âIâm the same way.â
You nod in agreement. Ivy has had her fair share of heartbreak. Watching one of your best friends go through so much pain over the years made it feel like your own at times. Youâre convinced men do nothing but lie.
And sheâs right; youâve complained a lot about how most guys, specifically the wealthy ones on this island, are assholes who never face any consequences.
âWouldnât it feel good to mess with him?â she continues.
âI can tell youâre trying to manipulate me,â you say with a playful scowl.
âIs it working?â Alayna asks.
You chuckle as you roll your eyes.
âYou guys know me,â you remind them. Youâve had meaningless flings and noncommittal hookups, but relationships have always been off the table for you. âI donât date. Especially not assholes like Rafe.â
âThatâs why heâll never see it coming,â Ivy says. âItâd be so satisfying to watch you break his heart.â
âI doubt he even has one,â you huff, but admittedly, the idea is intriguing.
âWell, itâs not like he could break yours,â Ivy continues. âIf anyone can do it, itâs you. Whatever happens, youâd walk away without a scratch.â
You finally look over your shoulder. In the distance, Rafe is in the crowd with his buddies now, in a different social circle like heâs always been. You donât know them that well, but enough to be certain theyâre all jerks.
You always stayed close to your girlfriends. Especially Ivy and Alayna. They were around when you found out your dad cheated on your mom. When he left.
Even though they were with you through it all, you never talk about how deep the wound it left in you is.
Itâs why Ivyâs right. Youâd walk away unharmed if you started something with Rafe. Because you learned at a young age not to trust men. Not to let anyone into your heart. Youâve always kept your distance, having your fun and leaving guys before they can leave you.
But isnât going along with this letting Rafe think he did charm you? You could tell with the way he approached you just now that he thought that an apology and an offer to make it up to you would have you swooning.
âThis is a guy who thinks he can get everything he wants,â you murmur to your friends. âGiving into him just validates that.â
You tilt your head, considering it. Teasing him would be easy. Entertaining. You bet heâs so used to girls folding that the idea of not giving him exactly what he expects ignites something in you.
âUnless I donât give him everything,â you add.
Ivy laughs, clearly agreeing.
You continue to watch Rafe, chuckling at something one of his friends said. Heâs attractive, but heâs a total asshole.
Youâve seen his outbursts. Youâve noticed how he carries himself like heâs entitled to whatever he wants. Youâve even heard about how he starts fights with guys from the Cut, simply because they werenât born into wealth. He genuinely thinks heâs better than them.
You quietly stare at him, letting yourself dip into the thought of how satisfying it would be to hurt him.
And how getting close to him with no strings attached would be hot as hell. You hate everything about Rafe, but you could look past it for the physical pleasure that youâre sure heâd be happy to give you.
This would be easy. Emotional detachment comes naturally. Your friends joke about wanting lessons from you on how to not care about guys. Thereâs nothing to lose here. Like every other fling, your heart wouldnât be in it at all.
âSheâs considering it,â Alayna sing-songs.
You canât help but chuckle at the way sheâs narrating, looking back at your friends again.
âYou know what?â you say. âFine. Whatever. I bet I can do it.â
âIâm not betting against you,â Ivy says. âBut, sure. Letâs just say I am.â
âOnly if he keeps annoying me, though,â you clarify. âIâm not chasing after him.â
âOf course,â Ivy agrees. âHeâs chasing after you.â
âYeah,â Alayna says in amusement. âWaste his time.â
âThis is so stupid,â you laugh, but the excitement curling in your stomach keeps building.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
This is Rafeâs favorite part of being in a frat. Thereâs always a party to go to, always noise to block his thoughts out. And when heâs back on campus and notices you from across the packed living room, heâs glad to have another opportunity to approach you.
Youâre with a couple of girls, probably from the same sorority as you, talking and looking so good that itâs kind of driving him crazy.
Heâs going to have to play the long game. You glared up at him with so much anger the other night at the beach that he could tell it wonât be easy to get you to like him.
Admittedly, it bruised his ego. But heâs not one to take a loss and simper away to lick his wounds. Heâll just have to play this carefully. You want all the power. Heâll let you think that you have it, but at the same time, he canât let you walk all over him.
Itâs going to be a game of manipulation, but Rafeâs a good liar. Itâs how he hides the truth from his friends.
He pretends to be the type to like shallow hook-ups with random girls, that this bet is the kind of shit he does all the time, but truthfully, the rush he gets from meaningless sex has always been short-lived.
He prefers to feel something real. Sex is different when the way a girl touches him means something. And he hates it about himself. How goddamned soft he is.
He just wants to be treated like he matters and thatâs what makes him such a pussy. His dad has always told him to toughen up. The advice will stick some day. It has to. If he keeps acting like he doesnât care about anything, itâll become the truth.
He shakes away the thought and downs the rest of his drink. He tells his friends heâll be right back, spotting a game of beer pong before he reaches you.
Rafe gently brushes his fingers against your forearm, then pulls away, knowing by now that he canât be too forward with you. Your smile fades when you turn to realize itâs him.
âHey,â he says, just loud enough to be heard over the music. âYou still mad at me?â
You stare up at Rafe. Your instinct is to dismiss him like you did last time. But the bet you have with your friends back home spins in your memory. You canât blow him off. You need to give him a hint of an opening.
âDepends,â you respond. âDo you always drink so much that you canât even stand?â
He flashes that confident smile of his, framed by deep dimples. Itâs irritating how it makes your stomach twist. You can keep your emotions locked up easily, but the pull of lust has always been hard to ignore.
Rafe licks his lips, reminding himself that his usual way of flirting wonât work with you. He likes to tease, but right now, he needs to be agreeable.
âNot always,â he responds. âHow good are you at beer pong?â
Your brows furrow as you ask, âWhy?â
âI need a teammate.â
You huff, his arrogance irritating you once again. Heâs so sure youâll do what he wants.
âAsk one of your loser friends,â you reply.
âCome on,â Rafe says, the gentle whine to his tone making your core curl with heat again. You did always find a little bit of desperation hot. It means a guy will be easy to toy with.
You cross your arms and it takes everything in him not to stare at your chest, where your shirt has dipped over the swell over your breasts. Now that heâs this close to you again, youâre even hotter than he realized. The way you carry yourself is something else entirely.
âIs that supposed to convince me?â you ask.
Rafe chuckles, stepping an inch closer, towering over you.
âPlease?â he says, his deep, low voice just a little sweetened.
If it werenât for the bet, youâd laugh in his face. But you sigh and agree, holding up your forefinger to your friends to tell them you wonât be gone long.
ă»ă»ă»ă»ă»
Your arms are crossed again as Rafe sets up the solo cups on your end of the table. If heâs going to drag you into this game, he can do all the work.
âWas it hard to pick?â he asks over the noise, briefly looking over his shoulder.
âPick what?â you ask as you gaze at the way his shirt stretches over his back.
âYour sorority.â
Itâs strange to hear him asking a genuine question. You know how to play this; you always give enough information to intrigue a guy, but never enough for him to learn anything too personal.
âItâs more like⊠they picked me,â you reply. âYou know what I mean?â
âNah,â he replies with a chuckle.
His rush week was over two years ago now, but he still gets irritated thinking about it. A lot of frats care way too much about academics and event planning. He hated pretending like those things matter to him.
And he figures if heâs going to get you to put your guard down, heâs going to have to be sincere when he can.
âIt was a bitch to get recruited,â he says.
âYou love that word, huh?â you respond.
He straightens and turns to face you all the way. Youâre thinking about Macâs comment the other night.
âI shouldâve told him to shut up,â Rafe replies, shaking his head.
âSure,â you say, not bothering to pretend you believe he would. Guys like him only care about what their stupid friends think.
Youâre expressionless as you brush past him to pick up a ping pong ball. The couple on the other side of the table has finished setting up.
The game begins, and itâs even for the most part. With every point the other team scores, you get Rafe to drink instead of you. He obeys.
Once thereâs only a couple of cups left on both sides of the table, your team and theirs miss a few times. Until you donât, sinking a ball into one of their cups and earning their defeated groans.
Your skin pricks when you feel big, warm hands on your waist. Sharp cologne wafts over you as he grips gently, leaning closer from behind you to murmur, âI knew youâd be good at this.â
While the guy on the other team downs his drink, you turn to look up at Rafe. He immediately lifts his hands off you, as if heâs worried about how you might react.
âHow does bullshit come so easy for you?â you murmur, cocking your head.
âWhat do you think Iâm bullshitting?â
âI think you talk to every girl the same way youâre talking to me,â you respond.
You said it to challenge him. To give him a sense that he needs to prove himself to you. But he doesnât take the bait. Instead, Rafe says something that strikes a nerve.
âWhat, you think I donât like you?â
âThatâs not what I said,â you respond with a laugh, playing it off and looking ahead.
The deeply buried truth is that heâs right. Youâve always quietly feared that nobody would like the real you. Men like the persona you put on, they like the way you look, but they donât see you. You never give them the chance to.
âHey,â Rafe says. You tilt your chin up towards him and meet his heavy gaze again. His eyes soften, his smirk teasing. âI like you. Even though youâre mean.â
Thereâs truth there. Heâd take brutal honesty over fakeness every day. But while his attraction to you is undeniable, heâs lying about liking you.
Heâd never like a girl who acts like sheâs doing him a favor by talking to him. Feeling inferior is something he runs from, not chases. The way to win this bet is to get you in his bed, though, so heâll say what he needs to.
You chuckle and roll your eyes in response. Mean. Itâs a compliment. If a man thinks youâre mean, he knows that you donât care about his opinion of you.
âI know we never really talked before,â he adds, âbut I always wanted us to.â
âThat makes one of us,â you say, but a small smile tugs on your lips to show youâre messing with him.
Warmth rises through Rafe, desire stirring in him. Youâre undoubtedly flirting, and even with all the assumptions heâs made about you, it feels really damn good to be getting your attention like this.
You linger in the moment together, the charge between you palpable, until a ping pong ball falls at your feet. The couple on the other side missed. With only one of their cups left, Rafe throws the ball. And he wins the game.
He shouts in celebration and it reminds you of all the things youâve seen back home. This is boisterous, cruel Rafe. Heâs just trying to sweeten you up now. And the best thing you can do is to leave him wanting more.
âAlright,â you sigh with a shrug, turning on your heels. âIâll see you around.â
Rafeâs brows furrow. He trails you as you push through the crowd towards the staircase where you left your friends.
âI donât have your number,â he says, catching up to you.
You stop to look up at him, his face partly shadowed by the frat houseâs dim lights, your ears ringing from the music and the noise of the party surrounding you.
âMaybe you can get it another time,â you reply. âIâm going back to my friends now.â
A faint sting of being dismissed settles in Rafeâs chest as you walk away. Heâs left alone, wondering how the fuck heâs supposed to get past your attitude. Because clearly, youâre not going to make it easy for him.
(to be continued)
this series will be cross-posted on ao3 starting next week!! new parts come out every friday at 8-9 pm est. if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications đ
summary youâre home for the holidays and while you thought youâd be excited to reunite with your friends, youâre dreading seeing zach again. itâll just be a painful reminder that he claimed your heart long ago. and that you never claimed his.
tropes/tags brotherâs best friend. snowed in. mutual pining. angst. mentions of alcohol. mild spice. she falls first, he falls harder. something about the winter season always makes me want to write about zach <3
Cold air pricks your cheeks as soon as you step out of the car. You shut the passenger door behind you, its slam echoing through the quiet neighborhood, blanketed in dusk.
Your breaths spill into small puffs of fog as you take cautious steps over the icy driveway behind Jordan, your pulse thundering.
Youâve been here so many times before. Zachâs house was the default. Always the place your group of friends met to hang out.
You got to know him over senior year, when your twin brotherâs friends and yours began to blend, the eight of you inseparable. With college looming and the thought of parting ways, you and Jordan clung to the time you still had together.
You were never the type of siblings to outright say you loved each other. Your bond showed up in the way you joked and poked fun at each other. Beneath it was always a deep friendship.
Every weekend of your last year of high school passed by with the same people, and every time you saw Zach, every time you learned more about your brotherâs best friend and teammate, every time you shared a laugh, you fell harder.
And itâs been hell getting over someone you were never even with. You havenât seen him in months, since summer faded into a memory. Yet the heaviness in your stomach betrays you, proof that every attempt to erase your feelings has failed.
You want to see him. But you donât, at the same time.
You reach the front door, and after Jordan rings the doorbell, he jerks forward, slipping and clinging onto the handle.
âShit!â he chokes.
You crack a laugh, watching your brother scramble over the ice before regaining his footing.
âBe careful,â you chortle.
âHelpful,â he chides.
You wish youâd forgotten, but you remember everything about Zach. You realize it when he swings open the door.
It comes rushing back, the way his hair is always a little messy, the way the clothes he throws over his broad frame look so soft, the way he has a permanent smirk playing on his lips. You even notice the shallow scar on his chin, the one that heâd told you he got from his little sister when they were younger, a mishap on a playground.
And most deeply, when Zachâs eyes meet yours, you relive the pain inside you that wonât fade, the pain that reminds you that youâre still hopelessly enamored with him.
âI almost just died,â Jordan says to him.
âYou slipped,â you tease, looking down as you step into the house.
You trade greetings, then follow Zach downstairs, the rumble of your friendsâ conversations growing louder. And you wonder if heâs thinking about the last time you spoke. If texting even counts as speaking.
It was a week into freshman year and he texted you: settled in? You responded, purposely without a question: yes :) Hope you are, too.
He texted a few days after, saying to let him know how your Tuesday goes. Over the summer, youâd told him about how you had back-to-back classes on opposite sides of campus on Tuesdays, and youâd joked together how youâd have to sprint to make it on time.
That Tuesday came and went. You didnât text him back. He was just being kind by checking in on you and you didnât want to go through it anymore. The nerves in your stomach whenever you wrote him a message. The leap in your chest every time his name flashed on your phone. The aching hope that he saw you as more than a friend. And the pang in your heart when you realized if he felt something, he would have told you.
Because thatâs who Zach is. He doesnât hold back. He wears his heart on his sleeve. Youâve watched him flirt with girls, watched him date them, watched him get his heart broken and bounce back, ready to risk it again. It was masochistic to hope that one day heâd look at you the same way.
The rest of your friends are already here, sprawled across the rec room downstairs, the coffee table littered with drinks and snacks. Itâs typical. Zach likes to host. He possesses such warmth, finding joy in making people feel welcome.
And you wish you could stop thinking of him like this. As more than a friend.
You greet everyone with hugs and then settle on the plush couch, conversation flowing seamlessly, as if no time has passed at all. Zach sits on the ottoman, long legs stretched out in front of him, making him look far too big for the seat.
You catch up with the group, mentioning how much you like your classes and how much you dislike your roommate. The attention eventually shifts to Zach, and you learn that his parents are away on a trip and his sister is at a sleepover, explaining the dark quiet enveloping the rest of the house.
Soon after, Jordan asks him what itâs like to play at the college level, and youâre glad he does, because youâve been dying to know despite your efforts to forget him.
Everyone knew Zach was the best on your high schoolâs soccer team. That he was destined to keep playing post-grad. Youâve sat on the bleachers many times, meant to be there for your brother but staring at Zach instead, watching him command the field and carry the team.
But you really saw him through the private conversations youâd held at the end of parties when everyone else, but you two, was wasted. You wished those stolen moments held as much importance to him as they did to you.
But he has every right not to care as deeply as you do. That doesnât make it hurt any less. Itâs left you with a feeling of not being good enough, like thereâs something about you that doesnât get Zachâs heart twisted up like he does to you. Remembering that stings.
ââ
âYouâre so bored youâre watching commercials?â
You glance away from the tv screen, focusing on Zach as he settles in the space next to you. The couch slightly sinks with his weight.
You offer him a small smile and he can tell it doesnât reach your eyes. Youâve been zoned out tonight, and after nearly an hour of watching you drift your attention between your phone and the tv, he had to come over and ask.
You look down and it brings a pang to Zachâs chest, how you donât care to really look at him. Youâre indifferent to seeing him. You did the same thing when you arrived.
He wasnât even sure you were coming. He sent a text to the group inviting everyone and when your brother responded with See you then, a part of him was worried you werenât included.
âIâm a little out of it,â you reply. A small part of you buzzes knowing he caught on to your efforts to keep him at a distance, while the rest of you freezes with guilt at the idea of making him feel bad in any way. And then, worry tugs at you, whispering that you wonât be able to play it off.
âYou okay?â he asks.
You look at him again. This attention heâs giving you, the way his eyes soften, sends a rush of endearment through you. You hadnât expected him to care this much.
âJust tired,â you respond half-truthfully.
âDid you eat?â he asks. âYou want me to get you something?â
You shake your head, your stomach coiling with a familiar ache. His kindness, his attentiveness, is what took your heart captive. That, and how much he cares about others. Heâs slipped out of the room a couple times tonight to call his sister and make sure sheâs doing okay.
âIâm good,â you lie. âWe should head out soon, though.â
You look at your brother, whoâs sprawled out on the couch, slurring as he jokes with your friends.
âYou gonna be able to drive?â you call to him from across the loud room. He realizes youâre talking to him and waves passively.
âYou can do it,â Jordan replies.
Zach sees the worry knit in your brows, the way your lips twist in displeasure.
âItâs really icy out there,â you say.
âRelax,â Jordan says dismissively.
Zachâs chest tightens. He wouldnât ever say anything against your brother, not when he already understands the way you two speak to each other sometimes, but he gets protective over you. He doesnât like when Jordan is even the slightest bit curt with you; itâs like his loyalties lie with his best friendâs sister, instead of his best friend.
âJordan,â you whine.
âIf youâre so scared, weâll just crash here,â he offers.
âDid you ask Zach if thatâs okay?â you reply.
The sound of you saying his name warms Zachâs chest.
âIs that okay?â Jordan shouts to Zach mockingly.
âNo,â Zach replies with a joke, breaking the tension.
You sigh and meet his blue eyes, frustrated that youâll have to be around Zach longer than you mentally prepared yourself for, guilty that heâll have to host you two overnight.
âIâm sorry,â you say.
Itâs not what Zach wants an apology for. Itâs weird being upset with you. But he is. How could you just write him off after parting ways for college? Itâs been needling at him for months, but now, being with you, itâs a frigid wave of sorrowful confusion consuming him.
âDonât be,â is all he offers, swallowing down the bitterness.
Youâre back to where you were before, with everyone else drunk or close to it, leaving you two to be the only sober, level-headed people in the room.
Zach gazes at you. He desperately wants to know what the hell he did to make you push him away. But more than that, he wants to know why you look so damned sad. He wants to fix it.
âYou want to play something?â he offers.
You breathe a chuckle.
âYou really feel like fighting right now?â you ask, your voice carrying a lighthearted lilt.
Itâs a glimpse of who you once were together. You used to match each other in your competitiveness, taking every silly game and pointless bet much too seriously. Your energies once wove together so naturally. Youâre trying not to go back to the past, but you crave that fun, that comfort again.
He shrugs, saying why not? with his heartbreaking grin. So much for staying away from him. He makes it impossible.
You look around the large rec room, which brims with games of every kind.
âDarts,â you decide.
âYouâre going down,â he taunts, standing up.
You canât stifle your smile as you follow him.
ââ
Youâre quiet the first few rounds, tucked away on the far side of the room while your friendsâ laughter and chatter spill around the tv. Itâs always a tight match when you and Zach play anything, both of you treating it like the stakes are real.
âYouâre standing way closer to it than I was,â Zach mumbles as you aim your last shot of the round. You narrow your eyes at him. A few feet away, he looms at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, smirking as he keeps his eyes on you.
âIâm shorter than you,â you say.
âThat makes no sense,â he says with a boyish laugh. âHeight has nothing to do with it.â
âYes, it does,â you retort defiantly, the playful gleam in your eyes enough to flush heat over his cheeks. Itâs alleviating, having you talking to him like this again. Like you used to.
âYouâre breaking the rules,â he says.
âAre you like this on the field, too?â you reply with a shake of your head. âSuch a rule-follower.â
He runs a hand through his honey-colored hair. You tear your eyes off of him to finally throw your last dart. As you step forward to pull them out of the cork, he says something behind you, almost inaudible.
âIâm barely even on it,â Zach admits, his voice quieter than youâre used to.
Your brows furrow as you grip the darts tighter, turning to face him. Barely on the field? The thought feels wrong.
âReally?â you ask, slowly stepping forward.
His jaw tightens, yet itâs so unmistakably Zach, the crooked smile curling his lips. Itâs like he canât handle any other emotion but happiness for long, like something rises up in him to push everything else away.
âIâve played like, three minutes this semester,â he says lightheartedly, dimples caving into his cheeks. âMy coach called me Matt the other day.â
The way your eyes deepen with concern is what he misses the most about you. You always did it when he told you things he tried to laugh off. He hasnât confided in anyone about how chaotic college has been. How invisible and inadequate he feels. You were the only person he could talk to about that stuff.
He was always the easygoing, happy guy, always felt like he had to be, except with you. You used to give him this perfect mix of easy banter and sincere empathy. Youâd tease him out of his frustration, and listen when he felt okay enough to tell the truth.
Then, you left him behind.
âThat sucks,â you say. You know the man standing in front of you well enough to know he thrives on approval. He must hate feeling so unseen. âIs it like⊠you have to prove yourself?â
âAll the new guys do. Itâs cool. Iâm beinâ a baby,â Zach says with a shrug. âSo, your roommate sucks?â
You frown. He does this. He offers a peek into the painful things, then brushes it away.
âYouâre not a baby,â you say. âI mean, you are, but not because of this.â
He smirks. Itâs ridiculous, but imagining you calling him that with endearment sends his pulse racing.
âWhy, then?â he asks.
âBecause you were just whining about where Iâm standing.â
âI take darts very seriously.â
You giggle. He missed that sound.
âOnce your coach sees what you have to offer, he wonât let you off the field,â you tell him. âBut donât let it get to your head when that happens. Your egoâs big enough.â
Your consolation, playful yet empathetic, settles in him like warmth.
âYou talk to your RA?â he asks.
Heâs clearly still stuck on the roommate issue you mentioned back when you first got here. But thatâs Zach: always trying to fix problems for other people.
âIt hasnât been so bad that Iâve had to,â you say.
He nods. He doesnât like thinking youâre unhappy. Youâre on his mind all the time, even during practice, which he spends hoping to get back to the locker room to see a text from you. But all heâs gotten since school started was a short reply and then nothing, and the ache in his chest just wonât go away.
As Zach aims his dart, you catch yourself studying the handsome balance of his face, gentle, but sharp.
âDonât forget theyâre there to help,â he says, eyes focused ahead.
You nod, noticing his concern, wishing he wouldnât stress over you.
âI think Iâm just homesick,â you admit. âI donât know how everyone around me adjusted so fast.â
âMe, neither,â he says. He throws the dart, then throws a second in quick succession.
âYouâre just trying to make me feel better,â you chuckle. âYou could make friends in your sleep.â
âWait. Was that a compliment?â He looks down at you and puts a big hand over his chest. âMy ego⊠Itâs growingâŠâ
âShut up,â you laugh.
âNo, go back to being nice to me.â
âNever.â
âNever?â he says in a soft, joking whine. He throws his third dart quickly, landing sixty points.
âOh, come on,â you sigh in defeat. He looks down at you again with a proud smirk, stepping forward.
âYou gotta stay sharp,â he says, holding up his dart once he plucks it out of the board. âGet it?â
âI hate how I never see your dad jokes coming,â you say. Truthfully, you hate nothing about him. His playful, goofy nature is what makes him so fun to be around.
âI think you love it, actually,â he teases.
You playfully roll your eyes, but you feel utterly exposed. Heâs right. You love everything about him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself not to.
ââ
After the game, you rejoin the group. Eventually, your friends begin to trickle out, each one escorted to the front door by Zach, reminding them to drive safely. By the time the last person leaves, Jordan is passed out on the couch in the rec room, snoring loudly.
âTen bucks he says heâs never drinking again tomorrow,â you murmur, watching from the other couch as Zach comes down the stairs.
âI canât take that bet,â he says. âYou know he says it every time.â
Standing up, you let out a laugh, though the quiet between you now feels strangely awkward.
âYou want to take my sisterâs room?â he offers.
âSure.â
âCome on. Iâll get you something to sleep in.â
You follow him up the staircase, then another leading to the third floor. As you pass the living room, you gaze at the Christmas tree, lights glowing among the crisp scent of pine.
You trail Zach to a part of the house youâve never been to. His bedroom. You pause in the hallway as he flicks on the light and steps inside.
The faint aroma of laundry detergent lingers in the air. There are textbooks stacked on his desk. His backpack slumps against the bed frame and his jersey is draped over the back of his chair. Itâs a glimpse into his life. And itâs so him. Scattered, but hardworking.
He collects a t-shirt and sweatpants from a drawer, tossing it to you. The cotton of the shirt is worn, the letters of your high schoolâs name faded but familiar. Embarrassment prickles your chest at the memory of the fantasies you once held, slipping into his clothes like a girlfriend would.
âThis is soft,â you offer, just to say something. âThanks.â
âSure,â Zach says kindly. He steps past you, opening a door to the bathroom on the other side of the hallway. âThere should be some extra toothbrushes in here.â
Of course. Youâve met his family a few times, and theyâre warm people, surely the type to have everything a person theyâre hosting might need.
Again, the fantasies of being his girlfriend return. Youâve imagined yourself as someone who matters to him so many times. You pictured evenings spent in this house, growing closer to his parents, laughing with his sister, discovering hidden pieces of him that only they know.
âThanks,â you say again, taking the packaged toothbrush from his hand. âWhich room is it?â
He silently guides you to the door beside his bedroom.
âGood night,â you say quietly.
You step past, careful not to brush against him, as if even the smallest touch would be too much. The door shuts behind you.
Of all the things hurting Zach, he can only focus on how much he hated hearing youâre homesick, especially this far into the year. That youâre sad, alone, and unwilling to let him help.
When he lies back in his bed, he stares at the ceiling, and all he sees is you.
He canât stop thinking about your coldness. Downstairs, things had felt almost normal, your conversation falling into familiarity. But now, youâre distant again, acting like you canât wait to get away from him.
What did he say? What did he do to make you so upset with him?
Itâs killing him. Over the summer, he started caring about you more than he should have, even though he told himself not to because youâre his best friendâs sister. He tried to draw a line, tried to keep his feelings under control, but they grew anyway.
And the hole in his chest thatâs formed due to the distance between you made it clear. You own a piece of him. But you donât want him. If you did, you wouldnât have written him off so easily.
Minutes pass. Zach exhales, steadying himself. He needs to talk to you.
He leaves his room and knocks on your door a few times. No answer. Maybe youâre already asleep. Maybe youâve wandered to another room in the house.
This is his only chance. He canât imagine returning to campus with this hanging over him. He needs to know what he did wrong.
ââ
Zach finds you in the sun room.
For a moment, he simply looks at you curled up on the couch, the night pressing against the glass panes stretching around you. Only the back of you is visible, the curve of your shoulders outlined by the faint light quietly buzzing from the overhead lamp.
He taps his knuckles on the wall to get your attention. Your gaze goes from the backyard, blanketed in shiny, untouched snow, to Zach. Heâs standing in the doorway, having the same effect on you as always, making your heart skip.
His presence eases something in you, but it sharpens the hurt youâve tried to bury, too. You came down here searching for a shred of peace, the knowledge that he was only a wall away from you too much to take, but your thoughts of him have refused to slow down.
Heâs in his pajamas now, and it throws you off balance. The intimacy of seeing him this way.
âHey,â his voice is low.
âHi,â you reply.
He lingers, nerves coiling, the same kind of pressure he feels before a match. And the fear of what you might say is almost crushing. His eyes drift over his shirt on you as the words sit in his throat.
âWhatâd I do?â he finally says.
âWhat?â
âDid I do something?â he rephrases. âYouâve been acting different.â
Anxiety rings through you. You havenât hidden it well enough.
âIâm good,â you say quickly. âIâm fine.â
âNo, youâre not,â he says, a hint of irritation in his tone. He looks mad, and itâs odd, because Zach never looks mad at you.
Youâve only seen him angry once. At a championship game, when your brother was roughly taken down by the other teamâs midfielder. He was livid at the guy. A glimpse of that intensity flickers now.
âAre you mad at me?â you ask.
The sadness in your eyes undoes him. It doesnât feel right to be towering above you, creating a power dynamic. He settles on the couch beside you, the fabric of the cushions creaking under him.
Zach elbows are planted firmly on his thighs, shoulders tense as he looks out the window, instead of at you. His hands hang loosely, lacing and unlacing his fingers.
He is mad. But heâs hurt, too. And so confused.
âYou just⊠stopped talking to me,â he says. You notice the rise and fall of his Adamâs apple, bobbing at his pause. âYou said youâd keep in touch.â
It was a passive promise you made, because you thought he didnât really care all that much. Zach is simply a friendly person, and it was better to accept that than to pine after him any longer.
Pushing him away was an act of self-preservation. It hurt too much to love him and not have him love you back.
âI didnât think you cared,â you murmur.
His gaze flicks to you, the corners of his mouth twitching, betrayal etched into his features. It breaks your heart. You wounded him. You implied that his kindness was insincere. That your friendship was hollow.
And again, itâs unlike anything youâve seen before with Zach â heâs not cracking a smile or making a joke to ease the tension.
âIâm sorry,â you say. âI didnât mean it like that.â
Your mind spins with everything you havenât said. Your unspoken confession claws at your heart, but fear keeps your lips sealed shut. You canât possibly tell him the truth.
Your longing, your buried feelings, how long youâve pretended you didnât want more than friendship, all weigh on you.
âThen, why?â he presses.
âI⊠I figured you were just being nice.â
He breathes a scoff. Youâre only hurting him again. It was the wrong thing to say.
âThis isnât coming out right,â you sigh. âI told you downstairs. Youâre good at making friends. You get along with everyone. You care about everyone. I thought I was just⊠I donât know.â
He grimaces. How could you not know how important you are? How did he mess up so badly that he led you to believe you donât mean anything to him? He came down here angry with you, but now heâs angry with himself.
Zachâs stiff. He looks so upset. And you canât take seeing him like this. Despite your better judgement, you put your hand on him, cupping the inside of his elbow.
Touching him, even so innocently, makes your stomach tighten. Youâre close enough to smell toothpaste and soap, to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. He needs comfort right now. A friend. And you took that away from him.
Zachâs jaw tenses, eyes fixed ahead. Your touch makes his body buzz, mixing with the shame sitting deep in his gut. He needs to prove how much you matter to him.
âI tell you things nobody else knows,â he says.
A jolt of surprise surges through you. You mean more to him than you imagined. You didnât know you carried his secrets.
âIs it something I did? Or is something else bothering you?â he murmurs, finally glancing at you again. âIt sucks to just⊠not talk.â
âIt sucks for me, too.â You swallow hard. He misses you. His blue eyes are fixed on you, swimming with hurt and a hint of disbelief. âHonestly. It does.â
You clear your throat. It feels wrong to lie, to make up that youâve been busy. But it feels just as hard to tell him you pushed him away because he was unknowingly hurting you.
âI was wrong,â you say. âIâm really sorry.â
You donât know if you can continue to be friends with him. But right now, it feels like you have no choice. How can you possibly abandon him?
Zach chews on his lip. Regret laces through him. He made you feel insignificant. And it gives him a sense of anxiety heâs never felt with you.
âIâm sorry, too,â he says. âI donât want you thinking I donât care about you.â
You should let go of him. You donât want to. But you do. You clasp your hands in your lap, heart racing as you consider that baring it all to him.
He deserves to know the truth. You canât let him think heâs responsible for any of this. Itâs not his fault you fell for him.
You flatten your lips together, wondering how to start. Wondering if you even can.
You can see the hurt and confusion in his frown. He just wants to figure it out, how a girl could go from acting like a best friend to a stranger.
You inhale slowly and push past the discomfort, because he deserves a real answer.
âZach, I distanced myself because staying friends was hard for me,â you say, keeping your eyes on your lap. âI know you donât feel the same way I do and I was trying to protect myself from getting hurt. But I hurt you instead and Iâm sorry. I shouldâve been honest about my feelings for you.â
He straightens. It feels unreal, like a dream he doesnât want to wake up from. Apprehensive hope burns in his chest and heâs almost afraid he isnât hearing you right.
He says your name softly. You look up at him. It hurts more than you couldâve imagined, confessing your feelings to someone when you know he doesnât return them.
âYou donât have to try to let me down easy,â you tell him, looking away again, shuffling to stand up. âI already know.â
âWait,â he half-whispers, but you need to leave. Your throat tightens with the threat of tears, with the burn of rejection and embarrassment.
âHey, hey, wait,â Zach says. He stands and strides forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat, and suddenly heâs there, between you and the open door.
âItâs okay,â you respond, shaking your head, still not looking at him.
âYouâre way off,â he says.
Your gaze meets his, holding you in suspension. He tilts his head gently, blue eyes soft as they linger on you. And then, for the first time since he entered the room, his lips curve into a smile.
âWhat?â you ask, because your aching heart refuses to let you believe it.
Zach breathes a sigh. It sounds like relief. And finally, he touches you like heâs always wanted to, slow and hesitant.
When his hand cradles your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone, you lean into his touch. The faint roughness of his fingertips sends a shiver through you, equal parts comfort and surprise.
You can only hear your breathing, the howling wind outside, the ticking clock in the hallway. The warmth from his palm on your cheek comforts you in ways you didnât know possible.
âYouâre wrong,â Zach says, voice low and soft. âIâm crazy about you. Have been for a long time.â
He studies your pretty features, unable to believe this is happening, that itâs real, that the ache heâs held for you goes both ways, that you want him, too. And he craves you so much that it hurts.
âI need to kiss you,â he confesses, his deep voice hushed. âCan I?â
Every piece of you numbs in pleasure, in joy, and you only nod, because youâre not sure youâll be able to speak.
He dips low and the feeling of his lips against yours is even better than what you dreamed. Zach is warm, insistent, sweet. The heat of him pressing closer makes your head swim.
A faint bang from downstairs shatters the moment. You flinch, pulling away as though the contact burned you. The silence that follows is heavy.
Zach blinks, as if waking from a dream, the shadow of your brotherâs presence hanging over him. He momentarily forgot the reason heâs held back all this time. But now, with his lips still tingling, he canât seem to remember why it ever mattered.
His hand lingers at your wrist, and his voice is low, thickened by desire.
âDo you want to go to my room?â he asks. Heat floods through you, his words promising a world where only the two of you exist.
ââ
Youâre in a fit of giggles by the time you make it to Zachâs bedroom, your hand in his.
âYou ran up here,â you whisper through a laugh. âI could barely keep up.â
He smirks, shutting the door behind you, cradling your face like he might lose you.
âCan you blame me?â he murmurs.
His mouth captures yours again and your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. Slowly, he licks into your mouth, the taste of his tongue prompting a soft moan to spill from your throat.
The sound makes Zachâs body tighten with desire. He deepens the kiss, hands sliding down to yours to guide you to his bed.
You sink into the soft sheets, your head on his pillow, as he hovers over you and continues kissing you, slow and careful, still subdued because he doesnât want to move too quickly.
âYou okay here?â he whispers, hand gripping your hip, lips pressed against your neck.
âYes,â you breathe. Youâre in disbelief that youâre tasting him, feeling his heartbeat against your chest.
Time blends and weaves into itself, your hands threading in his soft hair as you share deep, slow kisses, savoring each other.
His lips are swollen when he eventually pulls back, eyes half-lidded as his gaze sweeps over your face.
âI didnât think you liked me back,â he whispers with a shake of his head and a shy smile.
You breathe a soft laugh, tilting your head back in his pillow.
âItâs pretty obvious now, isnât it?â you reply as you brush your fingers over his jaw.
âI wouldâve told you a long time ago ifâŠâ Zachâs voice trails off, worry flickering in his gaze.
âIs it because of my brother?â you ask gently.
He flattens his lips together and nods. In that moment, the past feels rewritten. He did feel something for you; he just held himself back.
âDo I tell him?â you say, a bit concerned that he doesnât actually want this to go anywhere.
âTell him,â he says without hesitation. âIf he wants to kick my ass, I can take it.â
You laugh, the sound soft and uncertain, but it feels good to let it out. Zachâs arms tighten around you and though youâre not sure how your brother will take this, you know heâll adjust.
Because there isnât a single reason strong enough to keep you away from the man holding you.
ââ
Footsteps thunder toward you as you sit in the corridor by the college bus stop. You look up just in time to see Zach, lips parted as he pants, clinging to the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. Heâs clearly sprinted straight from practice to find you.
âBreathe,â you say with a giggle, your voice light but full of affection. Youâve only been here ten minutes, after a long bus ride you took just to visit him.
âI hateâŠâ He sighs, dropping to one knee in front of you so he can meet your eyes despite the chaos of students shuffling past. âI hate making you wait. Iâm sorry.â
âI knew you had practice,â you chuckle, squeezing his shoulder. âItâs okay, baby. Sit down before you pass out.â
He chuckles, collapsing onto the bench beside you, still catching his breath. Itâs something else, hearing you call him baby, spending his practice knowing heâll be seeing you and holding you and touching you afterwards.
âCoach kept me back to talk,â he explains, excitement flickering in his tired eyes. âHeâs putting me on the field for the start of the next game.â
âThatâs amazing,â you muse, leaning closer. âCan I say it now?â
âGo ahead, baby,â he sighs, with a smirk.
âTold you.â
Your righteous grin makes him laugh. He takes your hand, lifting it gently to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.
Youâve been together just over a month. Your brother was shocked at first, but when he shrugged and told you to just not be gross around him, you knew heâd accepted it. And now, sitting here with Zach, you realize youâve accepted it, too. This is real. Heâs yours.
Zach stares at you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Right now, in one word, he feels lucky. Lucky that he knows you. Lucky that you want him, too. Lucky that you came all this way just to be with him. Lucky that he fell in love with you.
As the corridor hums with footsteps and voices, Zach leans in to kiss you. For him, all the noise stops here. When heâs with you.
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
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You canât have heard your father right. Ice creeps through your ribs, wrapping around your heart, locking you in place.
âWhat are you talking about?â Rafeâs terse tone runs through you. Itâs like heâs in a different room, instead of right beside you. You canât grasp whatâs happening.
âWe made it clear that the public needs to believe youâve matured,â Kal says, his gaze fixed on you. âEverything you do reflects on this family. The attention youâve drawn in the last six months hasnât been favorable. The contract spelled out that anything that damages our reputation has consequences.â
âMom won.â You look at Celeste, her face pinched in something youâve never seen in her before. She averts her eyes. âWe got married. People bought it. Tell him. I did what you told me to do.â
âThereâs proof of every single time you didnât,â your father says, motioning to the lawyer. Your stomach twists when you spot the printout of paparazzi shots capturing the mistakes youâve made, all the moments that looked worse than they were in the last six months.
âTheyâre always going to find things to twist and criticize,â you say. âYou canât use that against me.â
âLetâs just end this the way we planned to, Kal,â Rafe says tightly.
Itâs all so clear how he orchestrated this, every move calculated to make it seem like he tried. But he didnât. He wanted you to teach you a lesson in the cruelest way.
âI donât blame you,â he responds to Rafe, voice calm but cutting. âYou held up your side of the deal. You kept me informed on her like I instructed you to. You can walk away now. This doesnât preclude the possibility of working with you and your father down the line. Itâs my daughter who ruined this. Not you.â
His words are another attempt to isolate you. To hurt you. He included Rafe in this conversation to give him an out, and to make you watch him take it.
âYou meant for this to fail,â you say. You shoot a glance at Celeste, confirming to her that what you suspected was the truth. âYou didnât expect me to make it this far, did you? And now youâre grasping at straws so you donât have to follow through. Because you never were going to.â
âDonât be ridiculous,â he huffs.
âFollow through, then,â Rafe says.
âYou think you can give me orders?â Kal smirks. âI already told you, youâre not liable here. Iâll leave a good word with Ward. I insist you leave now. Your job is done.â
You look over at Rafe, meeting his eyes. He doesnât budge. Itâs a silent show of loyalty, proof that youâre more important to him. Itâs undeniable that youâre the one heâs choosing. Your stomach turns, your throat tightening.
âWhat couldâve I done differently?â you say quietly, brokenhearted, looking at your father.
Rafe feels it burning inside him, the protectiveness, the rage, the disgust at the way the woman he loves is being treated. Your life is on the line, and this man is still committed to punishing you.
âI have it right here,â he scoffs, finger pressed on the stack of proof. Hot tears start to build in your eyes, and youâve lost all your pride now. You donât care who sees. In fact, youâre glad they do. Youâre glad theyâre witnessing the damage theyâve done.
âNo,â you say, voice breaking. âWhat couldâve I done for you to love me?â
Kal shakes his head and huffs like you just told a joke.
You know the answer. You shouldn't have complicated their lives. You shouldâve been healthy. You shouldâve shut up and obeyed like your brothers did. You shouldâve taken the abuse and never questioned or challenged it. Or really, if he got what he wanted, you shouldâve never been born.
âItâs not all negative press,â Celeste chimes in, voice tight, clearly unused to challenging her boss. âThat interview went very well. And the public likes them together. Perhaps we should extend the contract? Leverage the positive press?â
You meet her eyes, touched by her small act of defiance.
âDonât let her tears fool you,â Kal says with a passive wave, and finally, Rafe snaps. He stands and slams a fist on his desk with a sharp crack, sending a few of Kalâs items to spill over in a chaotic scatter.
âYouâre done fucking with her,â Rafe says, leaning over the desk. âShe did every damned thing you told her to. Youâre not scamming her out of her money.â
âHer money?â he laughs. âI earned every dollar in that account. Sheâs not entitled to it.â
âYes, she is,â Rafe states. He looks down at you, at how small and scared you look, and his love for you burns through him, consuming him. âThis isnât over.â
âDid you forget who I am?â Kal mutters. âIâll ruin you.â
âItâs nothing compared to what Iâll do to you.â
âYouâre threatening me?â he says.
Rafe cocks his head to you in a soft gesture towards the door, to leave with him. Your legs barely hold you as you stand. Being defended and protected like this is still a shock to your system, like your body doesnât know how to process it.
âI am,â he replies clearly. âAnd I donât give a fuck that youâre blackmailing us. Whatever you did for my dad, itâs not worth this.â
âBlackmailing?â Kal says, confusion etched into his tone. Shock floods through Rafe. He glances at you, then at Kal again. The certainty in him falters. Heâs unwilling to accept it, sure that this is another manipulation tactic.
âI donât have anything against your father,â Kal says. âWhatever she convinced you of was a lie. This was meant to be a clean and mutually beneficial agreement.â
Rafe doesnât correct him, doesnât say that the claim came from his own father, not you. Heâs too shaken up.
Youâre in a trance, the news that Ward lied to his own son adding to the shock. Kal rises slowly, deliberately.
âListen very clearly,â he says to Rafe. âCameron Development will be blacklisted. I will make it my personal mission to destroy you and your family, unless you leave this alone. This is your last warning.â
This is the moment that could define everything. His future, his family, his integrity. And Rafe doesnât even have to think twice. He inches forward, eyes locked on Kal.
âIâll see you again,â he says firmly. âSoon.â
You donât look back as you walk out. Rafe stays solid beside you, his steady presence enough to keep your legs moving. The door shuts behind you.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You sit in the passenger seat and hold your purse against your stomach, your trembling fingers at the opening just in case you need your inhaler, just in case your lungs give out.
âFucking asshole,â Rafe mutters under his breath, his grip on the steering wheel tight, knuckles pale. âWhat a piece of shit. Heâs not going to get his way, alright?â
You stare at him, his eyes narrowed as he eases the car down the winding driveway. There was a time you judged him for how deeply he cared about his fatherâs approval, his career. But then you understood why itâs everything to him, and he just gave it up. And you canât accept that. You donât know how to be worth that.
âPull over,â you half-whisper. His gaze snaps to you, confusion tied with anxiety, and he slows the car to a stop, tires crunching against gravel just past the gate.
âItâs not too late to go back,â you say. âIâll find a way to cover my treatment. You can⊠even help me if you want to until then and Iâll pay you back.â
The last part catches in your throat. Youâve never been good at asking for help, but this isnât about you anymore. Youâre desperate to give him something, anything, that feels like a way out.
And you realize that instead of looking out for your survival, just like you always have, youâre looking out for his.
âI always knew there was a chance he wouldnât give me my inheritance,â you say. âIâll be fine.â
He knows youâre lying. If it were really that simple, you wouldnât be clawing so desperately for your trust fund. You wouldnât be fighting like your life depends on it. You need to get your money and you need to escape these people.
And heâs convinced, terrified, that if you donât get the help you need, if youâre denied even a fraction of it, your condition will get worse, just like it did when you were a child, when they ignored you.
âDonât lie to me,â he says.
âJust tell him you take it all back, okay?â you say, tears building again. Rafeâs expression fractures with something that looks like betrayal. You canât just surrender like this. This isnât the woman he knows.
âNo.â
âRafe, you heard him,â you say. âHeâll ruin you.â
Youâre thinking about him. Your world just collapsed, a promise shattered, but youâre thinking about him. It cracks his heart open. He inches closer, his hand settling gently over yours.
âBaby, youâre shaking,â he realizes. âAre you breathing okay?"
Your face crumples, his care, his loyalty, his sacrifice heavy on you. Itâs too much. You look down, ashamed, unsure how you could ever deserve this kind of devotion.
âYou canât do this,â you repeat.
His hands rise to cup your cheeks, warm and firm. He guides you to meet his gaze again. His lips part, his eyes search yours.
âLook at me,â he says, low and steady. âI love you. You canât make me take any of it back.â
Despite the pain wringing you out, softness breaks through after hearing him say those words, like sunlight warming your skin after a night that you thought was your last. Youâve imagined a moment like this a thousand times, but none of those daydreams came close to the reality of being chosen like this.
You nod slightly. Your vision is blurry with tears of sorrow and pain, of happiness and shock, and you know in your heart that no matter how hard you try, Rafe wonât take back his choice. The depth in those blue eyes, the sincerity in his deep voice, are proof. He means every word.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Rafe gets you home first. He helps you into bed, brushes your hair back gently, and assures you heâs got everything handled. Then he slips out, confident heâll catch his father at work after the lunch hour, having already told him he had a meeting with Kal this morning.
His head aches as he approaches his dadâs office, thoughts colliding. Thereâs so much he wants to say. He doesnât knock. He walks straight in. Ward looks up, eyes blazing with fury.
âKal just called me,â he says. âWhat the hell are you thinking?â
Rafe shuts the door and sinks into the chair across from the desk. Anger burns in him. His father lied to him and he still canât wrap his head around it.
âHe said heâs not holding anything over you,â Rafe says evenly. âThat true?â
Wardâs somber expression says it all. Rafe feels the last thread of hope snap. Heâd wanted to believe his father respected him enough to be honest. Heâd wished Kal was playing some twisted trick.
âYou were spiraling,â Ward explains. âYou wouldnât have done it. But now I know I shouldâve never trusted you. You threatened him, Rafe?â
He scoffs in bitter disbelief. Of course his dad is twisting it, justifying it, like he always does. Beneath the anger, fear creeps in. Kal is powerful. Who knows what he could do to them? Still, going back on his word isnât an option. He canât leave you to the wolves. He wonât.
Because through the noise, all he can hear is your voice, reminding him he doesnât deserve the pain his father puts him through. That he never did.
âYou lied to my face,â Rafe says. âYou spewed bullshit about how you donât trust me, and you lied.â
âI had to,â he says. âWe need this partnership. He just called me to tell me heâd make us regret this. How could you do this?â
âHeâs backing out and screwing her out of her money,â he says evenly.
âIt is not your place to intervene,â he says. âYou do this. You get emotional and you make a mess of things because you canât get a handle on yourself.â
The sting of dismissal is familiar. Itâs an ache of being brushed aside, like his feelings are inconvenient.
âI told him Iâll get this settled,â his father tells him. âYou need to apologize, cut ties with that girl, and be done with it.â
Rafe shakes his head and mutters, âIâm not doing that.â
âFor Godâs sake,â he mutters. âWho are you? I thought you said she was impossible.â
âI was wrong.â
Ward leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him as he shifts his weight. The room is still, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant ticking of the clock.
âYou know what this sounds like?â he says. âIt sounds like you care more about some spoiled princess than you do about our family.â
Rafeâs fists clench as his nails dig into his palms. Heat floods his chest, a slow burn of rage and pain.
âDo you care about our family?â he says. âIâm your son. You wonât even listen to me or - or hear me out. You took his side over mine before you even let me explain. You pushed me into this. You lied to me. You got us involved with that asshole, and now that Iâm fighting for something important, you want me to back down.â
âDo you hear yourself?â he says. âOur business is important. How did you lose sight of this?â
He didnât lose sight. He just found something worth more. You.
âYou made me sign that contract,â he says, voice low but firm, eyes burning as he stands up, âand Iâm seeing it through.â
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Your body eases when you hear the front door open. You shift the cutting tray from the edge of the kitchen counter and turn to find Rafe standing there. His shoulders are drawn up, tense.
âWhat happened?â you ask, voice soft but urgent, closing the distance.
âHe lied,â Rafe says, eyes dark and distant. âI wanted out, so he lied to convince me to go through with it.â
âThatâs so messed up,â you say. âIâm sorry.â
You see it in his face, the betrayal, the disbelief, the ache.
âIâm going to find a lawyer,â he says. âAnd Iâm getting you out of this.â
âRafe, you donât have to,â you say, stepping even closer. âIâve been thinking about it. You can walk away. Iâll fight him on this. I can do it. Thereâs no reason for you to lose everything for me.â
His eyes soften, like heâs remembering where he is. Who heâs with now. He loves you and he doesnât have to say it again, and he doesnât have to hear you say it back. Itâs just a fact. A fact he sees no point in hiding.
âIâm not leaving you to do this alone,â he says. âDo you trust me?â
You want to argue, but you know him. You know that look in his eyes. Heâs already decided. Even if it breaks him, heâs going to do this. Resigned but also relieved, you nod, settling the disagreement.
âAre you cooking?â he asks, trying to soften the tension between you, having caught the sound of chopping when he walked in.
âYou did it for me,â you say, offering a small smile, âso Iâm doing it for you.â
You stare at each other for a long moment. Thereâs no future in this, not with your illness hanging between you like a shadow neither of you can outrun. But for now, thereâs enough keeping you together.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Rafe goes into the meeting with one thing in mind: your father will either make this clean, or Rafe will make it public.
He found the best lawyer money could buy, had him tear through the contract line by line, paid extra to have him prepped and ready for today. Every detail accounted for. Every loophole closed.
When he walks into Kalâs office, his breath is steady. Thereâs no hesitation. This is what he was meant to do. To protect you. To stand between you and the man whoâs done nothing but hurt you.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Itâs nearing 11 pm. Youâre sitting up in bed, legs trembling with anxiety. Youâve been like this since Rafe left earlier this evening. He got your father to agree to meet. Knowing his ego, he probably thinks Rafe is coming to beg for forgiveness. To fall back in line.
Heâs doing the opposite. He told you that he loves you, and you believe him. And now, he quite literally has your future in his hands, and you trust him to carry it. Heâs right. Youâre too weak for this fight. The stress is carving through you, slow and merciless. Your breathing keeps catching, shallow and uneven, your lungs struggling.
And then, your phone rings. Itâs him. You scramble for it, hands shaking, heart thudding against your ribs.
âHey,â Rafe says when you pick up. His voice is tired, worn thin after the long meeting. âItâs done. Youâre getting your money. There are some clauses to it, but⊠it was the best we could do. Youâre getting all of it, okay?â
The weight on your chest vanishes, not sure you can believe it.
âYouâre coming home now?â you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
You hear a tired chuckle on the other end, so soft and so him.
âYeah.â
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Rafe finds you sitting up in your bed, eyes wide, fear etched into every line of your face. And like always, it hits him. Aching, relentless love. That instinct to protect you from everything.
He crosses the room, sits across from you on your bed, his hand finding yours, the other holding a clipped document.
âHe had to set up a trust fund for you,â Rafe says, seeing in your expression that youâre desperate for answers. âYour great-grandfather wrote in his will that every heir in the family gets one. Your dad had no choice.â
You blink, trying to process. Your great-grandfather, a man you never met, who built this empire you were born into, made that rule, and your father had no choice but to honor it.
Itâs disorienting, considering how much you thought you hated your family. You never spent much time wondering about the ones who came before your dad. You assumed they were all the same.
âKal didnât want you to have it,â Rafe says. âHe came up with this stunt to fuck it up for you. He didnât expect you to actually do it.â
âAnd he didnât expect you to be on my side,â you say in awestruck realization. You werenât entirely wrong; your father did want to punish you, but if it weren't for this rule, he would have just written you out completely, with no need for this scheme.
You look down at the crisp, official stack of papers in Rafeâs hand, Trust Distribution Authorization stamped across the top.
âWhat are the clauses?â you ask.
âI fought him on them,â Rafe says, flipping through pages. âBut my threats only got so far. He was saying some insane shit, like he gets to decide what you do with the money and that you have to send reports of your spending. We got him to back down on that, but not everything.â
He stops on a page, with Conditions of Release in bold. You lean closer, eyes travelling over the words. To preserve public standing, the Beneficiary shall adhere to the following behavioral conditions. You read on.
Mandatory attendance. You need to show up when youâre told to attend family events, public appearances, and anything your father deems important, to a limit of one event a month.
Speech restrictions. You canât air out family drama. Youâre not allowed to speak negatively about your father or the family in public, on the internet, anywhere.
âTheir argument was that your familyâs value is tied to their reputation, and you play a part in that,â he mutters bitterly. âWe couldnât negotiate out of it.â
You read that if you breach this contract, you face a mandatory repayment, and that the conditions will remain in effect for a fixed period.
âFive years?â you read aloud.
âAnd then youâre out,â he says. âThe old contract didnât hold up because the conditions were too vague. But he canât play any games with this one.â
Your eyes land on the bolded line at the bottom: Total amount released. The number is surreal. Itâs enough commas to make your stomach turn with relief and excitement. Finally, this money is yours.
You know your father will try to sabotage you. He doesnât believe you can do this. You canât wait to prove him wrong.
âIâm sorry I couldnât do better,â he murmurs. âI wanted to make it a clean break for you.â
âAre you kidding?â you say. âI wouldnât have anything without you. I can handle five years.â
You rest your hand on his chest, where his heart drums against your skin, bottom lip caught between your teeth.
âWhat happens to you?â you ask softly.
âI take you to the bank tomorrow,â he replies.
You let out a quiet, bittersweet laugh, eyes tender as they settle on him.
âYou know what I mean.â
âIâll deal with it later,â he says.
You give a small nod. If heâs not willing to go there right now, you wonât make him. The fight is over. He went into battle when you didnât ask him to. Made choices that cost him. You still donât know how to carry the burden of what he gave up. You can only hope that he finds the happiness he deserves.
âThank you, baby,â you say in a whisper, pulling him into a tight hug. âThank you so much.â
You pull back, and you donât want to say it, because the vulnerability aches too much.
âCan you sleep here tonight?â you decide to say instead.
His lips tug into a smile, his eyes tired, his nod gentle. After you get ready for bed, you settle in under the duvet and Rafe folds around you, protective and warm. You shut your eyes, wrapped in calmness.
That feeling comes back, the one where you feel like you fit, like your edges align with his. But everything around you pushes back. Reality wonât bend. It wonât make room. This canât work. But nonetheless, he deserves to know how you feel.
âI love you, too,â you say into the dark. He presses his lips on the back of your shoulder, caught between gratitude and sadness. He canât believe he was lucky enough to meet you, to be loved by you, and so fucking unlucky to lose you. You were never supposed to stay. And he has no right to ask you to.
You fall asleep in his arms, to his tender kisses, in a melancholy peace that youâve never known before.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Rafe is sure that Kal is still going to do whatever he can to follow through on his threats. He only hopes that after telling him that his father forced him out of the company, that he doesnât support anything Rafe is doing, itâd leave an impact.
Despite everything, he still feels loyalty to the man who raised him. He hasnât officially pushed him out of the company yet, but he knows he will.
He slowly leaves your bed the next morning, walks down the hall to his room, closes the door behind him, and dials his father. He recounts the conversation with Kal and the lawyers from the night before. Then he finishes quietly, âI told him youâre against this and that you already fired me. So you donât have to do it, alright? I know Iâm out.â
The other end is silent. Rafe is glad he doesnât have to see the disappointment in his fatherâs face. He knows his father banked on his undying loyalty. That he was sure even with the lie coming out, he would still choose him. But things changed.
âYou do this over the phone?â Ward says. âYou donât even face me like a man?â
âFor what?â Rafe scoffs. âYouâd fire me anyway, wouldnât you?â
Another pause. Longer this time.
âIâm sorry, dad,â he says, voice softening. âI still want to work for you. I still want to make you proud and take over the business one day. But IâŠâ
He paces the room, words catching in his throat. He can try to force the type of relationship he always wanted, but itâs no use. Telling him the truth, that he loves you in a way he didnât even know he could love a person, would just be used against him.
âYou never cared about the business,â Ward replies. âI hope sheâs worth everything weâre about to lose.â
The line goes dead.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You wake up alone. The sheets are still warm where he lay, but the space beside you is empty. You stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting the quiet settle in. This something youâll have to get used to. Waking up without him close by.
Rafe keeps his word. He drives you to the lawyersâ office, then to the bank that morning, eyes flicking toward you every so often like heâs checking to make sure youâre still okay. When you pull into the bank parking lot, he asks if you want him to wait in the car.
You hesitate, then tell him to come with you. Having him beside you makes the whole thing feel less daunting.
Inside, you meet with an advisor. The process is clinical and efficient. You sign a few forms, answer a few questions, and just like that, the trust fund is yours. But before you leave, you pause and ask about opening a separate account.
The advisor nods and leaves the office to retrieve the paperwork. When youâre alone again, Rafe turns to you, brow furrowed. He doesnât say anything, but the question is written all over his face.
âIâm putting some money aside for my nurse,â you say quietly. âShe has a son and I want her to be able to give him whatever he wants without working herself so hard.â
Rafeâs chest twists. Underneath it all, underneath the defensiveness and anger and harshness heâs seen, youâre a sweetheart at your core. After a moment, he clears his throat.
âYou want to get lunch after this?â he asks.
You laugh. It bubbles up unexpectedly, light and warm.
âVoluntarily? Not because a publicist scheduled it?â
âFor once,â he says with a smile.
âYeah,â you agree.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You can hardly wait to walk into a public space and not feel like youâre on display, to not have eyes tracking your every move. You and Rafe settle at a table in the corner of a small restaurant, feeling gazes on you.
You worry for him. Heâs gotten used to being in the public eye now, but you hate to think about him being followed once you leave, hounded with questions about your break-up.
âYou okay?â he asks, eyes softened. You realize he noticed the concern written in your face.
âTheyâll be even more annoying than usual after they hear we split up,â you say, your voice low. âTheyâll probably be trailing you everywhere.â
âI can handle them,â he says with a smirk, touched by your worry for him.
You mirror his smile. Gratitude swells inside you, overwhelming, filled with guilt and awe. You still donât know how to accept all that heâs done for you.
âIâll start the process,â he says. âI can get whatever you need to sign mailed to you.â
The annulment will be a clean break, a necessary one, and yet itâs bittersweet. Somewhere along the way, Rafe became someone you love. You wanted it to end, but not like this. Not with the sadness of losing someone.
âYou donât have to,â you offer. âI can handle it.â
âI know you can,â he says. âYou wonât, though.â
You roll your eyes playfully, and his dimples deepen with that familiar smile. For a moment, you let yourself study him, as if memorizing every detail in his handsome face might help you hold onto this. Then the question slips out, quiet but sincere, âAre you going to be okay?â
His brows draw together, like no oneâs ever asked him that before.
âYeah,â he answers.
âDid he let you go?â
Rafe exhales through his nose. The laugh he doesnât bother to make is thin, edged with something like relief.
âI quit before he could,â he tells you.
Sharp guilt digs into you again. He gave his future up. What he was working towards for years. For you.
âDid you find a place yet?â he asks.
âI found a few promising apartments this morning,â you say. âNothing too far. I donât want to be somewhere I have to get on a plane for since Iâm going to be coming back here.â
Rafe nods slowly. You admire him, every piece of him. His steady competence. His strong resolve. His care.
âHow can I pay you back for everything?â you ask softly.
He takes you in, and sees that under the confident person heâs come to know is a woman who isnât sure sheâs worth another person caring this much about her.
âI was an asshole to you when we met. I went along with your dadâs plan. This is me making up for it, okay?â he says. He flashes a hint of a sad smile. âWe even? You gonna stop moping now?â
You breathe a soft laugh, nudging him playfully. Youâre nowhere near even, but thereâs no convincing him that you werenât worth it.
Youâre glad that if it had to be anyone to be pushed into this with, it was him. You canât imagine any other man deciding to pull this stunt, just to end up saving you from everything.
Heâs not the opportunistic man you once thought, or maybe he was, but he changed. It heals something in you; that someone got to know you, and became better for it.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Two days later, you exhale a deep breath as you pull out the suitcases from your closet. You stand in the middle of your bedroom, taking mental inventory of everything you have left to do, the room cast in the setting sunâs glow.
Your new apartment, a two and a half hour drive away, is just a listing on your screen, a few photos and a vague floor plan. You havenât seen it in person, havenât walked its floors, but itâs booked and rented. Itâs waiting for you.
You called the nearest clinic this morning. Your treatment is scheduled, your information already sent over. Itâs official now. Youâre planting roots in a town where no one knows your name. Itâs what youâve always wanted. Except you never expected to have a reason to miss this place.
You start to pack, then a box topples, textbooks spilling across the floor with a heavy clatter. Rafe hears from the living room, and he rushes over, his footsteps quick and purposeful as he slips through your half-open door.
âYou okay?â he asks, crouching beside the mess, eyes scanning for anything that mightâve hurt you.
âYeah,â you say softly, collecting your things. âThanks.â
He nods, helps you collect the books, hands skimming over glossy covers. He thinks of all the times you were locked up in your room, studying, never once expecting praise, because you never got it.
âKeep me company?â you say to him.
Rafe shifts the box across the floor once itâs full, then settles on the edge of your bed, his eyes traveling over your room like heâs keeping track of whatâs left.
âWhen are you leaving?â he asks.
âFriday.â
He nods. Two days. You must feel it, too. The pain of knowing that youâll miss each other. Now, with time slipping through your fingers, you both realize how hard it will be to let go.
âWhen are you moving out?â you ask, opening a drawer and pulling clothes out.
âDonât know yet,â he says. His father hasnât been answering his calls. Itâs like heâs in limbo, suddenly on a different life path with no map. âI could stay here. It might be a decent place without your music blasting all the time.â
You laugh and flip him off, but your chest aches, knowing you wonât be able to joke around like this with him anymore. Then, your eyes catch on something, the flimsy top you wore on your first date. You pick it up, smoothing it out with a cocky smile.
âRemember this?â you ask, holding it up. âYou wouldnât stop staring.â
He leans back, smirking. He remembers that night too well, how you walked into the restaurant, all attitude. Heâd been drawn to you instantly, and just as quickly repelled. You were chaotic and beautiful, and you still are, but not in the way he once thought.
âYou were always so obvious,â you tease, folding the top.
Rafe stares at you. How can you say you love each other, and not try to make this work? The thought gnaws at him. It loops in his mind, louder than the silence between you. Youâre folding clothes, teasing him like always, and heâs watching you with a desperation he doesnât know how to voice.
He remembers every fight, every laugh, every moment that made this more than it was supposed to be. And now, with the end looming, heâs drowning in the need to know.
âWhat do you want?â he says, voice low.
The air thickens. Your pulse picks up. Itâs a question only heâs asked. Nobody else in your life has truly cared what you want.
You know you donât want to stay here, among your familyâs toxicity. You need to escape the tabloids, with their twisted narratives. Youâve been living under a microscope and you need to get away.
You drop your clothes, legs weak as you step closer to sit next to him on your bed. He stiffens, leans forwards, interlaces his fingers.
âBeing around me is hard for you, isnât it?â you ask. You put your hand over your chest, over the part of you that will never work the way it should.
You think of the night you lost control of your breathing and the way he held you. He was what you needed, but itâs because he didnât know what was happening. He didnât know how frequently your body gives out. Now, heâll always be looking out for it. Always worrying. With how protective he is over you, youâre sure of it.
Rafe looks down, jaw tensing, not agreeing with you, but not disagreeing either.
âItâs a big part of my life,â you say. âMy treatment is intense. Sometimes my symptoms spike. I shouldnât have to hide it and you shouldnât have to see it. This just⊠it wouldnât work, right?â
You always wished you werenât sick. It was a silent wish, tucked into the corners of your mind, but now, itâs the loudest itâs ever been.
Rafe swallows hard. Now that youâre asking him if you can handle this, he knows heâs too damn broken. He canât be who you need him to be, canât be steady, canât be a man who doesnât lose his mind when shit gets hard.
Heâd like to think heâs stronger than the anxiety, but heâll always be afraid of losing you the way he lost his mom. And that what happened to her could repeat itself in him.
âItâs not just you, okay?â he says, voice strained, almost cracking. âWhat if - what if what happened to my mom happens to me?â
You feel his words settle in your chest like stones. You thought you were the only wrench in the plan. The only one whoâd bring uncertainty into the relationship. But now you see it: heâs been holding onto another type of fear, not only that heâd watch you slip away, but that youâd watch it happen to him.
âIâm used to not knowing whatâs going to happen next,â you admit. âIâm okay with it. Are you?â
You watch him, your fragile words settled between you, as you wait for his answer.
âNo,â he says, under his breath. It crushes your heart. You had a shred of hope that heâd prove you wrong, that his love for you would be bigger than the fear his trauma left in him. But still, you canât blame him.
Rafe stands. It cuts to know for certain now. You always felt like a problem, and in some way, you are to him now. Someone that would be right for him, but canât be because of the way she was born.
âTake care of yourself,â he says, keeping his eyes off of you.
âYou, too,â you say to his back.
He stops at the doorway. Shakes his head to himself in self-loathing, in how badly he wishes he could just be complete. Heâs always had this fear in him, and like everything else, you made him face a part of himself heâs been running away from.
âCan you let me know when youâre in town?â he asks, a quiet plea buried in the question.
Before, the idea of staying tethered to him scared you. Now, youâd take scraps if thatâs all you can have. A fraction of Rafe is better than nothing at all. You almost want to ask him what for. If you canât be together, why torture yourselves? But not having him in your life at all would be worse.
Heâs still turned away. Your breath hitches with a sniffle, and you reply, âI will.â
And he leaves.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Youâre contractually obligated to be here, but youâd want to come anyway. Eira and Sam have welcomed a beautiful baby girl into the world. You stand stiff in the nursery, the camera flash catching your hollow expression in the family photo, a curated moment for the public, a performance of unity.
Later, they let you hold her. Sheâs warm, impossibly small, and the protectiveness you felt over her only intensifies. You make a silent wish to anyone whoâll listen that your niece grows up healthy, safe from the curse that followed you.
Itâs been over a month since youâve seen Rafe. You didnât know how much it could hurt to miss every piece of a person. He called to make sure you made it to your new place okay. It was a short, emotionless call. Then, a week ago, you received the paperwork in the mail. Your fingers traced over his inked signature, his part of the marriage signed away, before you signed, too.
Your throat is tight once you finally leave your family home. You pace towards your car and pull out your phone to see a text from Iris. You handed her a sealed envelope at your last appointment, telling her that youâd be moving away, but that you wanted to get her something to say thank you.
You left your number in case she had any trouble accessing the bank account. She called you soon after to say she couldnât accept this, the tears thick in her tone. You told her that nothing could change your mind.
After responding to her text asking how youâve been, you open Rafeâs contact and text him: Hi. Iâm in town.
He responds minutes later: Can I see you?
You ask him if heâs still at the condo you shared. He replies he is, and to come over.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Rafe was stupid to stay here after you left. Every corner of this place reminds him of you. The walls still echo with your voice, your laughter. He has to leave soon. Heâs going to settle on a job, then move the hell out.
He walks through the condo like heâs haunted. He replays the way you silently hugged him goodbye when you walked out the door for the last time. He misses you so much it aches in places he didnât know could hurt. When he first moved in here, he thought heâd feel relieved once the contract ended, but he feels nothing but loss.
And then, he hears a knock, and itâs like the air leaves the room.
Rafe opens the door, and you meet the face you havenât stopped thinking about since you left. His blue eyes are tired, his sharp jaw going from tight to relaxed.
âHi,â you say.
âHey.â He steps aside. It feels wrong to let you in like youâre only a guest. The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly itâs just the two of you, standing in the same room again. âHow are you?â
âGood,â you say. His eyes travel over you, his heart thumping, finally reunited with the woman who owns it. âI just met my niece. Sheâs tiny.â
He sees the endearment in your eyes. Youâve spent years building walls around you, but heâs fortunate to see this version of you, the one who still believes in love.
âDid your parents try anything?â he says, voice sharp at the edges. That protectiveness of his is still alive and burning.
âI didnât even look at them,â you reply. âAt least they canât bother me for another month.â
âI keep thinkinâ about how I shouldâve fought him harder on that.â
âWell, stop,â you order.
He puts his palms up in defense. The corner of your mouth lifts, the first smile since you arrived. His eyes flicker with relief. The air is tense, but youâre still you, acting how you used to together.
âYou want something to drink?â he offers.
Itâs a quiet check-in. He waits, hoping youâll notice the care tucked into the question. He wants to ask about your health, how youâve been, if youâre off those meds, but the words knot in his throat.
âMake it strong,â you say, and it settles him. If you can drink, youâre off those meds. Youâre doing better.
Soon after, youâre on the balcony together. Far down below, the beach stretches out in golds and silvers, the tide curling in slow breaths. Itâs nearing 6 pm, and the sun hangs low, casting long shadows.
The air smells like salt. The breeze is cool but not cold. Every so often, a cloud slips in front of the sun, dimming the world in gray before the light returns.
âThis is so pretty,â you say, legs stretched out on the wicker recliner. âI didnât appreciate this as much as I shouldâve.â
He glances at you and takes a slow pull of his scotch before he answers. You seem so much lighter now and it brings him ease.
âYou were too busy fighting with me,â he replies, lips wet from his drink.
âYou started it,â you say with a laugh. He looks down, unable to laugh, too.
âI did,â he says. He did start all of it. You asked him, nearly begged him to back out of this deal, and he refused. It set off a painful chain of events, and even though he was once glad to have met you, right now, sitting next to you, feeling the warmth of your arm from mere inches away and knowing he canât touch you, is the first time he regrets it.
Itâs a bitter, tangled thing in his chest. Maybe if he didnât go through with the publicity stunt, your father wouldâve found another way to screw you out of your money, and you wouldnât have had the help you needed to get it.
Or maybe everything wouldâve been better if Rafe stepped away, and youâd have the strength to fight for your trust fund without needing to go along with a stupid scheme, and you both wouldnât have found love in a person you canât give it to.
You stare at his profile. His grimace is subtle, but unmistakable, regret etched into the lines of his face. You can feel it radiating off him. Heâs hurting.
âWhatâs new with you?â you ask, gently, carefully.
Blue eyes find yours, and he almost looks caught off guard, like he didnât expect you to be watching him. He takes a moment, then decides to tell you.
âI got an interview tomorrow,â he says. âThird one out of four at this place.â
You nod, letting the silence stretch just long enough. Heâs looking for a new job. Heâs not working for his dad anymore. You wonder how it ended. How badly his father cut into him after choosing your future over his.
âFour is intense,â you say. âMust be a good position.â
âIt is.â
He doesnât offer more. The sun dips behind another cloud, casting everything in soft gray. You just want to make him feel better.
âI donât know how things are with your dadâŠâ You look out at the distance, your lips flattening. âBut I saw how hard you worked and I donât think you ever got the recognition you deserved. I hope you can find that.â
Your words land softly, but not deeply. The ache Rafe is feeling is too worn-in. Itâs a voice thatâs lived in him for years, telling him that heâs not enough. Not for his father, who only ever saw the flaws. Not for you, who asked for something he couldnât give. And not even for himself, when he looks in the mirror and sees all the ways heâs fallen short.
Whatever you think he deserves, he doesnât know how heâd accept it without being afraid heâll lose it.
Rafe only nods. Heâs a vault, and you donât blame him. He already bared himself to you so much, just for you to part ways. It makes your heart pinch in pain. If this is how itâs going to be, seeing him casually, keeping things surface-level, youâre not sure you can do it.
âMy lawyer called me this morning,â you say, in an attempt to change the subject. âItâs official. What are you going to say to the reporters when they find out we broke up? Are you going to talk bad about me?â
Youâre attempting to joke, to lighten the air thatâs grown too heavy between you. And even though heâs hurting, even though the pang in his chest feels like it might never let go, he humors you.
âIâm telling them you were only in it for my last name,â he murmurs.
You chuckle, trying to keep it light, trying to pull him out of whatever dark place heâs sunk into. But his smile isnât genuine.
You know what his real smile looks like, the way it crinkles the corners of his eyes, the way his dimples dip into his cheeks. This is him pretending for your sake. And you canât stomach knowing all youâre doing here is hurting him.
âI should go,â you say, sitting up, the corners of your eyes burning with a sudden threat of tears.
âWhat?â Rafeâs voice is soft, surprised, and youâre shocked yourself that he thinks this is worth dragging out.
âItâs a long drive,â you say, avoiding eye contact. âThanks for the drink.â
You cross into the condo, putting your glass away in the sink, unable to walk fast enough to get out of here. You rush to the front door, throat dry, but when you reach for the doorknob, his hand wraps around your wrist.
âWait,â Rafe whispers, his thumb brushing slightly against your pulse, agony laced in the word.
You glance up at him, lips parting. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything is stripped bare. The pain in his gaze is unmistakable and you know he sees the same in you. Neither of you says a word, but itâs all there, suspended. The hurt, the history, the longing.
He shifts his weight, turning to face you more fully, towering over you. That familiar mix of his cologne and warm skin hits you instantly and floods your senses with memories.
âI miss you so much,â he rasps, a subtle shake of his head betraying the heaviness behind the words. Heâs been carrying it for too long, and saying it aloud is both a release and a wound.
âI miss you, too,â you admit.
Your eyes drop to the floor. The silence stretches, thick and aching, until you feel his gaze on you again.
âBe with me,â he says, voice low.
Your eyes finally gloss over when you look up at him, the emotion rising before you can stop it. Itâs the sting of something old tearing open again. The wound splits wide and you feel it bleed into the space between you.
âIâm sick,â you say, the simple words landing like a blow.
His sad eyes search yours.
âI could be, too,â he says.
âBut you...â you say, your voice trembling. âYou wouldnât be a burden to me.â
âYou think youâd be one to me?â he murmurs.
It unearths a painful fear in you that youâre a chore. Maybe youâd feel like this with any man whoâd want to be with you. Or maybe itâs just because itâs Rafe, someone who carries enough pain already.
âYes,â you admit.
âYouâre wrong,â he tells you. You sigh, a wall slowly coming up as you gently twist out of his grip.
âWhat if itâs too much for you?â you challenge quietly, crossing your arms.
âItâs not.â
âWhat if youâre saying that now, but-â
âYouâre not going to talk me out of loving you,â he says. âI was an idiot to walk away. Iâm sorry and Iâm - Iâm in this if you are.â
His pulse pounds in his ears as he looks down at the woman who changed everything for him, who changed what he wanted out of life and who he wanted to be. He canât fathom watching you walk out that door again without trying this, for real.
Youâre still, staring at him, parts of you screaming that heâll leave you. That heâll see who you really are and decide youâre not good enough. But thatâs just it. Heâs already witnessed every little piece of you, good and bad, and heâs still looking at you like youâre the only thing worth looking at.
âWhat are you thinking?â Rafe half-whispers.
You donât have words, so you let your body take the lead, like it always has with him. And you kiss him.
Every movement is slow but hungry. You drift into his room, lie down together in his bed, your lips locking, wet smacks and soft sighs between you. He hovers over you, cupping your face, kissing you so deeply and tenderly that your skin tingles.
Eventually, his hands move lower as he peels your clothes off, yours trembling in excitement as you undo his shirt buttons. He strips you to your bra and panties, dipping to kiss your neck and your collarbones and your chest. He kisses your sternum, kisses your rising and falling chest, kisses over the part of you that you always thought was unloveable.
You rub your hands over his firm, bare chest and tug off his shirt. You push him to his back, and he lets you. You straddle him, moaning when he guides you down to sit on his thigh. He pulls your hips forward, silently encouraging you to grind against him. You moan louder this time, the friction, with only your panties and his jeans between you, good but not enough.
âI missed those sounds you make,â he mumbles, his breath hot against your mouth.
âI missed the way you touch me,â you say.
âYeah?â he whispers. âLike this?â
His hands trail up your back as you continue to grind on him, unhooking your bra and throwing it to the floor. He grips your breasts, kneading them as you writhe, wrapping his lips around your perked nipple. You whine in pleasure, his hot tongue flicking as he flexes his leg to give you a firmer surface to get yourself off on.
You slowly sit up off of him, desperate to make him feel good. You tug his jeans down, eyes widening when you see his attraction for you tented beneath his briefs. You lustfully gaze at him through low lids as you pull down the band, his cock springing out.
Everything in him burns as he watches the way you pump him slowly, moving to hold him to your mouth. You part your lips and take the head in, swirling your tongue over him.
âFuck,â Rafe groans. You lower, sucking harder, and he canât take his eyes off of you. âFuck, thatâs good.â
Your core aches with need, tasting him, pleasuring him, showing him how much you love him. Your hands cover where your mouth canât reach, stroking as you bob up and down.
He laces his fingers in the roots of your hair, gazing at you with pure love. His body tightens with the promise of an orgasm, and he realizes itâs always going to be like this; heâs always going to want to make sure that you come first, and that he can come inside you.
âGet up here,â he orders. You obey, shifting to kiss his lips, on your knees so he can peel off your panties. His hands firmly grip beneath your thighs, pulling you even higher. You realize he wants you to sit on his face, and you whimper when you lower to feel his hot mouth on you.
Your knees sink into the bed as he laps at you, gripping your ass and exploring every inch of you with his tongue. His moan against you sends a vibration through you, making you quiver. You gently writhe, panting as he laps at you, moaning when he sucks your clit. Youâre so hungry for the pressure of him inside you that it hurts.
âI need you inside,â you beg. âPlease.â
You shift, lips on his as he guides you onto your back, moving so your head is on his pillow. It smells like him.
Rafe guides himself inside you without wasting a second, and it feels like coming home. You wrap your legs around him, hooking your ankles, holding him tight. This is the most wanted that heâs ever felt.
Your kisses are deep as he starts to rock in and out of you, filling you perfectly. The sounds of your moans and your breaths and your wet skin smacking fills the room, clinging on to each other, sure to never let go again.
You come undone together, breaths catching as you tremble against each other. He continues to leave slow, lazy kisses on your cheek as you tighten together where your bodies meet.
He doesnât feel any rush to pull out, and you donât feel any rush to separate, either. He props himself up on his elbows, a hand brushing your hair back as he stares down at you.
âI love you,â you whisper.
âI love you, too.â
âYeah?â you mumble, a tremble in your tone. Even after everything, itâs scary to be this vulnerable. To give him the power to break you.
âWhat is it?â he whispers, catching the way your brows furrow.
âI still donât know why you gave up so much for me,â you say, your eyes pricking with tears. He frowns, lips swollen from how much heâs kissed you.
You have a lifetime of being broken down behind you, just like he does. Youâre expecting him to hurt you, to not love you all the way, and he realizes itâs not because you think low of him, but because you think low of yourself. Because all youâve ever been told is that youâre a problem.
âI didnât have anything before you,â Rafe says, and he means it. âYouâre everything. Youâre everything I want.â
It breaks your heart, then puts it back together again. And you let go, you let him own you completely, and you stay tangled up in each other with your promise heavy between you.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Itâs been three months since you and Rafe began a real relationship. Itâs been fun and passionate and fulfilling. Thereâve been tough times as youâve continued to learn to adjust to each otherâs quick tempers and strong personalities, but you feel like you already have your worst fights behind you.
You open your front door to see him leaning against the frame with a coy smile in a crisp, dark blue suit. He drove over to your place straight after work, at a new firm that offered him a much more senior position than he ever had at his dadâs business. They still havenât spoken, and you can tell it bothers Rafe, so you never bring it up, just like he never talks about your family unless you do.
âHey, baby,â Rafe says, stepping in and kissing your forehead. Your lips twist in frustration. âWhatâs that look for?â
âWhy donât you ever let me visit you?â you say. He wouldnât give into your requests to make the drive this time. He comes to see you much more frequently and it feels unfair that you hardly ever go see him.
You think he stays in town in the hopes that heâll repair things with his dad one day. For now, you wonât push the subject. Heâs still fragile, and so are you. You make appearances when you need to, and Rafe offers to come every time, but youâd rather handle your family on your own. Youâd rather keep him out of the mess.
âDamn, youâre already fighting with me?â Rafe mumbles with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around your waist. The door shuts behind him.
âDonât be so bossy and we wonât fight,â you reply.
âIâm bossy?â
You narrow your eyes adorably.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â you mutter.
He chuckles, and you crack a smile, perching on the tips of your toes to kiss him.
âI like giving you a break from the drive,â you tell him.
âI like knowing youâre here, safe, waiting for me,â Rafe says. âAnd I donât want those reporters botherinâ you.â
Every time youâre spotted back in the city, youâre hounded by the press. The last time you met with Rafe there, an image of you two hugging in his car made headlines, with comments like I thought they were broken up? flooding the posts.
Heâs right. Itâs better for you here. But that doesnât mean youâre okay with him having to make the trip more often.
âFine,â you give in. âDinner will be here in five.â
âI was going to pay for it.â
âGuess you canât always get your way, can you?â you respond with a shrug, earning a defeated laugh from him. You give him one last kiss before you part.
Rafe goes into your bedroom, changing into sweats and a t-shirt that he keeps in his drawer. Eventually, your takeout arrives, and you place it on the coffee table in front of the tv. Youâre about to sit down next to him, but he leans forward to cup your hand and pull you forward. You laugh as you settle on his lap.
âDid you have a good day?â you ask, arm draped over his shoulders.
You gaze into his kind eyes, unable to believe that you once thought there was nothing but bad in this man. Thereâs so much good, and you know itâll take a while to convince him of it, but itâs work youâre willing to do.
âJust got way better,â he says.
You roll your eyes and breathe a laugh, and every time he earns that pretty smile on your face, it fills him with joy. Itâs all he ever wants. Making you happy is the most important thing he can do in this world.
You take a moment to sit like this together, to appreciate that thereâs endless, enduring love between you now, and nothing else.
Youâve both felt homesick all your lives, and you thought that you always would, until you found comfort and love and belonging in each other. Until you found home.
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
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Rafe walks down the marble corridor, his shoulders stiff. The wedding venue is extravagant and performative, which he expected. Thatâs what your relationship was meant to be, after all.
Fatigue is buried into his bones. He hardly slept last night, consumed by the fact that you were so close, just on the opposite side of the condo, hating him. Heâd left in the middle of the night to go for a drive, just to burn off the restless energy stirred by your fight.
Itâs fucked up how it all happened. Thereâs something about you that makes him want to be good, and the contempt in your eyes when he told you that he knew was proof he failed.
He reaches the door. Waits for the lump in his throat to go away. Stares at his hand, knowing heâs minutes away from wearing a ring that wonât mean what it should.
You already have a headache from how tight your hair is pinned. The veil is itchy against the backs of your arms, your heels uncomfortable even though youâre seated, last night echoing in your head. Youâve been keeping your tears in today. But you couldnât control them last night. Your pillow was drenched by the time you finally dozed off.
The warmth you thought you had with Rafe vanished. You thought you didnât trust him, but this feeling of betrayal can only come from someone you gave a piece of yourself to.
The sound of the front door opening had partly pulled you out of your sleep. Before leaving this morning, you realized he must have stepped out at some point, so you peeked into his room just before sunrise, a stone settling in your stomach at the thought that he mightâve abandoned you. But there he was, asleep in his bed. His bare back cast in shadow, his face turned away.
Youâre meant to walk down the aisle in fifteen minutes. The glass of champagne on the vanity in front of you sits untouched. In an odd way, youâre glad you canât mix alcohol with your meds, because you wouldnât be able to stop yourself.
Your mother, sisters-in-law, and the two college friends Celeste had suggested for your bridal party, Bea and Mara, are all gathered in the bridal suite with you.
Samâs wife, Eira, is heavily pregnant now, and again, you think of how the baby could inherit the same illness, and possibly the same neglect that you did. The cycle could repeat and it makes the ache sitting inside you even sharper.
Theyâre making polite conversation, trying to include you, but youâre zoned out. Youâre just nervous, is what you told them. The truth is so much heavier. And only two people in this room know that this marriage is a sham - you and your mother.
You barely register the knock at the door. It blends into the noise of a chaotic morning. Just another person working to put on this show, you figure, without giving it a second thought.
Bea opens the door, and someone lingers out of your view, concealed and tucked behind the frame. She looks at you, brows furrowed, then back at whoever is standing there.
âAre you supposed to be here?â she says with an awkward chuckle.
âI need to talk to her.â
His voice is low, familiar, buried deep in your heart. Heads turn towards you. You feel like you need to brace for impact, yet a part of you yearns to see him, even after everything heâs done to you.
âYouâll see each other soon,â your mother interjects with a forced laugh, clearly worried about what this means, about what itâll look like.
âLet him in,â you state.
âBut itâs bad luck for him to see you in your dress,â Eira chimes in.
âI donât believe in that,â you reply impatiently.
Bea looks at you for approval, you nod, and then she swings the door open all the way. Rafe steps in, eyes landing on you. His grimace falls, a mixture of awe and disbelief, like he didnât expect you to really be here, dressed like that, waiting to do this.
He falters. Youâre stunning, but the thought is cheapened because he knows none of this is what you want. This isnât the life you asked for, and admiring you in it feels like a messed up thing to do.
If this were a real wedding, youâd be in a different dress, one thatâs more you, wearing a smile, and not glaring at him like you feel cursed that heâs the man youâre marrying.
You look miserable. The people around you donât know about the war inside you. He didnât either, for so long.
âGive us a minute,â you say to the room, your stare on him. Youâre looking at him like you did when you met all those months ago, ambushed in your fatherâs office, enraged when you learned why he was there.
Everyone starts to slip out, shuffling quietly, whispering between each other, the door clicking closed. The air is heavy with everything youâve been through together and with what youâre expected to do today.
Like always, Rafe looks devastatingly handsome. He crosses the room, the sharp lines of his charcoal black suit catching the light. He grabs the closest chair and spins it with one hand to face you, the scrape of its legs slicing through the silence, just like the day he barged into your life.
âWhat are you doing here?â you say, your voice thin.
He sits, and when he sees the pain in your eyes, the instinct to keep you safe burns strong. Itâs why he came. To make sure you can handle all this today.
âYou still okay to do this?â he murmurs. Fear coils in your chest, convincing you that he'll leave you stranded and take away your only chance to get your trust fund.
âAre you?â you accuse. âIs that why you left last night? You shouldâve just backed out then instead of doing it now.â
Rafeâs brows furrow. Your words are a slap to the face. He didnât know you heard him step out. Didnât know you assumed the worst.
âI went for a drive,â he says, incredulity in his tone. He wants to reach for you, but canât bear it if you do what you did last night, when you pulled away from his touch like he repulsed you. âIâm still in. Iâm asking if you can handle all this today.â
You scoff, knocked off balance that he thinks he can act like heâs worried about you after you laid yourself bare and he still chose to lie.
âWhy are you pretending like you care?â you ask, betrayal wringing your heart out.
After everything youâve shared, every secret, every night tangled in each other, he didnât expect this. He came here thinking youâd find a way back to each other, find common ground before you stand up in front of everyone. He came here for you, but youâd rather insult him.
Rafe sighs your name, laced with disbelief. It makes your blood boil. Itâs like heâs trying to discipline you.
âWhat?â you snap.
âThatâs bullshit,â he mutters. âYou know it is.â
âDo I?â
He huffs and his temper flares above the pain, hot and unavoidable.
âJesus,â he says. âCan you grow up? I came here to fix this.â
Your throat is tight, threatening tears, loathing the implication that youâre some sort of petulant child. And just like last night, spitefulness grabs a hold of you, tells you to hurt him like he hurt you.
âWhatâs there to fix?â you argue.
Blue eyes search yours, stunned and wounded. He traps his bottom lip behind his teeth, like he doesnât want to say what heâs about to say, but knows he has to.
âNothing, right?â Rafe responds, silently praying youâll prove him wrong. The pain is a bruise on his heart, aching because again, heâs being rejected. He can read it in your eyes, the way you still hold onto resentment. Itâs more important to you than he is.
âNothing,â you echo in confirmation.
He stands up. The door swings open. Celeste looks at the two of you in shock.
âWhat are you doing?â she chides Rafe. âYou canât be here. You need to get to the altar.â
He storms past her, knowing he needs to go back to who he was when this started, when he only wanted to square away a business deal and do right by his father.
He wishes he knew nothing about you. He wishes you stayed what he thought you were: a spoiled brat, easy to dismiss and easier to forget.
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The music begins, soft and far too beautiful for what this moment really means. Each note echoes through the enormous chapel as your father nudges you with his elbow to hold his arm. Your hand feels numb, like itâs not yours anymore.
The feeling of hundreds of eyes on you, the feeling you know too well, only brings you more ache. The ivory aisle stretches ahead of you, lined with faces you donât know. The scent of the bouquet is too strong. Your dress is suffocating. And you step forward.
Your chest burns. The anger is familiar, all youâve ever had. It hurts, until you look up to see Rafe waiting at the end. The man you never meant to fall for, who made you feel safe, just to break you. Your heart stirs, and you hate that beneath the pain, you feel relief seeing him in a crowded room.
You think of how he said your father seemed happy to be the one to tell him about your illness. The man walking with you wants you to suffer, and heâs getting what he came for, because this is the most heartbroken youâve ever been.
You reach Rafe, keep your gaze low, and he takes your hand, desperate to take you from your father as soon as he can. Itâs not for the crowd, not for the cameras. Itâs for you, despite how badly you hurt him. You squeeze the way you always do when youâre angry, and his pain doubles knowing that heâs the reason.
The music ends, shuffles echo through the hall as guests settle in their seats, and the officiant begins to speak. Youâre watching the way Rafeâs thumb brushes lightly against your hand, and finally, you gaze up at him.
And you want to hate him, but in this moment, framed by soft light, you see him for everything he is. The good and the bad.
A part of you still wants to sympathize with him, even when your heart begs it not to. Heâs only standing here because heâs starved of approval. Of love. You still donât know what exactly happened to his mother, but you know he watched her fade away, and you canât fathom the hole it left in his heart.
Thereâs still so much pain buried deep in you, hurt that he had to see you suffer to realize you didnât deserve it, hurt that he knew you were sick and kept it from you. But in this fragile moment, with so many eyes on you, you can only be anchored by him.
Despite yourself, heâs who you love. Yet, no matter how much it consumes you, you canât force yourself to forgive him for every way heâs hurt you since you met.
When youâre repeating the vows after the officiant, your voice shakes when you have to say that youâll trust youâll choose each other every day, in sickness and in health.
Rafe eventually slides the ring onto your finger. He tells himself to pull back from this moment on. You only see the worst in him, and maybe thatâs all thatâs left to see.
Every effort of his doesnât matter to you. What a masochist heâs been, letting himself fall for you. You just told him thereâs nothing to fix, and he needs to accept that whatever you two shared means nothing to you.
Youâve lived moments like these together so many times before. Youâre angry. Heâs angry. But you both know how to bury it just deep enough to make it through the spectacle.
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Following the ceremony, you, Rafe, and your wedding party are directed outside the venue for photos. As you pose under the cloudless sky, you think of how much money is being wasted on this. How a month from now, youâll quietly separate, and it will all dissolve into silence.
What you hate most about taking these photos is having to stand anywhere near his father. Just being close to the man who hurt Rafe, who laid hands on him, makes your skin crawl.
At the end of the session, the photographer asks for final shots: close-ups of the rings. As you and Rafe stiffly hold hands, your mother crosses her arms and sighs to herself.
âWhy didnât you get your nails done?â she mumbles to you, then looks to Celeste. âHow did that get missed?â
âShe was supposed to,â Celeste says stiffly, shooting you a death glare.
You recall that morning, when you smiled politely at the woman in the salon, mentioning you were getting your nails done later. Plans had changed, you said. She seemed confused, but didnât question it.
âWe ran out of time,â you lie, biting the inside of your cheek, guilty that you didnât follow Celesteâs instructions when you said you would. âSorry.â
âRidiculous,â your mother sighs, as if it even matters.
Rafe is surprised to see you actually seem hurt. Thereâs pain in your expression, not anger. It unsettles him. Even now, he still wants to fix it, to soften your pain. He doesnât understand why. Maybe he never will.
When youâre done, you make your way to the banquet hall, the weight of your gown tugging at your hips with every step. Rafe stays at your pace as the fabric swishes around your legs, brushing against the cobblestones. You lift the hem, fingers curled into the lace.
âDonât let her get to you,â Rafe says under his breath.
You follow his gaze downward, puzzled until your eyes land on your bare nails. He must have seen it, the sadness that passed over your face at your motherâs comment.
Of course he saw it. He sees more in you than anyone has ever seen. You make sure nobody is in earshot before you respond.
âItâs not that IâŠâ You sigh. âI canât wear nail polish right now. It messes with the sensor that measures my oxygen levels. What she said bothered me because she doesnât know anything about my treatment and she never cared to know.â
Itâs an unfamiliar relief to say out loud. Youâve never had this, someone to openly talk about the considerations youâve kept private all your life.
It cuts into him, how many things you have to worry about, and how youâve always had to worry about them alone.
âYou doing okay?â he asks.
âManaging,â you reply. âIâll tell you ifâŠâ
If I need you. You donât say it out loud. You donât have to. Despite the tension between you two, you still might need his help. And heâs willing to give it.
âIâm fine,â you say. âIâm just glad I donât have to smile next to your dad anymore.â
His brows knit, stuffing his hands in his pockets, visibly confused.
âAfter hearing what he did,â you explain, âI canât stand being anywhere near that man.â
Rafeâs eyes flick to you, then away. His sense of loyalty to his father rings through him, but the feeling of unexpected relief is louder.
Heâs never had someone stand between him and his dad. Right now, your anger is for him. A small part of you cares. And it makes the gnawing sense of inadequacy that he always feels a little quieter.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The banquet hall glitters, cameras flashing as chatter roars. It looks like a wedding reception, but only a few people in the room know the truth. Youâre just a prop for your motherâs campaign, a symbol of unity and tradition your parents can parade around.
You settle into the chair at the head table, the train of your dress spilling around you. Soon after, you notice Celeste cutting through the crowd towards you with a tight scowl.
Rafe notices, too, and sees worry dimming your eyes. Seeing you scared messes with him. Without a word, he places his hand at the small of your back, subtle and steady. The publicist reaches you and leans in, voice low but sharp, a reprimand disguised as a whisper.
âI canât believe Iâm saying this, but have some champagne, will you?â she says. âUnless youâre holding back for some reason.â
Her gaze drops, lingering just a moment too long on your stomach. The implication that youâre pregnant hangs in the air.
âWhat?â you snap. âNo. Iâm just⊠I stopped.â
âPeople will notice,â she says. âTheyâll talk. We donât want them thinking all this was rushed because of that.â
You remember what your doctor said, how alcohol and your new medication donât mix, potentially causing strain on your body, even risking heart complications. Itâs a line you canât cross.
âI know I said Iâd do whatever you tell me to,â you say to Celeste quietly, an inch from pleading, âbut please donât make me drink.â
âJust do it,â Rafe says, already rising. âIâll get you a glass.â
His words sting. Heâs siding with her, willing to play his part, even if it means pushing past your boundaries. But something about it doesnât sit right.
Minutes later, heâs back, handing you a glass filled with something golden and fizzing, sitting down next to you again.
âRafe, I canât,â you whisper. âI canât drink on these meds.â
He leans in, breath warm against your ear, sharp cologne and aftershave floating over you.
âI asked the guy to give me something that looks like champagne,â he says. âNo booze. Youâre good.â
The sense of safety, the one you thought heâd stolen from you, comes rushing back. He cares about you. You were cruel to suggest he didnât. What he kept from you still hurts, but the pain refuses to rewrite him entirely. It wonât let you forget the man beneath the mistake.
He wants to protect you, and maybe itâs because heâs lived through the pain that comes when someone who shouldâve kept him safe, didnât.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Plates are being collected as the last toast fades into applause and the lights dim. Itâs time for the first dance.
You step onto the dance floor, your hand in Rafeâs. Every eye is on you. The slow, delicate music begins and he pulls you close, one hand firm at your waist, the other still cupping yours.
Your bodies move in sync as you slow-dance beneath the spotlight, and you wonder how many people can tell that you really do love this man, and that you wish you didnât.
He dips his head, his jaw against your temple, breathing you in, finding a shred of comfort in all the chaos. Last night plays in his mind again. You looked so worried when you told him you might need to get away from the crowd today.
âTell me if you need to sit down,â he murmurs, voice low and careful. His words are so kind that it almost hurts.
You shift closer, pressing your cheek against his chest, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you. Heâs vowing to keep you safe, even after everything youâve done and said to him, and guilt swirls through you. The words rise in your throat and you crane your neck, eyes meeting his.
âI donât hate you,â you say. âI shouldnât have said that.â
Rafeâs lips flatten. Your words are soft, but theyâre not what he wants. Itâs not what heâs been aching for. Itâs not I love you.
You wait for him to say something, to at least smile in that coy way he does sometimes, but all you see in his expression is pain. Maybe even regret. It hurts you too much to look at. You press your cheek against his chest again, continuing to sway.
Thereâs a hole in Rafeâs heart. Itâs ridiculous, but he lets himself imagine that this is real. That he met you normally, not through a contract. That he took you to places he chose, not ones already planned out. That he got to know you slowly, the way people are supposed to.
He canât think about it too long. He swallows the ache, blinks hard.
âHow long is this song?â he complains after a minute.
You wish his words didnât burn you. You were enjoying the dance. The closeness.
âI know,â you say, meeting his eyes again. âMaybe the next time I get married, Iâll get to pick the music.â
Itâs only a soft offer of humor, but he doesnât play along. His expression stays firm and the gap between you feels wider than it did before. Your lips twitch into a small frown.
He almost wants to say that next time, youâll get to pick the guy, too. He hates what the thought of you with another man does to him. Hates how clear youâre making it that youâd never really want him.
He holds you while the reminder that this isnât real, that youâll be out of his life within weeks, tugs at him.
At his core, all Rafe has ever longed for was to be chosen. To be first. Without hesitation or contingency or the need to prove himself. So heâs not going to beg you to want him. He has enough dignity to let you go.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You step out of the taxi, the heat wrapping around you, the ocean humming in the distance. The villa rises ahead, big and luxurious. The flight was short and your breathing only got tight a few times. You counted the seconds between inhales, glad Rafe couldnât see you from where he sat.
Celeste had reminded you multiple times that there would be eyes on you on your honeymoon, no matter how private it seemed. And it does seem private. The bungalow is on a white-sand beach, wrapped in glass that frames the deep blue ocean.
Beneath the beauty, thereâs tension. The silence between you and Rafe is loud. Heâs been cold since your dance at the wedding. Youâd hoped after you tried to bridge things, heâd warm up again. But youâre just mirroring how you were at the beginning of this arrangement â curt and ignoring each other.
Your muscles ache from how taxing the wedding was yesterday, from the journey this morning. You head to the bedroom, dropping on one side of the bed, both happy and sad that youâll be sharing it with him. And then you drift off, letting exhaustion consume you.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You havenât spoken. Itâs been three days in supposed paradise and you havenât shared a single moment with the man whoâs legally your husband.
Heâs even been sleeping on the couch instead of in bed with you. And he hasnât checked in on you. He did his duty of taking care of you at the wedding, and now heâs done.
You feel like a task heâs eager to cross off. A new suspicion creeps in, that he was performing, counting down until the wedding was over so he could drop the act that you mean something to him. After all, the wedding was what all of this was leading up to. You have just shy of a month left before the contract is up. Maybe he sees no reason to try anymore.
Itâs your last night before you head back home. Branches have been rattling against the windows for the last hour, threatening a storm. Dinner was delivered to you, and after a quiet meal, Rafe went out to the terrace, looking out at the sun setting over the sea, leaving you to sit at the dining table with your thoughts.
This ended up hurting you so much more than you could have ever anticipated. Rafe has somehow been your healing and your undoing. You told yourself not to fall for him, that you were leaving anyway, but your heart did what it wanted to.
You consider how to spend the final night, deciding that a bubble bath might be what you need. You try to find comfort in the idea, but youâre so angry, so lonely, that your patience wears out.
It used to be him who broke tension, who reached out first, but this time, heâs stayed quiet. And it makes you realize just how often he was the one who tried.
You step onto the terrace, heart thudding to the point of pain. You settle next to him and rest your forearms on the railing. Rafe keeps his gaze fixed on the darkening horizon, his shirt clinging to his frame in the breeze, collar slightly undone like he got dressed in a hurry.
This is unbearable. Heâs been telling himself that he can get over you, that the way his chest tightens whenever he thinks of your smile and how much he enjoys being the reason for it will fade. But your mere presence fucks with him. Youâre not doing anything. Just standing there. Breathing. Existing. And itâs enough to make him feel like heâs going crazy.
âYou just wanted to make sure I went through with the wedding, didnât you?â you say bitterly. âYou never gave a shit.â
He looks down at you, thrown off. His jaw is set, hurt and angry that you still anticipate cruelty from him. After everything.
âDonât give me that,â he says tensely.
âYouâve been ignoring me since. You donât have an act to put on anymore, is that it?â
Rafe looks down and shakes his head as he mutters, âNo. Quit twisting things.â
His accusatory words remind you of every time youâve been called dramatic, sensitive, too much. Years of being told that your pain was exaggerated. You turn away to go back inside, regretful that you came out here, but he speaks.
âStop,â he says. Your eyes are still off of him. âYou said thereâs nothing here. You said that.â
Thatâs why heâs been distant. He took your impulsive insult to heart. Nobody has ever held onto your words the way he does. You canât look him in the eyes when you admit that what you said the morning of the wedding wasnât true.
âI didnât mean it,â you reply. You find the will to look at him again. His gaze has softened, his arms crossed now.
âThen whyâd you say it?â he says.
You take him in, upset that you got it all wrong again, that your fear convinced you he was some sort of conman. He looks sincerely hurt. He wasnât ignoring you; he was avoiding you after you practically told him to, after you said that what you shared was meaningless.
âI canât control myself sometimes,â you confess. âI was mad. And when I get like that, Iâm paranoid and mean. I donât want to be this way.â
Itâs like youâre reading his own thoughts out to him. He understands you, like your minds are wired into the same pattern. He has no hold over himself most of the time, either, and it turns him into someone he doesnât like.
âI was pissed off that you lied to me,â you continue. âI still am. You shouldâve told me. You have no idea how shitty it is that the one time I decided to tell someone, they already knew.â
Heâs frozen as the realization that he was the only one you confided in sinks in. He lowers himself slightly, trying to hold your gaze.
"No one else knows?â he says.
âJust my family.â You look down. âI told you I donât trust easily.â
Rafe breathes a little slower. Youâve always been so closed off, but you trusted him with the one thing youâve kept hidden from everyone else. You see him as safe. Or you did.
âI fucked up,â he murmurs in a low, wounded tone. âI didnât want to hurt you. Tell me you get that.â
You glance up again, instinctively trying to find deception in his gentle gaze. You consider that he meant well, but it tastes bitter. Trust isnât natural for you. But it feels worse not to believe him. His actions were misguided, but compassionate.
âIâm notâŠâ You sigh. âIâm not used to someone paying attention to me like you do, okay? And then I felt like even after⊠everything, you still lied to me and my temper just took over.â
He nods, relief rushing through him.
âMine does that, too,â he replies.
âNo kidding,â you huff, lips pulling into a small, apprehensive smile. âI donât think anyone has ever made me as mad as you do.â
âYeah.â He mirrors your smile, his dimples breaking your heart. âSame here.â
You share a fragile moment of quiet. Of peace.
âIâm sorry,â you say, because you regret making him think that you see no value in your complicated relationship. In him.
Rafe wanted things to be good between you again, but it feels wrong to hear you apologize to him. Heâs not worthy of it after how badly heâs hurt you.
âDonât,â he says. âI had it coming.â
Your face pinches in pain, shaking your head in disagreement.
âDonât say that,â you murmur quietly. You let your body react to him like it always does; the physical part of your relationship always came so easy. No matter what either of you think or feel, you always have this.
You step between him and the railing, bodies brushing. You feel the sudden tension in him, then the relief, his Adamâs apple bobbing with a slow swallow. You tilt your head, perching up on your toes, and finally give into impulse with a slow kiss.
Itâs an overwhelming relief when he kisses back, the railing digging into your back as he frames you between his arms. Your hands find his jaw, soft scruff rubbing against your fingers, his skin hot, his tongue hotter. Youâve missed him, his touch, his weight on you.
His body floods with urgent hunger, his craving for you swallowing him whole. Heâs been telling himself to get over you, to erase you, but itâs like youâre carved into him. Heâll always fold for you.
He releases the railing, arms wrapping around you firmly. Heâs holding you so tightly, kissing you so deeply, that your head starts to buzz. His hand lowers to grab your ass, and you gasp in pleasure through a kiss, feeling him start to harden against you.
Heâd do this right here if he could. But he canât.
âBaby,â he mumbles against your lips. It slipped out before he could help it. You told him not to call you that. He canât bear to have you remind him.
âYeah?â you say. His heart stirs with warmth hearing you answer to the name.
âThey might be watching. Letâs go inside.â
You pull back a little, gazing up at him in awe.
âYouâre right,â you say quietly. âIâll be in the bath if you need me.â
You step away, the lost contact making him ache. If he needs you. He does, more than you could imagine.
Once you get to the bathroom, you fling the bathtub faucet to full blast, water roaring from the spout. You watch yourself in the mirrors that surround the tub on three sides, reflecting every ripple of water, every rise and fall of your chest as you peel your clothes off.
You fill the tub with the bottles set out for you. You pour them in, watching bubbles grow and swirl as the water rises. Then, you shut off the faucet and settle into the massive tub, heat enveloping you. The anticipation tingles all over you. Your heart thrums, your body submerged in soapy heat. It almost hurts how badly you want him.
The door, left ajar, is pushed open. You meet Rafeâs gaze. Your eyes rake down his body. Itâs only been a week since you last had each other, but it feels like ages.
âYou took too long,â you say. Desire burns in him, seeing you like this, knowing youâre naked, waiting for him.
He smirks, his eyes fixed on yours as he tugs his shirt off over his head, revealing his sculpted body. Youâre not sure youâve ever had a chance to watch him undress from a distance, to experience him baring himself to you.
âYou ever stop complaining?â he teases.
Your pulse thunders even louder as his shorts drop to the floor, leaving him in briefs, the outline of his length a ridge beneath the fabric. He steps towards you, eyes darkened.
âYou want to make me?â you challenge.
He strips off his briefs, revealing his thick arousal, making your core hot with need. The water gently sloshes as he settles into the tub, facing you. You shift to perch your legs around his hips and the moment your bodies brush together in the hot water, you sigh in pleasure.
He quietly groans when he feels your core press against him, cupping your face to kiss him. If the angle was right, heâd push into you right now. Your kisses are rushed and deep, and he feels you slowly starting to writhe, your inner thighs pressing against his ribs. He wants to see it for himself, how bad you want to be stimulated, how bad you want him.
âTurn around,â Rafe tells you. You let him guide you to lean on him as he sits against the wall of the tub. You shudder when he brings his hands up to squeeze your breasts, his heart pounding against your back.
He rubs your sensitive buds as he leaves a slow, open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder. Your moans are soft and so damn rewarding to him, echoing off the tiles, digging into his soul. He lowers a hand to find yours and guides it to press against your needy pussy.
âShow me how you want to be touched,â he rasps.
You breathe a soft huff, dipping your head back as you whisper, âYou already know.â
The words coax him to press his hand against your middle. Two fingers trail up your folds and when he lands on your clit, he starts rubbing in tight, slow circles. You moan, your head still tilted back, the back of your neck resting on his shoulder, your cheek against his jaw.
He pinches and fondles your nipple, plays with your clit, and the sensation of this pleasure combined with the hot water enswathing you is utter intoxication.
âLook how pretty you are,â Rafe tells you. You find the strength to prop your head up. The mirrors have fogged just a little, but you see your reflection and his, your expressions showing boundless bliss and lust and relief.
And you look like you belong together. Itâs nothing like the photo ops and the staged appearances; right now, you look like youâre meant to be here, bare and vulnerable and desperate for each other.
No matter how good his fingers feel, you need him fully. Without a word, you move forward, water splashing as you turn around. His eyes are half-lidded, cheeks flushed, and heâs looking at you like heâs been craving a high and youâre the only thing that can give it to him.
Youâre slow as you perch your knees on the porcelain, your hand dipping into the bubbly water to feel for him. You hold his cock at the base, keeping eye contact as you shift to line yourself up against him, slowly sitting down.
The moan you expel when you sink onto him, wrap him in your silky heat, makes his gut curl. He grips your hips, tight and hungry as you roll against him and press your forehead on his.
âYou missed this, yeah?â Rafe whispers, wishing he could ask if you missed him, unwilling to deal with the consequence of you telling him you didnât.
âOf course,â you breathe. Your truthful answer, devoid of your usual teasing, reassures him that you want him as bad as he wants you, that you feel the same transcendental pull.
He kisses you as you ride him, then shifts to hold your breast up to his mouth and wrap his lips around your nipple, flicking and sucking, earning elated hums from you. You hold his shoulders, breathe in the smell of him, the smell of the soap woven into the water. You donât last much longer, coming with a stuttered, breathy moan, trembling against him.
He holds your hips again, guiding you through faster thrusts, your tightness working his cock perfectly as the water sloshes around you. He kisses you through his orgasm, and youâre sure the way his fingers are digging into your hips will leave soreness, but you donât care. You want him to feel as good as you do. Itâs your only focus, your only goal, and everything else is blurred.
Rafe twitches beneath you as the last of his pleasure fills you, panting against your lips. How can this be so perfect, how can you be so perfect, and how the fuck can he accept that you wonât be around anymore?
Every piece of you fills parts of him that were empty, but heâs falling into a fantasy again, ruining his own pleasure by ruminating over how this is all fleeting.
âSleep in the bed tonight,â you say, still panting, your nose nudging his. Your fingers stroke the back of his neck, fingernails dragging over his damp buzzed hair. You canât fathom him sleeping a wall away from you again. Not after tonight.
He cups your face and nods, still catching his breath. The fact that you want him next to you silences his self-inflicted anguish. Heâd do anything you ask of him.
You wash and towel off together and settle into bed as the tropical storm finally breaks, thundering over the bungalow, rain hammering on the roof. And you talk about the wedding like a normal couple would - joking, venting, gossiping, while ignoring the truth of what you really are.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The plane taxies towards the runway the next morning, its cabin quiet with just you, Rafe, the pilot, and the attendant.
Rafe is next to you, instead of across the aisle, behind a divider like before. His hand is on your knee. Heâs been like this since last night. Touching you, holding contact as much as he can.
You bend to pick up your bag of medical supplies, reaching for your oxygen concentrator, making sure itâs ready if you need it.
Rafe didnât say anything when you got out of bed last night to plug it in. You kept your back to him, but you know he heard the beeping, saw a glimpse of the truth of your illness, of how much you have to think ahead.
âI need to set this up,â you say quietly, not looking up at him, motioning towards the other seat. âYou can sit over there if you want.â
The offer is mostly for him. Youâre painfully aware that this kind of stuff reminds him of a time in his life heâd rather forget. He wouldnât have reacted to seeing you with a nurse if it didnât trigger something in him. But the suggestion is for you, too. Youâre worried that him witnessing you having to do this will make you look weak. That heâll see you differently.
âIâm good here,â Rafe replies.
You go through the motions, attaching tubing, making sure things are operating correctly. Then, you put everything away and push it under your seat, clasping your hands together and looking out the window.
Rafe stares at you. It was hard for him to see that. Itâs obvious that this is such a big part of your life that you keep to yourself. Heâs seen the proof of your familyâs neglect too many times. You were always alone.
The jet throttles forward and you take a deep breath. Rafe squeezes your knee and you look at him. Heâs staring at you with a softness youâve seen only a few times before.
âThey have no idea what you gotta deal with, do they?â he murmurs. Your eyes deepen with sadness.
Itâs impossible to hide anything from him, but itâs a new comfort that you can speak like this now. You can share that heâs right, that your family is oblivious to how much your illness bleeds into your everyday life. They donât know. They donât care.
âIt always bothered them hearing about it,â you say. âI was in and out of the hospital as a kid and⊠I remember my parents talking about how hard it was on them.â
You look down as he gently rubs just above your knee, uncertain of how someone who was once so cruel, so cold, has this warm curiosity in him.
âSometimes I wonder if it wouldâve gotten this severe if they didnât ignore me when I told them it hurt to breathe,â you say. âThey thought it was just anxiety. That I was whining for attention. But I had infections that left permanent damage. It was really bad by the time I finally saw a doctor.â
Rafeâs skin prickles, his throat tight like heâs swallowing glass. The neglect, the cruelty you suffered... His vision blurs as his stomach twists in knots of disbelief. You were so young and yet, you remember it, the trauma settled so deep into your psyche.
âThe older I got, the more I realized itâd be another thing the tabloids could use to hurt me,â you say. âThatâs why I keep it private. My parents still think Iâm faking how bad it is, but some days, I⊠I can barely get out of bed. Why would I fake that?â
You stare at each other, your eyes glossing with tears once you realize Rafeâs are, too. The jet levels above the clouds and the attendant appears behind him. You force a polite smile as she asks if thereâs anything she can get you. You tell her that youâll call. She walks away and you look down, placing your hand over Rafeâs.
âHow did he tell you?â you ask. Rafeâs jaw tightens as he recalls standing in Kalâs office, listening to his passive words about how you have bad lungs. How youâre dramatic.
âIt doesnât matter,â he responds. You would normally push, but this time, you wonât. Heâs hurting because you are. Nobody has ever cared this much. You never let them.
You nod. He chews on his lip.
âWhy are you on new meds?â he asks the question thatâs been needling him.
âMy blood pressureâs high. They think itâs stress. They help, but they have a bunch of side effects. Itâs why my appetiteâs been so bad,â you say. âIâm seeing my nurse tomorrow for another check-up. Are you going to be home? I can go to my familyâs house if it-â
âNo,â he interrupts. âDonât go over there.â
It guts him that you feel like you have to hide just because he canât handle his own shit. And heâs sure the stress youâve been under is because of him. Because he signed that contract and agreed to do this to you.
âThis is going to be one of the last times I see her before I leave,â you explain, âand I canât exactly tell her that yet, but⊠sheâs been with me for a long time. Iâll miss her.â
Rafe recalls snapping at your nurse, guilt sinking into him as he realizes just how fond you are of her. He tries to ignore the pang in his heart at the reminder that youâre leaving.
âI shouldnât have lost my shit like that.â
âI understand why you did,â you console him, aware now that the brutal coincidence of him walking into your check-up cracked open wounds he never closed. You wish it never happened.
âHow old were you?â you ask, quiet and hesitant. His gaze is fixed on your hand on top of his.
âTen when it started.â
A chill brushes over your skin as you picture him as a little boy. Worried. Scared. Way too young to lose a parent.
âThat mustâve been so painful,â you offer, barely above a whisper.
âIt was outta nowhere,â he says. âShe started forgetting things, and one day, I heard her ask my dad where a room in our own house was. He told me they did tests. It was her brain. I didnât believe it at first, because that shit happens when people are way older, you know?â
He doesnât have to spell it out for you. It had to be something like dementia, early and unexpected. Your stomach sinks, the helpless thought of it dragging you down.
âHow long did you have with her after that?â you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
âTwo years,â he says. âShe hung on as long as she could. There were always doctors and nurses and specialists around the house, but then she⊠she started asking my name and where my mom was. I knew that was it.â
His words hit you like strikes. You donât want him to live in that time. You want him to find peace in what life was like before. Itâs not as extreme, but your illness can turn you into somebody else at times, and you donât want people to think of you that way. To remember you as what you arenât.
âWhat was she like before?â you ask.
He scratches his jaw, a nervous tick, a way to buy time. He thinks of his mother before she began to wither away, turning into a confused and lost version of herself.
âShe was full of energy,â he answers. âAnd steady. She held us together. She treated us all the same.â
It hits you all over again, how he implied his sisters never had to fight for their fatherâs love, not like he does. It breaks something in you.
âI couldnât keep my anger in check as a kid,â he says, his gaze low and distant. âIâm still not great at it.â
You squeeze his hand. You wouldâve never expected to relate to Rafe at all, especially not this deeply, when you first met. But heâs always carried anger like you have.
âWhen I started to lose it, sheâd sit down with me and make me tell her what was happening and she fixed it and it wasnât so hard anymore. Nobody else knew how to do that.â
It feels like your chest is caving in. He was left with an abusive father, left to figure out how to survive without warmth. Youâre certain he had it worse than you, because youâd rather never have love, then get it and watch it slip away. Loss is harder than outright absence.
âIâm so sorry,â you whisper. âIâm so sorry you lost her and Iâm so sorry you didnât get the space to grieve.â
Rafe reflects on what happened after her death, when he didnât have anyone through his outbursts, when his father would strike him to straighten him out. Then, he reached his teenage years, and he coped by getting drunk and high until he pleaded to his father to accept him as part of the family again, as a son who could do things right.
âMy dad lost his wife,â he says, just loud enough to be heard over the jetâs whirr. âHe did his best.â
Your protectiveness kicks in, frustrated that his father has manipulated him so deeply that heâs convinced he treated him in an acceptable way.
âI donât think anyoneâs best is...â You inhale slowly, deciding not to tell him that his dadâs best couldnât have possibly been violence. Itâs not what he needs to hear right now. âYou deserved better than he gave you. You deserve better now.â
You wipe your eye with your sleeve. The action is almost childlike, and he sees you as a little girl for a moment, alone and scared. This conversation is hurting both of you. He canât do it anymore. He looks away and takes in a breath.
âYou should try to eat,â he murmurs. You cock your head, but he wonât look at you, too eager to move on. But you need to make sure he knows.
âRafe.â
He meets your eyes again. Thereâs so much pain in this man, so much you missed.
âI wish I could take back every mean thing Iâve said to you,â you tell him.
He searches your face, taking in every feature.
âMe, too,â he says. âI had you all wrong.â
Silence settles between you. His stare digs deep, looking like heâs reminiscing, remembering every argument. Youâre sure he feels it, too, this raw and honest connection you share. Itâs nowhere near perfect, but itâs real.
You canât entertain the idea that this could work. Itâs like you fit, but the world around you doesnât. Your illness has never made you feel ashamed, but with Rafe, it does. It takes him back to pain he hasnât healed from. Itâs a cruel irony that the one person youâve told is someone who canât handle it.
And his roots run deep here. He still wants to walk the path his father laid, to inherit that legacy. Thatâs something heâd never abandon.
You rest your head on his shoulder. Rafe interlaces your fingers, bringing your hand to sit on his thigh. Your hands look like theyâre made to fit together. But your silence tells him everything he needs to know; this is something worth fighting for, but youâre too wounded to do it.
Your engagement ring gleams beneath your wedding band. He imagines you slipping the rings off and putting them down and never picking them up again.
âWhere are you going to go?â he asks.
âIâm not sure,â you say. âI was looking at an apartment in a small town up the coast, but I donât know if itâs far away enough.â
He nods as if it doesnât kill him to let go of something he never got to hold the way he wanted to. But loving you means letting you leave. He canât ask you to stay, canât complicate things for you, canât promise to be who you need him to be.
You trace the lines of Rafeâs palm with your thumb, memorizing the feel of him. As the jet takes you back to a city thatâs only ever made you feel trapped, you understand that you have no choice but to let him become a memory. And to wait until that memory doesnât hurt anymore.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Thereâs a pit in your stomach as you walk Iris to the door the next day. The appointment went well. Your blood pressureâs improving, maybe enough to take you off your meds. You hate that you canât tell her this is one of the last times youâll see her.
You decided long ago that the moment your trust fund clears, youâre giving your nurse enough to stop working herself to the bone, enough to give her son anything he wants. You wonât tell her yet, but itâs there in your heart, a token of appreciation for all her kindness.
You turn the corner to see Rafe by the front door, hands buried in his pockets. Heâs watching you with quiet intensity.
âHey,â he says, voice tight around the edges. His eyes flick to Iris. âI, uh, wanted to say sorry for how I acted before.â
âOh, itâs okay. I deal with grumpy people all the time,â she says, her tone light but a little uncertain. Then she glances at you, a quick smile on her lips. âNot you.â
You laugh softly as she turns back to look at Rafe.
âDonât worry about it. And congratulations," she tells him. âI would tell you to treat her right, but she wouldnât be with someone who doesnât.â
Rafe gives a knowing grin. He canât imagine you with someone who wouldnât know what to do with your fire, whoâd try to tame you. She leaves, and he doesnât move from the doorway, and you donât move from where youâre standing.
âThank you,â you say, touched that he was waiting here to say that, that he said it at all. He nods, then steps away, pulling his hands out of his pockets.
You notice how his fists clench and relax as he walks away. You wonder if heâs trying to release tension, or if something prompted a thought he didnât want to share.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The next morning, you scroll through your mentions on your phone, still nestled in bed. The stories about the wedding are mostly positive, with a fair amount of responses about how ridiculously lavish it was.
You donât know how youâll get through today. Celeste planned a photo op, a round of golf with you and Rafe and your fathers at a country club today, meant to look like newly joined families happy to spend time together. Youâve been scrolling on your phone to distract yourself until you inevitably have to get ready.
Then you pause. One image isnât from the wedding. Itâs from that art show you and Rafe attended for your second date. You realize the post is a slideshow, a timeline of your relationship.
The photo is slightly blurred. Youâre staring at that painting you were captivated by, the camera capturing your concentrated expression. But Rafe is watching you.
Youâre used to peering eyes and judgemental stares, but his is different. Itâs curious. You thought that soft expression of his only surfaced after youâd gotten close, but now you wonder if it was always there.
You continue to swipe until you get to the last image from the honeymoon. Rafe was right; cameras were pointed at you, stealing the moment of you kissing on the terrace. You open the comments.
sheâs so cute omg the hate is so forced
It wonât last
Some of you are acting like people canât get married when they want. There are couples who wait years and still break up.
Why is this newsworthy
god i see what youâve done for othersâŠ
That was fast lol
Raw and at the same time tbh
You chuckle in shock at that one. You take a screenshot of it and send it to Rafe, then continue reading.
How is she a whole WIFE now? The growth
Youâve developed a thick skin over the years, accustomed to the public dialogue about your dating history. Itâs no surprise that people are stunned to see you settle down, and itâs reassuring that the narrative of your maturity is landing.
she finally found someone who doesnât want to be the center of attention and i think thatâs why this works so well. they seem good for each other.
This one, you read over a few times, until subtle thumps rattle your door, pulling you out of your thoughts.
âYeah?â you call.
Rafe comes in, lingers in the doorway. With a soft smile playing on his lips, he looks impossibly handsome, and you appreciate that itâs a Saturday, that heâs not rushing away to work.
âIâm just down the hall,â he says, holding out his phone, âand youâre texting me.â
âIf you want me to come to your bed, just say that.â
âCome to my bed,â he says.
You laugh and say, âCome to mine. Youâre here already.â
He crosses the room, settling on his stomach on your bed, his heavy forearm resting on your lap as he looks down at his phone.
âI donât know what half this shit means,â he says, scrolling through the same mentions you are.
âAre you sure you only have six years on me?â you tease with a soft giggle. âYou sound so old sometimes.â
He smirks, staring, because this might be the most beautiful heâs ever seen you. Comfortable, unguarded, joking around like lazy mornings together are a common thing for you two.
âSince youâre having trouble,â you explain, lightheartedly mocking, âthat comment I sent was calling us attractive in a very vulgar way.â
âI got that,â he says.
âTheyâre saying they want us. At the same time,â you continue to tease. âDo you understand?â
âI do,â he says, âand I wouldnât share you.â
His words send a rush of heat through you.
âI wouldnât share you, either,â you reply honestly.
You can tell he thought his boldness would catch you off guard, but you came back just as strong. A flush creeps across his cheeks as he smirks again and glances down at his phone, and there's a thrill in watching a man so imposing, so big and strong and sure of himself, blush.
Then, your phone buzzes with a text from Celeste, bursting the bubble.
The car will be there at 10:30 a.m.
You groan and toss your head back in frustration, dreading the day.
âHey,â Rafe murmurs. âWe can both keep our cool, right?â
Heâs a hypocrite, because he doesnât know how heâll keep his cool around your father. When he reminds himself he needs to do it for your sake, itâs not as daunting.
âRight,â you say.
You stare up at the ceiling. Two weeks from now, youâll leave all this behind. Youâll never see the inside of this condo again. Itâs unsettling, though, that because of him, the thought no longer brings you the comfort it once did.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
As you touch up your lip gloss in your mirror, that comment swirls through your mind again, about how Rafe doesnât want to be the center of attention. Heâs so unknown, was once completely out of the public eye, but now, heâs all over the tabloids, and your split will be, too.
Youâre sure girls will be after him. If they arenât already. You hate the thought of him with another woman, but he deserves someone who doesnât remind him of his pain. Someone healthy.
The thought makes your throat tighten. You dismiss it when you hear him shuffling to put his shoes on by the front door, and you let your curiosity take hold.
âAre you planning to get married for real one day?â you call, your voice travelling down the hallway.
Rafeâs brows furrow as he laces his shoes. He always dreamed about spending his life with a woman who loves him without hesitation. But here he is, thirty, wearing a wedding band that only represents a business deal.
âYeah,â he answers simply. You take one final look in the mirror, smoothing down your pleated skirt.
âWould you make your wife play golf?â you ask.
âI wouldnât make my wife do anything,â he says with a chuckle. He almost wants to ask why youâre asking, but he wonât risk stifling your curiosity. He likes when you want to know more about him. âYou donât like it?â
âI think I would if I didnât associate it with my dad,â you reply as you step out of your bedroom. âI can see myself enjoying it. Itâs slow. Kind of peaceful, I guess. And I wouldnât have to worry about getting out of breath.â
He stands up, grimacing at the floor as he thinks about the battle you fight in silence, all the things you need to consider. You donât deserve it.
âWe could go one day, just us two,â he offers. âItâs not thatâŠâ
He trails off when you come into view. His eyes catch on where your skirt ends, remembering the feel of your thighs, where heâs grabbed and squeezed and kissed.
âItâs not that what?â you ask, amused by his blatant awe.
You watch the way his eyes trail up your body.
âHard,â he finishes his sentence.
You quietly laugh at the coincidence of the word, stepping towards him, getting the same thrill you always do when you tease him.
âSo, you think you can help me with my swing today?â you say, your hand resting on his shoulder.
His glare darkens.
âYou know I canât,â he says.
âWow,â you say in mock offense, your face scrunched up. âWhy not?â
He steps around you, making your stomach tighten as he presses his body against yours, firm against your back.
âWhat do you think happens to me,â he rasps, âwhen I have you like this?â
Your skin buzzes as he frames you, all warmth and hardness, his breath on the shell of your ear.
âNot a good idea to do this in public, then?â you half-whisper.
Rafe almost wants to tell you to change for his own good, but he knows you well enough by now not to give you orders.
âDo you really want help or were you messing with me?â
âBoth,â you reply with a smirk.
âFeet wider apart,â he instructs. You widen your stance, revelling in the feeling of him against you.
âStay loose,â he says, framing your arms with his, guiding you in a swing position, then placing his hands on your hips. âTurn here. And donât hit with your arms. Hit with your whole body, you got it?â
âYeah,â you say quietly, entranced.
âWhen you swing,â he says, âitâs one smooth move.â
You nod, your pulse picking up when you feel his growing hardness against you. Involuntarily, you slightly arch your back to press up against him. You want to skip out on today and push him straight back into your bed.
âWhat if I beat you?â you tease competitively.
His chuckle is soft in your ear.
âThen you cheated.â
You laugh.
âYouâre a good teacher. Iâll try to remember your advice,â you say, âand you should probably try not to stare.â
âSure,â he says, voice thick with sarcasm, making it clear that he considers it impossible to take his eyes off you.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Youâre glad youâre wearing sunglasses. They hide the anger you know is burning in your eyes, the kind that would ruin this photo op. The scent of freshly mown grass rises with the breeze. The cameras click from somewhere beyond. And every time your father speaks, it boils your blood.
You grip your club while Rafe stands beside you as you wait for his father to swing. This is only the first hole, but youâre already seething after trying to tune Kal and Ward out droning on with their business jargon and talk of partnerships.
Rafe glances at you. He doesnât say anything, but his arm curls around your hips to remind you that you can endure this. You nod like you believe you can.
Ward swings his club with ease, and the sharp thwack of the metal meeting the ball cuts through the air. Then itâs Rafeâs turn. He steps up to the tee, rolling his shoulders before settling into position.
His short sleeves dig into his biceps when he flexes and you watch the way his fingers tighten around the grip. He looks good, his jaw set in focus, a faint crease between his brows.
âAim left,â his father says. âYou always veer to the right.â
Rafe nods.
âAnd try loosening your grip.â
You notice Rafeâs jaw tighten.
âYouâre too in your head,â Ward says. âItâs throwing you off.â
âMaybe all your talking is whatâs throwing him off,â you snap.
Your father says your name sternly. Rafe looks up at you.
âSheâs always had an attitude problem,â your father says to his with a condescending laugh.
âNo kidding,â he replies with a chuckle. âItâs fine. Rafe warned me.â
You scowl and look away. Rafe swings and you can tell by his force that itâs driven by anger. Heâs furious. The ball disappears into the distance. If the stakes werenât so high, if so much wasnât on the line, youâre sure both of you would have lost it by now.
When itâs your turn, you try to remember his pointers, and the things you picked up on the few times youâve golfed before. Your swing is weak, but you manage to hit the ball, and thatâs good enough for you.
You settle in the two-seater cart with Rafe behind the wheel to follow your fathers as they drive ahead to the next hole. But he doesnât put his foot on the gas.
âI said that shit when we started this,â he murmurs. âYou know I donât think that anymore, right?â
Heâs still turning over his fatherâs words in his mind. And you realize you didnât even expect the worst because while the comment stung, deep down, you knew Rafe doesnât see you that way.
Youâre used to passing jabs and offhand remarks at your expense, but heâs the first to give a shit about the effect they have on you. It feels like balm on old wounds.
âBaby,â he says softly, a touch urgently, worried that your silence means youâre mad at him.
âItâs okay,â you reply lightheartedly. âI do have an attitude.â
âWellâŠâ he says with a smile and a shrug of agreement.
You playfully push him, a smile pulling on your lips. His grin widens and he cups your face to kiss your forehead.
âI know I shouldnât snap at them,â you say, knowing full well your fatherâs looking for a reason to pull the plug. Heâs likely surprised youâve lasted this long. âBut canât your dad give it a rest?â
Rafe stares, eyes locked on you. You stood up for him. Heâs spent his life watching people, watching himself, shrink in his fatherâs presence, intimidated by power and reputation.
But not you. You never back down. Youâve always fought your own battles, and now youâre fighting his, too.
âHello?â you tease, laughter bubbling up as you catch the wonder lingering in his eyes.
He smiles, then drives ahead, as if he can outrun the way youâve taken hold of him.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
At the next hole, as Kal lines up his shot, you stand a few paces back between Rafe and his father, your arms crossed. The soft hum of a cart breaks the silence.
âGentlemen,â the cart girl says, her voice high and peppy. âNeed anything to cool off?â
You bite back the irritation at how easily she pretends youâre not here. Your father barely glances up, waving her off with a rude, muttered âno.â Ward declines, too. Her eyes land on Rafe and stay there.
âYou?â She leans slightly over the steering wheel, a flirtatious glimmer in her eyes. âNeed something refreshing?â
Youâve never been one to be rude to service staff. Years of watching your father belittle them taught you better. This is the closest youâve come. Rafe turns to you, brows lifted. You can tell heâs not amused.
âYou thirsty?â he asks you.
âIâm not,â you say pointedly. You refuse to look at her as she drives off, frustration still twisting in you.
Despite your anger, despite how tangled things have become, despite the blurred lines and unanswered questions, Rafeâs loyalty to you remains steady. And that, at least, keeps you above water.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°
âThat was even worse than I thought itâd be,â you mutter as you sink into the backseat, the car idling outside the country club.
Rafe slides in beside you, the quiet thud of the car door closing behind him. The partition is already shut, but you press the button again, just to be sure, as the driver pulls out of the lot.
âAnd that girl, the way she flirted with you?â Your voice is sharp, disbelief laced with anger. âIâm sure she knows Iâm your wife. Everyone does. That was so fucked up.â
He doesnât answer right away. Watching you claim him, hearing you call yourself his wife, makes something inside him ache in the best way. With a slow smile and a low rasp, he asks, âIs my wife jealous?â
You glare at him. He already knows the answer and is savoring every second of this. A pang of embarrassment tightens in your stomach. Jealousy over a man who isnât even really yours is irrational and messy.
âYour wife is pissed off,â you respond, voice low, refusing to admit it.
He licks his lips, shifting a little closer to you, his body buzzing. Itâs never felt this good to be wanted by a woman. Thereâs something about it being you that makes it feel so fucking good.
âYouâre hot when youâre pissed off,â he murmurs.
You scoff, amused and a little stunned, warmth blooming in your chest.
âI must be hot all the time then.â
âYou are.â Rafe leans even closer, and when his fingertips land on your bare inner thigh, goosebumps spread over you. âIâm pulling this skirt up when we get home.â
Your anger dissolves instantly. The way his eyes settle on you like youâre the only thing that matters, the way he brushed off that girlâs flirting, the way his hand drifts up your leg, like youâre sacred. He makes you feel so chosen. Itâs still so disarming.
Desire coils deep inside you as his warm fingers trace over your skin, and you ask in a hushed voice, âYou want me to keep it on?â
He nods, pressing his lips to your neck. His scent drifts over you softly, an intoxicating fusion of musk and cologne.
âAnd then what?â you say.
âIâll bend you over,â he promises against your skin.
Your legs slowly spread apart on their own. Like always, your body reacts how it wants to him, and right now, you just want him as close to you as possible.
âYou going to be rough with me?â you ask.
He smirks, his breath hot on your skin, teeth gently grazing over your neck before he plants another open-mouthed kiss.
âIf you can take it,â he murmurs.
You exhale a soft chuckle, revelling in the challenge.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°
You move with each other like youâre running out of time. Technically, you are. You can only allow yourselves this pleasure until you canât anymore, until youâre left to be memories of people who were pushed into this ridiculous arrangement.
Rafe pulls off your shirt and you tug off his, panting as you slowly cross into your bedroom together, lips locking in hungry kisses. He unhooks your bra and guides you by your hips, turning you to settle on the mattress on your knees. You look back at him as he stands and palms himself over his pants.
Your eyes are hazy with lust, perched up for him, left in just panties and that damn skirt. And that confidence of yours radiates through him, because you know you own him.
Desire tightens in you as he strips to his briefs, already fully hard, stepping closer to put his hands on your ass.
âFuck,â he rasps, massaging your flesh. You adjust onto your elbows, feeling the throbbing between your legs. Heâs no longer a want. He stopped being that long ago. Heâs a need.
He pulls your panties down, letting them settle above your knees, too impatient to tug them off all the way. He spreads you apart, heart thumping, gut twisting, cock so hard that it hurts as he takes in how pretty you are, how ready you are.
You push back against him as he buries himself inside you, filling you with the best pressure. He hits so deep that you can hardly keep your eyes open. You rest your head on the bed, and when he pulls back to thrust into you, your moan is muffled and thick and heady.
âYou good, baby?â he half-whispers, big hands rubbing over your back.
âYes,â you whisper in a strangled moan. âHarder.â
He clenches his jaw, desire pounding through him, as he starts to fuck you the way that heâs been dreaming about all day. You clutch the bedsheets as he slams into you, pace quickening.
Watching your body react to his, the way the fabric of your skirt bounces on your ass with every thrust, promises his rushed climax. And he realizes this isnât how he wants it to happen, without you reaching your pleasure first, without being able to hold you how he wants.
He pulls out and gets on the bed, knee sinking into the mattress as he presses up behind you and guides you to rest on your side.
Youâre trembling as he grips under your knee, propping your leg up so he can push into you again as he draws you into his hold, lying behind you. You breathe his name in pure ecstasy when he enters, one arm under you and gripping your breast, the other trailing down your inner thigh and landing on your clit.
His body is hard and hot, cocooning you as he drives in and out of you slower than before, but making you feel just as good. He drags his fingers over your clit, pressing in circles, lightly pinching. You whimper in pleasure, sighing with every thrust, feeling his kisses on your shoulder.
âAdmit you were jealous,â he rasps.
You hike your leg higher so he can reach even deeper, your skirt bunched at your waist now.
âI was,â you admit, because you see no point in lying, not when heâs making you feel this good.
âListen to me,â Rafe murmurs, voice heavy and broken by shallow breaths. âYou got nothinâ to be jealous about.â
You nod, but you donât agree. You have the woman he ends up with to be jealous of. You squeeze your eyes shut, force yourself to only think of this moment, of how good he feels inside you, his hands playing with you so perfectly.
âFuck, Iâm gonna come,â he groans as your hot core squeezes him tighter.
It takes seconds for the pleasure to swallow you whole, spasming through your orgasm as you melt into the strength of his arms against you. His unraveling happens at the same time, hips stuttering with uneven jerks, pushing all the way in as he grunts in ecstasy.
Youâre panting and sweaty, exhausted as he keeps his arms around you, stays inside you. His fingers lazily trace over your clit as you come down together. He peppers kisses on your shoulders, in a drunken haze, because thatâs what you do to him. Thatâs what youâve done to him since you met.
You possessed him. Even when all you did was argue, you had a hold on him that he doesnât want to let go of. And in mere days, youâll be gone.
Heâll lose the way you look at him when your guard is down, the way your voice softens when youâre worried about him, the way your eyes brighten when you make a joke or laugh at one of his. Youâre going to leave. And youâre going to take a piece of him with you.
You get into your shower together. You donât say a word to each other. You donât need to. The water drums over you as you tend to the curves and ridges of each otherâs bodies with soft, gentle movements.
Itâs a heavy contrast to how you used to be with each other, when you were only interested in the satisfaction youâd find in tangling together, parting afterwards.
Moments later, youâre back in your bed, both in nothing but towels. He sits up against your headrest and you nestle next to him, on your side and stretching your legs out over his. He grips your thigh, thumb rubbing over your skin the same way he did at the altar. His wedding band presses against your skin as your head rests on his shoulder.
âSo, thatâs what happens when I wear a skirt,â you say softly, a smile tugging on your lips. His bare chest gently bounces with his laugh.
âItâs so fucking good with you,â he says.
You mumble, âYeah.â You wonder if by it, he just means sex, or if he means everything.
You drift into pillowtalk, tender and light and nothing too serious, eventually deciding you should both get something to eat. When Rafe stands to get some clothes on, you shift to pick up your phone out of habit.
The image of him kissing your forehead earlier today is everywhere across social media. Newlyweds in a sweet moment. Itâs the first time in your life that youâre glad youâre in the public eye. This moment, captured for eternity, is one youâll carry with you always. And youâre happy to have the proof that it happened.
Rafe sits at the dining table, brows knit in concentration over his laptop. As you drift through the kitchen, his eyes lift to meet yours. You settle into the chair across from him.
âHey,â he says, his voice tinged with surprise. Even with how close youâve grown, the simple act of you wanting to sit with him feels unexpected. âHow was it?â
âDecent,â you respond, still surprised your sister-in-law was actually civil towards you.
Rafe shuts his laptop, his unfinished report still looming over tomorrowâs deadline. Youâd vaguely mentioned that you were meeting Samâs wife before you left. It surprised him, but he didnât press.
âYou okay?â he asks.
âTheyâre having a girl,â you say. âI asked if there was a chance I could be in her life. We talked for a long time and she said yes at the end, if my brotherâs okay with it.â
Your words catch him off guard. You were so certain about leaving this place behind. A fragile hope tugs at his chest, telling him that maybe youâll stay, at least in part. But with it, dread sinks in. Keeping your family in your life will mean theyâll still have the power to hurt you.
You must be able to read the confusion in his gaze, because you take a deep breath and begin to explain.
âI feel like I need to look out for my niece,â you tell him. âMaybe because nobodyâŠâ
You look down. He knows. Because nobody looked out for you.
âI wanted to cut all ties, but I donât know if I can do that. What if she has this, too?â You place your hand over your chest, over your lungs. âItâs scary to think that my brother could be just like my dad was.â
Rafe gaze softens. His protectiveness over you rings through him, like a reflex, like the rhythm of his own heartbeat, and he feels that familiar urge to be better, respecting your strength and sense of responsibility so much that it ignites ambition in him.
It makes him want to be the kind of man youâd be proud to be with. He used to think you brought out the worst of him, but itâs the opposite.
You still havenât answered his question.
âAre you okay?â he repeats.
You nod and say, âYeah. I think this was the first time she and I really talked. She even said she shouldnât have believed everything my brother said about me. I didnât expect that.â
You kept quiet about your illness to spare Eira the fear that her child might carry the same burden. Still, it lingers in the back of your mind.
âI donât think she would be like my mom was, but I canât risk it,â you explain. âMy niece might need me, and I should be there even if that means having to be around my parents and my brothers.â
Rafeâs eyes are warm with admiration, moved by how fiercely you care. He hates his selfishness, the way he instantly wishes your love might reach him, too. It would thaw the pieces of his heart that have never known warmth.
He used to think you lacked loyalty and respect, but youâve been around people who never earned it. Now he sees it clearly, that you give everything when you want to.
âIf they piss you offâŠâ he murmurs, lifting his hand slightly off the table, palm angled toward you.
You let out a soft laugh, the weight on your shoulders easing. Itâs strange, remembering the first time you squeezed his hand out of frustration. Now, even that memory carries tenderness. Itâs proof of how far youâve come.
You picture it, staying in touch with Rafe, meeting up when you visit here to see your niece. But the thought of having him only in a fraction feels wrong, as something between an old friend and an ex. Youâre not sure you could endure only having a piece of him.
âYouâd choose to be around them?â you joke, cocking your head adorably. âWhy would you want to do that to yourself?â
Because heâd do anything for you. Maybe heâd even ask to be with you for real, despite the fear of losing you. He believed it meant risking the same kind of pain that once destroyed him, but maybe he could be bigger than his anxiety. Thereâs a deep strength in you, and it shows him just how scared, how weak, he really is.
âJust let me know,â he says quietly.
You look at him, unreadable. The words hang between you, a vague invitation to stay in each otherâs lives at some capacity. Thinking about it feels impossible. Itâs too tangled to unravel right now.
âAre you working?â you ask, glancing down at his laptop.
Heâs not sure if there was judgment in your voice, but would you be so wrong if there was? Here he is again, working late, chasing approval from a man who never gives it. Loyalty doesnât feel like virtue lately. Itâs more like desperation.
He nods in response, and you stand, murmuring, âIâll stop distracting you.â
âYouâre not,â he says.
âI am,â you say softly.
You leave the room, and for the first time, Rafe lets himself imagine it. Being by your side for everything, for the good days and the bad days. Something in his guard softens as he considers it.
He would do it. He would fight for you with everything he has. If only you were willing to fight, too.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Election night was a nightmare, a storm of cameras, speeches, and forced smiles. But you did your part. You stood where you were told, said what you were coached to say. And your mother won. The campaign is finally over.
The next morning, with just over a week left before the contract expires, you step into your fatherâs office after heâd called a meeting with you and Rafe. Celeste is already seated beside him. The family lawyer is here too, flipping through a folder.
A bad feeling claws into your gut. Your instinct tells you that this is ending the way you always feared it would. You sit in the same chair you sat in almost half a year ago, when you were told what you were being forced to do.
âWhat is it?â you ask, willing your voice not to shake.
Your father looks at you with the same cold indifference thatâs always cut you deep, and firmly says, âYouâve broken the contract.â
to be continued
authorâs note this series was meant to be ten parts, but i have 5k+ more words that i couldnât fit into this post lmao!! iâm almost done the story and iâm planning to post the final part in a few days <3 my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications.
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summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
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You canât wallow. You canât ruminate. You have less than two months before you can move away, and you need to focus on your next step. You need somewhere to go when all this is over.
Youâre standing in your bathroom, slowly waking up as you brush your teeth and scroll through apartments for rent on your phone. You find a two-bedroom by the coast in a city a three-hour flight away. Itâs nice. You can imagine living in it.
Youâre not sure what your parents would do if they found out youâre planning on skipping town when all of this is over. Maybe they already assume it and canât wait for you to stop being their problem. Or maybe they would punish you for it.
Like so many other parts of your life, itâs a secret. And for some reason, you willingly told Rafe that secret last night.
Youâre scared. Beneath every frustratingly wonderful feeling heâs given you, youâre afraid of how much power youâve given him, that youâve told him more than you needed to.
When you stood facing each other at the beach last night, he held you like he meant what he said, that everyone whoâs written you off is missing out on you. But your survival instinct wonât let you believe him.
As you stare at your reflection, you see the little girl who was born into a loveless existence, the one who held onto anger because it was her only way to survive, the one who vowed to herself that sheâd escape as soon as she could.
You hear shuffles from the kitchen. Rafeâs home, surely getting ready to go to work for the man who helped orchestrate all of this.
You wish he could snap out of his need for his fatherâs approval. Not for you. For himself. Whatever he feels he owes to the man, at this point, he has to have paid for.
Then, your phone buzzes with a text.
Rafe leans against the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, his mind racing with all heâd learned about you last night.
Why hadnât he just cut his losses when you asked him to back out? Why did he stubbornly commit to his first impression of you? Why did he assume that everything heâd heard about you was true?
It would have been so different. All of it. He could have been a good man, refusing to trap you into this scheme. But the worst of him came out and he stayed, putting you through this after youâve already suffered so much.
No wonder you want to leave. Thereâs nothing for you here.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores it. But it vibrates again and again, and he pulls it out. Celeste is calling. He declines. He doesnât have the patience to deal with her right now.
But then she calls again, and with an angry sigh, he answers.
âWhat?â he snaps.
âWhat were you thinking?â
His brows furrow.
âWhat are you talking about?" he says.
âYou didnât see it?â
He holds his phone out to read the message she sent minutes ago. So many things are coursing through him, but when his eyes land on the photo, what he feels the strongest is rage.
Again, a moment between you was stolen. Again, youâre being publicly shamed.
You walk into the kitchen. Your pulse skyrocketed when you saw the article link in the group chat, leading to a hazy shot of you and Rafe kissing in the water last night, paired with a headline that you two were baring it all.
Your phone is in your hand. He can tell you saw it, too. And you donât speak.
Rafe hangs up, leaving his phone on the counter, closing the distance. Itâs an unignorable instinct, the urge to protect you. No matter what you do, after everything heâs seen and heard, he canât not try to fight for you in some way. Itâd be like telling himself to stop breathing.
âIâll fix this,â he says in a rush, his hands finding your forearms, squeezing.
Your throat is dry. Itâs all too much. This ruse, the pressure, your declining health. The clean, well-mannered persona youâve worked for has been erased with a single photo.
âHow did I not think theyâd be watching?â you half-whisper bitterly, eyes downcast, following the buttons down the front of his shirt. âThis isnât fair.â
Rafeâs face pinches in concern. Itâs surely another reason you canât wait to leave. Youâre stripped of your privacy living here, constantly picked apart by the tabloids. And itâs still so fucking stupid to him. These people are obsessed with making you a spectacle.
Heâs still reeling over the fact that the story said you two were skinny-dipping, when it was nothing like that. It was the first kiss youâd shared that wasnât catalyzed by an argument or an impulse to satisfy a lustful ache. It meant something.
His phoneâs loud vibrations on the countertop make him sigh in frustration.
âCeleste?â you ask quietly.
âIâll meet with her,â Rafe says. âIâll call out of work. I wonât let it end like this. Iâll offer her money if I have to.â
âIâm coming, too.â
He nods, the stitch in his chest tightening. That right there is the fight he saw in you the moment you met.
You refuse to lose. He once thought it was immaturity, just one of the things that irritated him, but it isnât anymore. He loves it about you and that fact is just another reminder that heâs getting attached to someone whoâs going to leave.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The blinds on Celesteâs officeâs windows are fully drawn. She shuts the door behind you when you step inside. Thereâs no time for niceties. No point in them, either.
âItâs bullshit,â Rafe starts the conversation, sitting down. You settle beside him, and despite the unrest youâre feeling, itâs comforting to know youâre not facing your familyâs publicist and all she stands for alone right now.
âSo, that photo is fake?â she says with a glare pointed at you, settling behind her desk. âThe second your father sees this, itâs over.â
âWe were just swimming,â you say. âNot skinny-dipping.â
âYou expect me to believe that? Youâre meant to look like youâve grown up, but I suppose itâs typical of you to do something stupid without thinking about-â
âStop talking to her like that,â Rafe says, his voice sharp.
Your heart hammers as you stare at him, his jaw clenched and his frame broad and rigid. Heâs threatening when he wants to be, even when heâs seated, and you feel a safety youâve never known before.
His eyes flit to you, his stomach twisting when he looks past your anger and sees the worry. He hates knowing that this is the way youâve been spoken to all your life. Like youâre a burden. A mistake.
Celeste wears an incredulous look on her face. If everything thatâs led up to this moment didnât already make it obvious to her, it is now. Thereâs something between you. And she doesnât like it.
âWhen did this start?â she says with a huff, gesturing between you. Then, she looks at Rafe. âHowâd she get you on her side?â
You huff, refusing to explain anything, burning with rage at her implication that you tricked him into siding with you.
âWe werenât naked,â you say, tense and embarrassed. âWe were just swimming. Canât you make a statement?â
âI shouldnât have to. You were supposed to have dinner and go home,â Celeste replies. âI thought you couldnât get more unpredictable, but now both of you are attracting bad attention.â
It throws you. Youâd thought that she hated you two getting along because she was in on your fatherâs plan to sabotage this. But itâs clear now.
A bond between you and Rafe takes away her control. He used to go along with this, but now, like she said, she has to deal with both of you disobeying.
âYou donât want this stunt to fail,â you realize.
Celeste leans back in surprise, looking at you like youâre speaking a different language.
âThis is one of the biggest projects of my career,â she says. Her eyes flutter to Rafe, obviously holding back from insulting you after his outburst. âOf course I donât want it to fail.â
You take a beat. Itâs risky to say, but you believe that she isnât banking on this ending in flames. If you want to make it to the end, sheâs going to have to be an ally.
âMy dad does,â you tell her.
âExcuse me?â she says.
âWhen you were planning this behind my back,â you begin, âwas any of it your idea? Or did he just tell you to go along with it?â
Celeste interlaces her fingers and looks down before she answers.
âI suggested we keep you quiet during your motherâs campaign,â she admits. âSend you away for a while. But he was insistent on this. Why?â
âHe knew it wouldnât work,â you say. âHe made this look like it was a desperate move, but it was a test that I was always supposed to fail.â
She cocks her head, and for the first time, she seems to actually be listening to you.
âYou know my dad,â you continue. âYou really think he wouldnât play a game like this?â
Celeste is quiet, lips twisted in thought. Youâre sure sheâs considering letting it fail, telling your father youâre too unmanageable. Itâs what her boss wants anyway. But you canât have her on his side.
âHe wouldâve told me if he meant for this to end differently,â she says.
âHe didnât want you to know because if this got out, imagine how bad heâd look, forcing his daughter into a marriage he set out to sabotage,â you say. âItâs barbaric. And heâs capable of it. You know that.â
Rafe sees the pain in your face, his chest aching, desperate to fix this for you.
âMake this go away and Iâll double what you make in a year,â he tells Celeste.
She straightens, her brows lifting. She considers it, eyeing you. You swallow hard, pushing forward.
âIf my dad tells you to back off, fine,â you add. âBut if you find a way out of this, Iâll do whatever you tell me to from now on. I swear. I need my trust fund.â
âHe could easily write you out if he didnât want you getting any of your familyâs money,â she says flatly. âWhy would we do all this?â
Your throat tightens. Your stomach aches. In a way, youâve been asking yourself this all your life: why your father wants to hurt you.
âTo punish me,â you answer. âTo prove I canât do anything right.â
You wait. The woman across the desk, once seemingly devoid of empathy, has unexpectedly become your last hope.
âWeâll need to bury this with a bigger story,â she finally complies, bringing you a breath of relief. âAnd whatever I plan, I donât want any resistance from either of you.â
You nod earnestly. She crosses her arms, looking like sheâs still not entirely sure youâre being honest.
âDonât back out of the promises you made today,â she says to both of you. âIâll meet with Kal. Itâs better if neither of you are there.â
âYeah,â Rafe huffs, his hatred for your father still burning through him after all youâd told him last night. âIt is.â
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Anxiety chills you as you sit in the passenger seat, the engine starting with a softened roar as Rafe turns the key in the ignition. Thereâs a good chance that every word of that conversation will go back to your father.
Your temples ache as you think about all thatâs happened since this arrangementâs cruel beginning. Every staged appearance, every time you disobeyed, every time Rafe hurt you and you hurt him back.
And even though youâve never cared what your familyâs publicist has thought of you, it stung when she asked Rafe what you did to get him on your side.
Because thatâs what everyone thinks: if you have a friend, someone who likes you, it canât be real. Youâve tricked them into it. And itâs only a matter of time until they see the real you.
âYou havenât told anyone Iâm planning to leave, right?â you murmur.
It stings that you still suspect heâs on their side. He answers, âNo.â
He recognizes the fear in your expression, your eyes glazed over like youâre somewhere else.
âWhat is it?â he asks, his hand on the gearshift, the car still in park. You take in a shaky breath.
âShe could tell him everything.â
âShe wonât,â Rafe says confidently. âYou knew how to play her.â
The ache sitting deep in your chest thickens.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â you say, meeting his eyes.
The look of confusion on his face is both painful and infuriating. Itâs like he underestimated you, like he didnât expect you could negotiate, like he didnât know you could be so calculating, when really, you were just honest. Desperate.
âPlay her,â you echo. âThatâs what you think that was? I was tricking her?â
Rafe thought he was used to how easily your temper can flare, how defensive you can be, but he was giving you a compliment. He loathes being misunderstood, and he didnât expect you to make him feel this way, not after last night. Not after everything.
âI didnât mean it like that,â he says tensely.
âYou bribing her was the play,â you mutter. âI was being honest, but if you think I was manipulating her-â
âStop,â he interrupts. âYouâre twisting what I said.â
âYou were pretty clear.â
âAre you serious?â he says angrily, in utter disbelief.
You stare at each other and it almost feels right, being so angry at each other, arguing like youâre nothing but obstacles in the otherâs way. Itâs how this started and it might be how itâll end.
âJust drive,â you say. He clicks his tongue in frustration and pulls out of the parking lot.
You stare out the window. What you felt last night has been stained. No matter how the bond between you shifts, if one of you lights a match, the other drops it into fuel, and itâs how itâs always going to be.
You canât shake your first impression of Rafe. Heâs shown you gentler sides, heâs apologized for putting you in this position, but youâre afraid that his cruelty is a deep, permanent part of who he is. That it will always appear and find a way to hurt you.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Celeste calls you that evening to tell you that sheâs booked an interview with a big media brand. She originally hadnât dared to put you in a spotlight like this, one where a single outburst could unravel everything, but things have changed. Now, youâre totally obedient.
All you can do is thank her, because while the idea of sitting in front of a journalist and getting picked apart on camera terrifies you, it means she did what she said sheâd do: sheâs working to get past the last scandal.
The next afternoon, you have strangers staging your living room and touching up your makeup. Celeste walked you and Rafe through the questions youâll be asked and how to answer them, feeding you stories about his proposal and how you canât wait for the honeymoon and that the skinny-dipping story from the other day was an exaggeration.
It goes by in a blur. You might as well have been one of the other people crowding your living room, watching yourself speak and squeeze Rafeâs hand and smile. Once the last member of the crew leaves, you make your way towards your bedroom, but Celeste calls your name, then Rafeâs, as she stands by the front door.
âI donât think that Kal is sabotaging this, but I didnât tell him that you do,â she says. âThat interview went well. Tonight, go straight home after your date. No detours.â
You have to bite your tongue, resisting the urge to say that you wouldnât make a stupid mistake like that after what happened the other night. You only nod, and she leaves.
The penthouse is empty again, just you and your fiance, his stare hard from the other side of the corridor, his handsome face chiseled in bitterness.
Your hand is still warm from being in his grip during that ridiculous interview, your body aching with need, because all you want to do is run away from the pain permeating through you.
You have to think clearly. You canât give into impulse, even though all you want to do is wrap yourself around him and let the physical pleasure numb the emotional pain. He has become an addiction, and the comedown just gets worse every time.
âWhat?â you ask, a bite to your tone.
Rafe exhales sharply. Damn, you get under his skin. Even though your first real word to him in over 24 hours is laced with anger, heâs relieved, because at least you spoke to him.
But he doesnât know what to say after you expected the worst of him, twisted his compliment into an insult, then shut him out.
âNothing,â he replies.
You scoff and head towards your room. Defeated, he murmurs your name, but you donât turn back around.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Youâre out in the open. Like always.
You sit at a table under the stars, your date at the rooftop restaurant meant to look private, when in reality, itâs at the perfect angle for the cameras.
The waiter takes your menus after you order. You cross your arms, fingers digging into your skin as the nightâs cold air cuts into you, making your shiver. And it doesnât matter how much you piss him off. Rafe canât watch you suffer.
He pushes his chair back, starts to shrug out of the sleeves of his suit jacket, and states, âYouâre cold.â
âIâm fine,â you say, but when he stands to put his heavy jacket over your shoulders, the fabric warm and smelling of his cologne, you donât resist.
He settles back in his seat, and you mumble a quiet thank you.
The ache in his chest deepens as he gazes at you. Seeing you like this, vulnerable and trying not to look like it, reminds him of the night of the fundraiser, when he draped his jacket over you just as he did now, when your lungs gave out, and you looked so scared that everything in him screamed to never let this happen to you again.
Youâre still angry. He canât hold a grudge against you, while you seem to savor being pissed off at him. And heâs grown to hate the way it feels.
âYesterday,â he begins, âI was trying to say youâre smart.â
Your blink, apprehension drawn into your features.
âYou sounded surprised,â you reply, your voice coming out much weaker than he expected.
It throws him off. For someone who seems to have so much confidence, you sound like you need to be convinced that he thinks highly of you.
âI wasnât,â he says evenly.
Your lashes flutter as you look down, tugging the lapels of his jacket to tighten it around you. Your defensiveness is a knee-jerk reaction. An act of survival. A part of who you are.
âNobodyâs ever called me that,â you tell him. âUnless theyâre trying to say Iâm manipulative.â
âThatâs not what I meant,â he says.
You nod slightly, still not looking up at him. Itâs harrowing. Youâve spent your life trying to prove youâre worth something, and now that somebody sees good in you, all you can feel is worry that youâre a fraud.
But Rafe does see you. Youâve fought hard to keep your sense of self untouched by anyone elseâs opinion, especially his, but heâs seen you at your worst, and somehow, he still treats you with softness.
It brings back the quiet, painful question youâve always asked yourself. Who wouldâve you become if you were granted that same softness by your family? And now, another question pricks at you. Who would Rafe be if life was gentler to him? If he never lost his mother, if he was never left with a parent whose love has to be earned?
It hurts, as if youâre grieving the version of you and of him that never got the chance to exist. You finally look up at him, giving a voice to your curiosity.
âWhen this is over, are you still going to feel like you owe him?â you ask.
Rafe wants the sense of debt he feels to his father to go away so badly that it hurts. The thought of this being over is disorienting; it used to be a moment he was chasing, but now, itâs a goodbye he doesnât want to say.
âI donât know.â He takes a swig of his drink, rattled. âI work my ass off and he acts like Iâm not even there. My sisters donât have to do shit and he stillâŠâ
He breathes a frustrated sigh, his grimace hard. You didnât know he had sisters.
âHe still what?â you ask.
âHe â he likes them without them having to try.â
Thereâs a tick in his jaw, a moment where his face pinches with an emotion that looks like embarrassment. He said like, but he means love. His sisters donât have to work for love. He does. And you know that feeling well.
âMy dad never considered me for the family business,â you offer. âNot that Iâd want to work there. But my brothers were hired straight out of school, and I wasnât even an afterthought. I get wondering what your siblings have that you donât. It hurts.â
Youâre uncomfortable with being so raw, but just as relieved. You feel a pull to tell him these things because you know heâll understand.
You stare at each other as artificial, golden candlelight burns between you, casting flickering shadows on your faces. Itâs so clear now. You both grew up feeling inadequate and unseen by the people meant to love you. Itâs a shared ache, a quiet understanding, one that doesnât need to be spoken out loud.
âYou know when I looked at your project?â Rafe says.
You think back to waking up under your blanket, to the note he left on your schoolwork, telling you not to change a thing.
âDid it kill you to not have any notes?â you ask in an effort to break the tension.
It works. His dimples dip into cheeks when he smirks, and itâs another piece of him that makes him so addictive. His default expression is the farthest thing from warm or friendly, frown hard and jaw set, but then he looks at you like this, softened eyes paired with a charming smile.
You realize you feel lucky to be looked at like that. Heâs somehow turned from something that caused you pain, to a way to escape it.
âYouâre smart,â he reiterates. âSaw it for myself.â
You nod, eyes darting away again, a mix of confusion and sadness flooding you all at once.
âYou donât believe me?â he says.
When he says it out loud, you realize heâs right. You donât believe him. And youâre not sure if itâs because he said it, or because you really are afraid of failing. Of proving to yourself that they were right, that thereâs something about you that will never measure up.
âItâs hard for me to believe anything anyone says,â you confess. âI donât trust easily.â
Rafe stiffens. He knows he canât demand your trust. He is keeping two big things from you. And he feels like shit for it.
But protecting his dadâs motives for putting him in this arrangement, vying for his approval, is all heâs had. It's all heâll ever have. And telling you that he knows youâre sick is what he needs to do, but how in the hell can he do it when you so obviously want to hide it?
It eats at him. Forcing you to talk about anything would only make you retreat further. So heâll wait. Earn your trust. And if he never does, then you wonât have to go through the pain of telling him.
Speechless, he reaches across the small table, his hand finding yours, and lifts your hand to his mouth. He presses his lips against your palm. The tenderness of it, the gentle and pure demonstration of affection, sends your heart racing.
âThatâll make for a good photo,â you joke, but thereâs no levity in your voice this time.
Rafe knows heâs not doing all this for himself anymore. That became secondary long ago. He breathes against your skin and says, âThatâs not why I did it.â
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Rafe is settled on the couch, flipping through channels, when you walk through the front door the next afternoon, back from your dress fitting.
âI thought the engagement ring was tacky,â you mutter. âWait until you see this dress. I donât know how Iâll carry it around all day.â
His lips pull into a smile. He revels in these rare moments, when you speak to him like youâre friends. Or a real couple. Itâs a daydream that he shouldnât indulge, but heâs never been good at keeping his feelings in check.
âItâs that heavy?â he calls.
âI almost fell over.â
He chuckles, glancing towards the door, hoping he gets to see you, even if itâs just for a glimpse.
âI had to pretend like I adored it,â you add.
âHowâd you do that?â
âI acted like I was speechless,â you reply, leaning against the wall, peering into the room. You meet his eyes, your body warming the way it always does when he looks at you.
âHow?â he says playfully. âYou always got something to say.â
âComing from you?â you say with a half-amused smile. âYou never shut up.â
You shift and disappear back into the hallway. He straightens, calling out, âWhat are you doinâ now?â
âWaiting until that appointment,â you reply, on your way to your bedroom. Youâre expected at the city clerkâs office in an hour to apply for your marriage license. You have no choice but to do it in person, together.
Rafe taps his fingers against the couch, letting his craving for you speak before reason can catch up.
âWait here,â he offers, his deep voice carrying towards you.
Your steps slow. At some point, the old pattern, the one where you kept your distance unless you had contractual obligations or a desire for intimacy, has vanished. Now thereâs a depth to what you have. A genuine urgency to be together that you both feel.
Warm relief fills Rafeâs chest when you walk into the living room and settle on the couch next to him, inches away from touching, that sweet, familiar aroma of yours washing over him.
âSo, did she pick your suit out for you?â you ask, meeting his stare again.
His eyes travel over your face, lips just slightly parted.
âYeah.â
âWhatâs it look like?â
âBlack.â He shrugs. âNobodyâs going to be looking at me.â
You donât correct him. Youâll be looking at him. Itâs ironic, but the man you thought you hated will be the only thing keeping you steady that day.
âDonât hog it,â you say, holding out your hand and motioning to the remote control.
He huffs a chuckle and gives it to you. You click through channels and stop on a cooking show, a delicious looking meal taking up the screen. Your stomach turns, and you realize itâs been too long since you last ate, but your new medication has completely taken away your appetite.
Worry digs into you as you think about your next appointment two days from now, nervous about what your doctor will say.
âHungry?â Rafe asks with slight amusement. His eyes dart between you and the screen, remembering how youâd lied to your friend at that party, saying Rafe made you dinner for your birthday.
You snap out of it.
âNo,â you reply. âBut it looks good.â
âIs that what I made on your birthday?â
You breathe a quiet laugh, surprised he remembers your story.
âYou came up with that quick,â he observes.
âItâs a nice gesture,â you say passively. âA guy can buy you any gift in the world, but putting the work into actually making something⊠I donât know. Itâs different.â
He studies you, eyes travelling over your profile, jealously flaring at the thought of another man getting to take care of you like that.
âAnyone ever do that for you?â he rasps.
You look at him, noticing heâs leaning a little closer, faint stubble lining his jaw, the depth of his eyes striking you like always.
âNo,â you reply, and press your lips together. He wants so badly to reach forward, press his thumb on your chin so youâll pout again, so he can capture your lips in his.
âBut itâs what you want?â
You nod, apprehensive, a little shy.
âWhat else do you want?â Rafe murmurs.
His heart thrums. He would be anything youâd ask him to be if you gave him a chance. He waits for you to answer. Waits for you to let him kiss you.
You gaze at him. With every time he asks what you want, you grow more sure that heâs the answer. He wasnât at first. He was opportunistic and cold and selfish. You loathed him.
But along the way, that impression crumbled. Heâs nowhere near perfect, but heâs a kind of imperfect you think might just be beautiful. Nobody has ever made you feel the way he does. So seen, in the best possible way.
He doesnât hold your temper against you. He looks past your defenses and tells you how he feels. He doesnât have too much pride to apologize. He respects your mind, and heâs protective, but not controlling, making you almost feel safe enough to put your guard down.
Alarm bells blare in your head. You care about him and it gives him all the power to break you. You canât handle being broken any more than you already are. Not by a man youâre not sure you can ever really trust.
âIt doesnât matter what I want,â you reply quietly. âNot while Iâm here.â
You turn your attention back to the tv, ending the conversation.
Rafeâs eyes linger on you. Youâre guarded, shutting him out like always. It hurts, but itâs a needed reminder that youâre someone he shouldnât love.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You stare ahead at the traffic as Rafe drives back to the condo. Itâs hitting you that this is not just a publicity stunt. Not just a silly, cruel ploy. This marriage will be real and legally binding in less than three weeks.
Itâll be annulled and forgotten soon after, but the heaviness of it is palpable, just like what you said when the man at the city clerkâs office asked if youâll be changing your surname.
âWill it bother you if I keep it?â you ask, your voice thin.
Rafe glances at you from the driverâs seat. It hasnât left his mind, how you said yes to taking his last name without hesitation. He knows you donât want it because it means anything to you. You want it for the distance itâll create from a family that has hurt you all your life.
âIt helps you get away from them, yeah?â he says.
Itâs strange not having to explain yourself. He immediately understands, having seen enough to know that you want to cut all ties from this place, even if itâs just with your name.
âYeah,â you respond. Rafe scratches his jaw. Truthfully, he canât imagine anything would bother him if it were for you.
âKeep it,â he says. You nod, twisting your hands together in your lap, silent and thoughtful. You normally hate asking for something, burdened by the fear that it will come back to hurt you, but you donât feel it this time.
His lips part, hesitating before he finally responds to what you said to him earlier today.
âIt does matter what you want, alright?â he murmurs, quietly but resolutely.
You nod again, wishing your heart would stop fluttering. Even though itâs fleeting, the sense of safety enveloping you is warm and comforting and hard to let go.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Two nights later, youâre thinking about the appointment you had that afternoon as you prepare your dinner. The meds are working. Your blood pressure is better.
You asked your doctor if itâd still be safe for you to fly. The jet to your honeymoon will be waiting for you the morning after the wedding, ready to whisk you and Rafe away to a nearby tropical destination thatâs, like always, meant to look private, but orchestrated for paparazzi to have eyes on you.
Youâd try to find a way out of it, but you gave your word that youâd follow the rules from now on.
Your doctor told you that as long as you travel with your medical supplies and have access to care if you need it, youâll be okay. It only adds to your stress when you realize youâll need to find a way to hide all this from Rafe.
Itâs almost 8 pm. Youâre starving and youâre cooking something you hope is bland enough to stomach.
The front door creaks open. Rafe comes by, seemingly just to look at you. Your eyes lock, and itâs so different now. The tension that always lies between you is still there, but itâs softer now. He almost looks grateful, like seeing you steadies him. You wonder if your face gives it away, that seeing him is a relief.
Heâs wearing his fatigue on his face, his suit crumpled. You donât need to see it yourself to know he drives himself into the ground at work.
âHey,â he says.
âHey,â you reply.
He heads to his bedroom and you think about how nice itâd be to follow. To lie down with him in his bed, rest your head on his chest, and talk about your days.
Youâre nearly done cooking when he strolls back in the kitchen, swinging open the fridge and looking into it. He doesnât move, just stares into the near-empty space.
âIâm not going to finish all this,â you offer. âIf you want some.â
He looks up, watching you spoon your dinner from the pan onto a plate.
âNah, Iâm not taking your food,â Rafe says with a half-chuckle. âYou barely eat.â
You sigh, a little tense. Youâre still not used to the level of attention he gives you. Nobody has ever cared this much. Nobody else would have noticed how suddenly youâve lost your appetite.
âJust take some,â you tell him. âI'll even let you sit with me.â
âYouâll let me?â
âIâm feeling charitable today.â
A smirk pulls on Rafeâs lips as he stands straight again, towering over you. He steps past you, opening a drawer, pulling out a plate for himself, and it all feels so domestic. Youâve lived together for five months, but this is the first time it feels like you share a home.
âYou a good cook?â he asks with a playful lilt.
âYouâre in no position to be picky right now,â you reply.
Soon, youâre seated across from each other at the dining table. Youâve never shared a meal like this. Because you want to. In comfortable clothing. Alone, for real this time.
The cracked open balcony door invites a smooth breeze into the condo, faint car horns and crashing waves threading the air.
âSaw us on a magazine yesterday,â Rafe says, recalling the glossy cover he saw at the check-out line when he had to make a stop at a store. âIt was weird.â
You smile before you sip your water.
âWhat was it like living a normal life?â you ask. âLike, not being followed by the press all the time?â
âPretty good,â he responds simply. You chuckle. You like that he doesnât sugarcoat things.
âYouâll get your life back,â you reply. âTheyâll lose interest after we split up. All you do is work and go to the gym anyway.â
âShit, am I that boring?â
You look down when you laugh. He canât take his eyes off of you. Itâs such a damn tragedy that you donât smile much, that he could count the amount of times heâs seen real joy on your face.
âI mean that youâre normal,â you reply. âUnlike me. Partying all the time.â
Rafe huffs. Heâs the farthest thing from normal. Heâs felt it all his life, like heâs barely hanging on.
âI didnât have cameras on me when I was doing all that,â he admits.
You cock your head, curiosity tugging at you. Heâd only vaguely mentioned it, that he had a rough patch.
âWas it really bad?â you ask.
Rafe scratches the scruff on his jaw, taking a bite as he considers admitting to all of it. He owes it to you. He knows more than he should about you. Itâs only fair he divulges.
âI wasâŠâ He notices you pushing your food around with your fork again, uncertain if youâve even taken a bite. âWhatâs wrong?â
âMy appetiteâs been weird. Itâs just anxiety,â you answer. You bring the fork up to your mouth, chewing because you have to. âIâm good. Keep talking.â
Rafe looks down and takes a breath before he begins to speak.
âI was pissed off all the time,â he admits. âAfter my mom⊠Everything was different.â
Your eyes soften, sadness ripping into you.
âI got older and got my hands on anything that would make it easier,â he admits. âCouldnât stop.â
You nod, lips twisting in sorrow. You realize that, like you, numbing himself is how he copes.
âHow did you?â you ask. âStop, I mean.â
âMy dad found out I dropped out of college,â he says. âHe lost it on me.â
Your body goes cold.
âLost it how?â
âHe roughed me up,â he replies. Your lips part in shock, and he rushes to clarify. âI needed it.â
âWhat?â you half-whisper. âYou think you needed it?â
Rafeâs instinct is to defend his father. It always has been. He knows the man just wants the best for him, just wants him to succeed. But youâre looking at him like he told you something devastating.
âDid he hit you?â you press.
âI embarrassed him,â he tells you, confirming it.
âI embarrass my family all the time,â you say. âMy dad cares just as much about his reputation. Does that justify him hitting me?â
His eyes darken as he stares at you.
âHas he?â he mutters, rage burning through him.
âNo,â you tell him. âHe prefers other methods of abuse.â
Rafe shakes his head. What his father did wasnât abuse. It couldnât be.
âYou didnât deserve that,â you say.
He looks at you like heâs seeing something he isnât allowed to believe in.
It wouldâve been nice to be held instead of scolded, for his father to sit with his tears instead of telling him to swallow them. But that kind of softness died with his mother. Then, the only love he could have came with rules.
Silence settles between you, tense and fragile.
âSo, you went back to school?â you ask.
âYeah,â he says. âThen I started working for him so I can take over one day.â
It doesnât look like youâre really listening. Youâre clearly reeling over what he just told you. Itâs written all over you.
âI needed to get set straight,â he reiterates.
You grimace. He believes he deserved punishment for the way he grieved. And he still wants to take over his fatherâs company, stay tied to his family forever.
âWhat you needed was help,â you say. Thereâs something bitter in your eyes, like you canât stomach the way he accepts that his pain was necessary.
âI donât need you feelinâ bad for me,â he snaps, his pride burning.
Admittedly, even though his reaction stings, you understand. You donât want anyone feeling bad for you, either. You donât want to feel like a victim, and neither does he.
âItâs not pity,â you say quietly.
His jaw tenses, pissed off at himself for losing his temper. You didnât yell back like you usually do. Somehow, your soft reaction was worse.
A lump grows in his throat and he canât think of anything to do but leave. So, he does, storming out of the room with a hole digging into his chest, unable to look at you.
Since the day you met, youâve held up a mirror he couldnât avoid. Just being near you made him see himself more clearly than he ever wanted to. He always knew there were cracks in the man he was, but he didnât know they ran this deep and still affected him this badly so many years later.
He doesnât want it to be like this. He wants to love you. He wants you to love him back. But itâs impossible. Youâve changed him at his core, but all he is to you is a tool your father used to control you.
And heâs unraveling inside, his heart aching, holding back pieces of the truth. Thereâs no point in telling you he knows youâre sick. Itâd tear you open. It feels like the only choice he can make.
He needs to shield you, to protect you from everything. Including himself.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The wedding is in five days. Rafe has been swamped at work. When he finally leaves his desk, the sun already set long ago, he crosses by his fatherâs office, unsurprised to see him still there.
âSee you tomorrow,â he murmurs in passing.
âYou were quiet today,â Ward says.
Rafe stops in his tracks. He knows he wasnât at his best in the investorsâ meeting this morning. Heâs been struggling to stay focused, unable to give it everything heâs got. The exhaustion runs deep. Heâs worn thin, weighed down by a quiet misery he canât shake.
And your words have been ringing in his head. What you needed was help.
âIâm tired,â he answers.
âListen, I know this whole thing has beenâŠâ His father sighs. âBut youâve handled this well, son.â
Rafe nods. Steps away. As he walks down the carpeted corridor, he realizes that his dadâs words should mean something to him. But the praise didnât have any weight to it. He doesnât want compliments for his work. He wants to be noticed for who he is.
He never really saw it before, but in the almost half a year heâs known you, youâve made him realize what should have been glaringly obvious: his entire life has been built on earning the attention of someone who punishes him for not being enough.
And heâs been lying to the only person who looked at him, really looked, and told him he doesnât deserve that.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Youâre resting in bed, scrolling on your phone, when gentle taps rattle your door. Itâs late. Finally, heâs home.
âYeah?â you call out.
âCan we talk?â Rafeâs voice is low and ragged.
You open the door. Youâre not sure youâve ever seen him look so tired. His tie hangs carelessly, and the deep shadows beneath his eyes speak louder than words.
âWhat happened?â you ask, soft and concerned.
âYour dad - he helped my dad out. He hid the proof that some money was moved. I donât know the details.â He takes a shallow breath, his words rushed. âI said I wanted out before we signed anything. But Kal blackmailed us.â
Shock chills you from the inside. Every thought youâve ever had about Rafe is being rewritten all at once, scrambling through your mind.
He was coerced into this. When he said he had no choice, you didnât realize it was because he really was backed into a corner, trapped by not just loyalty to his father, but by a threat.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â you ask.
âI thought youâd use it against us,â he admits, searching your face for any indication of what youâre thinking. âBut I know you wonât.â
You see it in the way that heâs looking at you, miserable and desperate; he understands just how wrong he was about you. He said it before, but the fact that heâs telling you this proves it. You could destroy him and his family with this. Blackmail him. Make it public. But you canât fathom wanting to hurt the man standing in front of you.
âWhy say this now?" you ask, wide-eyed.
âSo you donât hate me,â he answers quietly. Youâre floored that your words to him from all those months ago stuck. That heâs been carrying them, turning them over.
Youâre still. Wordless. Rafe hangs his head, chest rapidly rising and falling, fearing you see him as spineless, as someone who folded under pressure. He steps back to leave you alone again.
âHold on,â you say, cutting the silence. You take a couple steps and cup his hand.
Rafe stops, half-turning, waiting for your words. But you donât speak. You only close what distance remains, and to his surprise, you embrace him, arms tight atop his shoulders, torsos pressed together.
He buries his face into the side of your neck and it hits you, the pressure that must have been weighing on him this entire time. He grew up with a father who weaponized loyalty, twisting it into obligation and guilt, manipulating his own son into cleaning up a mess he didnât even make.
The man hurt him, made him feel like he earned his pain, pushed him into this. He knew heâd do anything for him. He used him. You thought you were the only pawn here. You arenât.
âI shouldâve said no,â he says, his voice muffled, breath hot on your skin.
âYou couldnât,â you murmur, fully understanding his powerlessness now. Your hands rest on the back of his head, gently stroking his coarse hair.
Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, angry at himself for ever thinking anything bad about you. Here he is, giving you proof that heâs lied to you for months, and youâre not shouting and scheming against him like he used to think you would. Youâre holding him. Listening to his pain. Understanding it.
He nuzzles closer, holds you tighter, like youâre giving him breath by holding him. It shatters you, how hurt heâs been, how his only worry is what you think of him. The first time you lay together, you told him that the fact that you hate him would never change. But you lied. To yourself and to him.
âIâm sorry,â he says.
âItâs okay,â you whisper. âI donât hate you.â
Your breath is shaky as you tighten your arms around him. It rips through you, vicious and unforgiving; itâs so much more than that. You might love him.
You donât want to. It makes you vulnerable, and heâs already shown you how sharp he can be when heâs angry. Loving him means giving him the power to hurt you in ways no one else can.
And worse, you know your illness would unsettle him. You saw it in his eyes when he caught you in an appointment. He admitted it reminded him of his mother, shook something deep inside him that he hasnât dealt with since she died.
Being with you means facing the reality of your body, your limits, your struggles. He doesnât deserve to be reminded of his trauma every day. You donât deserve to feel like you have to hide such a big part of your life.
This canât work. You understand that. But understanding doesnât make it easier.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
With only two days remaining until the wedding, the rehearsal dinner is in full swing. Itâs extravagant, crowded, long banquet tables draped in white linen, flickering candles nestled among arrangements of roses.
Youâve avoided your father at every turn. You have no faith that he won't try to ruin things and blame you for it.
You have a bond with Rafe that you were never meant to form and your fatherâs angry about it. He never believed youâd make it this far, thought youâd push away the man also forced into this. Because in his eyes, thatâs all youâve ever been: a reckless, defiant child. A problem.
Rafe stands beside you, his hand brushing yours just enough to steady you. Every time you glance at him, you can see the anger beneath his calm exterior. Youâre both mad, and itâs not aimed at each other anymore, but at those that forced you together.
At one point, you drift apart during the evening, and he finds himself cornered in a conversation with your father. His patience frays with every word. Heâs still feeding Kal the updates he promised to keep up the illusion that the contract still matters to him. But it doesnât. Not anymore. The only thing heâs invested in now is you.
Heâs only half-listening, his mind elsewhere, until Kal utters a few harsh, careless words about you. Thatâs all it takes to make Rafeâs blood boil.
âSomeone wants to meet you.â Your voice pulls Rafe out of his anger, his gaze dropping to look down at you. Your hand is at his elbow, clinging.
You slip away, leading him towards an empty pocket in the crowd by the wall. Without a word, you step into his space, close enough that he can feel your warmth.
Your eyes meet his, soft and searching. For a moment, the noise fades, and itâs just the two of you, held together by everything youâve shared in moments that were never meant to happen.
âYou had that look on your face,â you say. âThe one you had with my brother. Like you were about to punch someone. What is it?â
He realizes you made up an excuse to pull him away. Guilt consumes him. Heâd just been thinking that he was only in this arrangement for you, and he could have jeopardized everything by losing his temper on your father in front of all these people.
âHe pissed me off,â he answers.
âHeâs good at that,â you reply. âWhat did he say?â
He doesnât want to repeat it. It was dismissive and so far from the truth that it made him see red. Telling you means hurting you. And right now, the last thing he wants is to be another man who makes you feel small.
âIt doesnât matter,â he replies. âLetâs just get through this.â
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Your step into the quiet of your condo, the door clicking shut behind you once the night comes to an end. You kick off your heels, Rafe shrugs off his jacket, and for a moment, you simply exist, standing in the silence of a space that actually feels like it's yours.
You stare at him. Itâs unmistakable and terrifying, the feeling he gives you. Youâre afraid of what it means to want someone who was never supposed to matter to you.
âGood night,â you say, turning away.
âNight,â he murmurs, watching you leave, figuring he should get used to the feeling.
You step into your room, hand halfway to the light switch, but you donât flick it on. You just stand there, swallowed by the dark, because something in you canât bear the brightness right now.
âRafe?â you call.
You hear the movement behind you, steady and familiar. When you turn, his sharp features are half-lost in shadow, handsome and breathtaking.
âWhatâd he say?â you ask. He watches you, your silhouette barely visible in the soft spill of moonlight through the window.
âItâs not important,â he says.
âTell me.â
âHe was baiting me.â
âHow?â
He shakes his head, like the memory disgusts him.
âHe asked me how I did it. How I⊠made you behave,â he admits. âHe wanted to set me off. Itâs bullshit. Nothing he says about you is true.â
Your heart is pounding, lips barely parting, as if your body doesnât want you to speak. But you canât help it. Rafe makes it too hard to shut down impulse.
âWhatâs true, then?â you ask.
His eyes are adjusting to the dark, but not quickly enough. He wants to see you clearly, because with those words, and the way you said them, youâve revealed that his opinion means something to you.
You wait to hear what his version of the truth is, hating that you care, that thereâs still a piece of you angry at him for putting you through this.
âAnyone who knows youâŠâ he answers, low and thick. âTheyâre lucky.â
Rafeâs hand is warm and steady as he cups your face. You soften under his touch, believing him, feeling like a blessing instead of a burden. Itâs unfamiliar, but comforting. You dip your head, but his hand firms, guiding you to look up at him in the dimness.
âIâd do anything for you, you know that?â he rasps.
Your heart pounds against your ribs. Itâs overwhelming, the pull to hear more, tangled with the dread of what each word might do. Every time he speaks, it chips away at something inside you, leaving you more exposed, more fragile than before.
The impulse to give into desire tells you to pull him in. You obey.
Your lips meet heatedily, just like the first time, except so much has changed since then. Every part of him aches with gratitude, like heâs finally getting a drop of water after being parched, and he licks into your mouth, your kisses hot and hungry.
When he shifts to press his open mouth on your neck, you shiver. The air thickens, and all of him throbs for you, his tongue gliding over your skin. He just wants to taste you, all of you.
âLie down,â Rafe instructs.
You let him take the lead, shuffling back as he moves against you, holding you as you lower onto your bed, his lips on your neck again. His hands are rough as he shifts your dress up to your hips and impatiently, you thrust your fingers into the band of your panties, squirming to pull them off under his weight.
His lips tug into a satisfied smirk as his nose nudges against yours, hand lowering to feel your naked core, breath shaky when he feels the heat heâs been dying to taste.
âShit,â he whispers. âThatâs my girl.â
The words pull you over the edge. You kiss him again, nibbling at his bottom lip, gasping into his mouth as his fingers wander over your folds. Heâs already so hard against your thigh, and he shifts, but instead of taking his pants off like you expect, he licks his lips and lowers.
Your eyes are trained on his as he settles between your legs and slowly, agonizingly, leans forward to kiss your core.
Your breath hitches, rolling your hips against him, spreading your thighs as heat pools through you. His kisses slowly grow shorter, opening his mouth more and more, until he finally locks his lips around your clit. You groan as he sucks, then pulls back to flick his tongue, and buries his face into you once more.
Rafeâs body burns with desire as he tastes you, glories in the moans heâs earning from you. Heâs sure he could never get enough of you. Itâs impossible. Everything about you is impossible in the best way, because things with you feel too perfect, giving him a purpose he never had before.
His tongue slides over your silky heat, ravishing you, your whimpers making the tightness in his boxers nearly unbearable. He canât control his moan when he moves to press his tongue into you, feeling you pulse around him, his mouth full of your ecstasy.
His thumb finds your clit, holding you down so he can wriggle his tongue and lap at you the way you deserve. The electric ecstasy swallows you, your back arching and your body writhing as you meet your peak with a breathy, broken moan.
He keeps sucking until you grip his shoulders, the overstimulation becoming too much. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths as he sits up to hover over you and gazes down at you in the dim light. His lips are wet, his stare lustful.
The deep look of desperation swims in your eyes, stroking his length over his pants. Itâs so fucking perfect, seeing how much you want him, your lips parted and your eyes glazed over. Itâs not enough to just see it; he wants to hear it.
âYou need it?â he rasps, gently rocking against your hand. âHow bad?â
You donât think your competitive, teasing dynamic could ever change, and you revel in it. You bite your lip, palming his twitching cock, still trembling from the comedown.
âYou said youâd do anything for me, right?â you whisper. âTell me how bad you need it.â
Rafe breathes a quiet, sexy laugh, shifting to lie over you again, his cheek against yours, his lips at your ear.
âSo fucking bad that itâs all I think about,â he says. âYouâre all I think about.â
He kisses you again as you feel for the button of his pants, undoing it, moving to the zipper. He doesnât hesitate, doing the rest of the work, holding himself at his base and pressing against your wet, hot entrance within seconds.
He teases first, nudging the head against you. His groan is deep when he finally buries himself into you, cupping your face as he presses his forehead on yours.
He fills you so perfectly, a pleasurable pain as you adjust to his girth. He rocks back, then thrusts into you harder this time, the bed starting to squeak under his rhythmic force.
Your bodies slap together, sweat sheening your chests, feeling your arousal drip down your skin. He buries himself so deep every time, pounding passionately and frantically, hitting the perfect spot every time.
âFuck,â you whisper. âRight there, baby.â
Your words rouse him, push him to shift back just enough to meet your eyes and witness the proof that heâs the one making you feel so good, wanting to cement in his memory how beautiful you are.
His cheeks are pink, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen as he stares at you. You donât want this moment to end. You donât want anything with him to end.
Being looked at like this, being talked to the way he talks to you, itâs like heâs in your veins, your body and heart and soul choosing him no matter how many times you tell him it shouldnât.
You hold his face in his hands, and for just a moment, you let yourself believe that thereâs a world where this could work, where he could be yours and you could be his, but itâs fleeting. Dangerous.
His gaze deepens, sure you feel it, too. Loving you isnât a decision; itâs instinct. Somewhere along the way, you became the center of everything.
He leans in, kissing you again. Youâre so hot and tight and wet and sweet that he shudders through his orgasm, whimpering as the shockwaves rush through him, loving the feeling of your hands on his back, pulling him in, as if you want to feel every inch of the pleasure youâve given him.
Youâre left reeling, limp and sweaty. The room is filled with a musky warmth as you both pant in pleasure. Itâs somehow better every time.
You donât ask him to leave. He doesnât ask to stay. You remain together, peeling off the clothes that remain, both giving into the delusion that this isnât fated to end in a goodbye.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You spend the entire next day running around at Celesteâs request, caught up in the chaos of pre-wedding prep. Itâs nearing nine when you get home, unsure of why Rafe was texting to ask when youâd get home, as if heâs still trying to keep tabs on you.
You pace past the kitchen, stopping when you see him drying his hands with a tea towel, looking down at the pot on the stove. He doesnât notice you at first, too focused, too careful. Thereâs something tender in the way he moves, something that catches you off guard.
Then, he sees you, and then looks away again, glancing down at his hands, still rubbing even though theyâre already dry.
âHey,â Rafe says. âFigured you didnât eat.â
It hits you. He made you dinner. Youâd told him you wanted someone to put that effort in for you, and he did. And you wish it didnât worry you that he cares enough to try.
You want to stay guarded, to keep the walls up where itâs safe, but tonight, youâll let them crack just a little. Just this once, you choose to believe he might be good, all the way through.
âWhy did you do this?â you ask, slowly stepping forward.
His smile is both happy and sad as he mumbles, âJust sit down.â
Itâs almost too much, too sweet, and your instinct is to deflect before the feeling takes you away. You reach for humor to avoid really looking at how much this means to you. How much he means to you.
âYou a good cook?â you tease, echoing his words from the other night. He laughs.
âYou tell me,â he answers.
A gentle chuckle escapes you as you nod, more touched than amused.
After getting into comfortable clothes, you settle at the table and take a bite. You catch a glimpse of him watching you, eyes wide, hopeful, almost childlike in their curiosity. You donât think youâve ever seen that kind of unguarded expression on his face before.
Itâs good. A little overcooked, but what matters is that he made it for you.
âI like it,â you tell him. Your smile is a reward. Proof that heâs done something right.
âYeah?â
âYeah. Thank you.â
For the first time, as you eat together, conversation feels entirely easy. The tension that usually hangs between you dissolves.
Tonight, youâre not two people weighed down by obligation. Youâre more. Youâre yourselves. Itâs unfamiliar territory, but it feels good. Like you belong here.
You finish your meals, but stay seated, talking about all the little things you never got to know about each other. Eventually, you glance up at the clock. Itâs nearing 10:30.
Youâre need to wake up early tomorrow for the day youâve been dreading. But right now, youâre not dreading it completely, not when you look at the man youâll be sharing it with.
Still, the anxiety you carry alone has been gnawing at you. Your illness has been unpredictable lately. The fatigue, the pain, the moments where your body betrays you, theyâve been creeping in more often as a result of all the stress, and youâre scared theyâll show up when you need strength the most.
âWe should sleep,â you say, rising to clean up the dishes. He stands, noticing the slowness in your movements, cluing in to your exhaustion.
âI got this,â he says, taking your plate from your hand.
âI can do it,â you say, a little sharply, defensive that he thinks you canât handle it on your own.
He gazes at you in mild shock and you cross your arms, looking down.
âSorry. Iâm just stressed.â
âAll good,â he replies, leaning to leave a chaste kiss on your forehead, numbing your stomach with the sweet gesture. He moves past you, putting your plates in the sink with a clatter.
Youâre not confident you can get through tomorrow if Rafe isnât ready to help if you may need it. You could just use the same excuse, say youâre worried about panic attacks.
But it rushes though your mind, every time he protected you from someone else, every time he admitted he had you all wrong, every time he opened up about his own pain, every time he held you and looked at you like he wants to give you the world.
âRafe,â you say to his back, your body cold with anxiety.
âYeah?â he asks, turning to face you. You close the distance, standing across from him, brows furrowed as you gaze up at him.
âTomorrow, I might need to get away from the crowd,â you tell him. âCan you help me if I do?â
âYeah,â he whispers.
Your heart pounds against your ribs like itâs trying to escape. Your hands tremble. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, but the fear coils tighter. Still, heâs looking at you with that quiet patience, that softness that makes you want to believe itâs okay to be vulnerable.
âIâŠâ you half-whisper. âI have to tell you something.â
He sees it in your eyes. And suddenly, heâs in his own head, scrambling. Whatâs the right thing to say? What if he makes you feel worse? He finds himself afraid that one misstep could shatter the fragile trust between you.
Rafe steps closer, placing his hands on your shoulders, trying to quiet the storm inside long enough to be what you need.
âThereâs something called pulmonary proteinosis," you say, your voice thin. âItâs a lung disorder. Thereâs no cure. I was seven when they found it.â
Regret courses through him. He shouldâve told you he knows. Watching you struggle to speak, watching the fear flicker behind your eyes - he realizes he ruined everything.
âWhat happened the night I used my inhaler, it could happen tomorrow,â you say. âAnd these new meds Iâm on make me dizzy. If I lose control of my breathing or I stumble and I donât get away in time, I⊠I donât want anyone to see me like that. Like Iâm weak. Because Iâm not.â
He remembers the moment with a jolt, the way the word slipped out when he took you to his gym. He jokingly called you weak. You were furious. Now, he understands. Weak is the last thing you ever want to be.
âBaby, Iâm so sorry,â he whispers. His apology carries so many layers, for every time he got it wrong. For believing the headlines, for echoing your familyâs doubts, for not seeing the strength you live with every day, for not telling you he knew.
âDonât let anyone see me like that,â you say quietly. âPlease.â
âI wonât.â
You figure since youâre saying this, you should say it all. No more half-truths. No more hiding. Your voice trembles, but you push forward, because if you stop now, you might never find the courage again.
âWhen we get on that plane, Iâll have supplies with me just in case,â you say. âThe altitude can mess with my breathing. My point is⊠my disease isnât terminal, but I need a lot to keep me safe. And I need to be able to pay for it. Do you understand?â
It hits him like a punch. You need money for medical care, you need it to survive, and your father, who should be protecting you, is the one holding it back. Threatening that you wonât get it.
He feels like an idiot for never cluing in before. This is a kind of cruelty that goes beyond what he thought. That man is playing with your life.
âThatâs why you need your trust fund,â Rafe realizes, fury building in his chest.
Thereâs no shock in your nod, just the resignation of a woman whoâs already accepted that sheâs not loved. Youâve carried this alone for so long.
âI know itâs hard for you to be around,â you say, remembering the way he trembled when he vaguely told you about his motherâs illness taking her life. âBut thereâs no way I can hide it from you anymore.â
His throat is dry. Youâre not wrong. He didnât expect you to notice it. He thought heâd buried it deep enough. But of course you see his unresolved grief.
It all rushes back, the memories of watching someone he loved fade. Being with you, watching you fight, is like living in the echo of that grief.
Your illness wonât kill you, but still, he doesnât know if loving you is enough to erase the fear that one day, it could. You deserve someone stronger. Better. All he can do now is admit to his mistake.
âThe day I went to talk to your dad about that nightâŠâ he begins. He sighs, looking down, grimacing like heâs been slapped.
You feel the sting behind your eyes before you can stop it. You pull back just enough that his hands fall away, the connection broken.
âYou knew?â you whisper. It canât be true. He let you believe you were alone in it. All those times you thought you were fooling him, holding yourself together, he saw through it.
You feel exposed. Angry. Embarrassed. Betrayed.
âI was waiting for a good time,â he says, âbut then I thought - it would be like I was forcing you to tell me something and I - I fucked up, okay?â
It feels like the ground shifts beneath you. You werenât worth the truth. That hurts more than anything. You finally showed someone this piece of you and they stabbed you in the back.
âYou knew,â you say as a statement this time, your eyes welling up.
âBaby, I didnât mean to-â
âDonât call me that,â you say. He reaches for you again, but you push his hand away. âYou lied to me.â
âHe didnât say a lot, but it was enough for him to look - to look happy he was the one telling me. I thought you should tell me. If you wanted to.â
You look at the floor, your heart wringing in pain. You never expected to tell anyone this, not for a long time. Especially not him. It was supposed to stay locked inside, where it couldnât be used against you. But now itâs out and you feel powerless in a way thatâs worse than anything you imagined.
âBut you already knew,â you murmur. âAnd you had so many chances to...â
Your breath comes out as a quiver. Rafeâs blood is ice in his veins. He thought he was protecting you. He didnât want to corner you, didnât want to take away your choice. But now, he feels cowardly.
In trying not to hurt you, he did. Like everything he does, he fucked this up, and the shame deepens because you almost look vindicated. Like you were justified to believe every bad thing you thought about him when you met.
He moves closer, but you shove him away again. Frustration burns through him.
âDonât come near me,â you warn. You donât know how to even look at him without thinking of every moment he couldâve said something and didnât. Every moment he couldâve made you feel less alone.
You thought he was in your corner, that he respected you enough to be honest.
âI was trying to do whatâs good for you,â he says, hurt, his voice beginning to shake.
âLying is good for me?â you say through a choked whimper. Thereâs a fire in your eyes, tears glossing over, and it slices into him, you looking at him like that. But then, you say what really cuts. âI was right about you. I hate you.â
You storm out, sniffling. Rafeâs jaw is tight, heart burning. Your words ruin him. Your bedroom door shuts hard, not quite a slam, but enough to make him flinch.
He exhales like heâs been punched. He told himself he deserved the pain he went through, the guilt, the ache of never being enough. You said he didnât. You looked him in the eye and said he was worthy of better.
But now, standing in the wreckage of what he couldnât be for you, the clock loudly ticking and his pulse thundering in his ears, itâs clear: he deserves it. Every bit of pain.
(to be continued - next part is the last)
my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications.
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
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Your hand trembles as you take in a slow pull of cold water, lingering in the kitchen. For once, you have to pause. While youâre used to running away in every possible sense of the word, what happened last night demands your attention.
The man who held you steady was a complete stranger. That couldnât have been Rafe.
But it was. Those same blue eyes, softened instead of cold, that same low voice, comforting instead of combative. You think of the bite of the night air, the hum of the party behind you, the way he looked when he knelt in front of you.
In that moment of crisis, he gave you what you needed. But now, you canât help but be bitter about it, because how dare he speak to you and hold you like that after how awful heâs been to you. Heâd threatened you, uttered cruel things, suggested you deserved the horrible ways youâve been treated.
The thread in you pulls again, weakening you as you remember his words in the darkness of the backseat on the way home. I want you.
When the key turns in the front door with a loud rattle, you realize you were wrong to assume he was still sleeping. You canât rush away in time. His stare lands on yours, ushering in an unavoidable awkwardness.
âHey,â Rafe says, his voice low.
You chew on your bottom lip, look down at your glass, the knot of mixed emotions lumping in your chest. You hate that he saw you like that. You hate that he knew what to do.
Itâd be so much easier if he were simply a bad person. Irrevocably. Undoubtedly. But because his intentions are so unclear, because his behaviour is so unpredictable, youâre left with nothing but frustrating confusion.
You donât know what to feel. Or what to think.
âTheyâre making a big deal out of nothing,â he murmurs as he crosses into the kitchen, standing across from you, leaning on the counter.
âWhat are you talking about?â you say, looking up at him.
He realizes you must have not seen Celesteâs group text demanding you two get to the house this morning.
âThey got a picture,â he explains. âLast night.â
âOf what?â you snip.
Youâre tense. That scowl you have reserved specifically for him is etched in your features. He thought youâd pick up where you left off last night. That the animosity between you had been extinguished. But youâre clearly pissed off.
âOf us. Outside,â he says.
Your heart drops.
âShow me,â you say quietly.
Rafe pulls out his phone, opens the article, and hands it to you. You hold his phone in quivering hands, giving him a chance to gaze at you as you stare at the photo.
And he looks at you, really looks at you, as your fatherâs words continue to sink into every gap in his mind. Heâs seen firsthand what a chronic illness can do to a person. How much it can demand from them.
And Kal's indifference about it told him everything. You handle it by yourself. Youâve always had to.
âThis isâŠâ you say in a sigh of disbelief as you read. You have no words, eyes travelling over the story about you being comforted by your fiance in the middle of a public breakdown, heart pounding harder every time you glance up to the blurred image of him holding your face in his hands.
Youâve had your privacy invaded many times. This has to be the worst.
Rafe canât take his eyes off of you. Last night, in a wavering, nearly silent voice, you told him you were never wanted. Yet as he looks at you, all he can think about is how that canât be possible, about how fucking wrong he was about you.
Between your fiery arguments and your passionate nights and the rare moments of fragility, he can see it now, that youâre the way you are because you have no other choice.
You donât try to be difficult. Itâs more complex than that. Youâre constantly in survival mode because you have to be.
âWhat did you tell them happened?â you ask.
âWhat you told me,â he says.
âThat I had a panic attack,â you realize in an cold tone, all in an effort to hide your anxiety that your father told him. That he knows. âTheyâll use that against me. You know that, right?â
Rafe wets his lips, unsure of how to navigate this.
âI just â I wanted them to know how much this is fucking with you,â he admits.
You hate that his words make your heart feel a little less heavy. He sees the turmoil this is putting you through.
So, why did it have to get this bad for him to worry? Why did he have to witness three months of your pain to start giving a damn? None of this would be happening to you if it werenât for his compliance in the first place.
You exhale, sliding his phone back towards him.
âDid you mention my inhaler, too?â you ask.
He decides to lie right now. He shakes his head. He doesnât want the conversation to unfold like this. Not when youâre already upset and stressed out, looking at him like that.
âSo, what then? Whatâd they say?â you ask.
âSheâs going to write something. Damage control, I guess.â
âAnd my dad?â
Your eyes find his again. The anger in them has lessened, replaced with fear. And heâs sure of it now. You really donât want him to know. So, right now, heâll settle for half the truth.
âHe said youâre dramatic,â Rafe answers, dipping his head in disagreement.
âTypical.â You wish you were in that room with them to defend yourself. âWhy didnât you just wake me up?â
Your nervous questions underscore it for him. Youâre terrified of him knowing, as if it changes anything. The only thing it does to him is make the urge to protect you burn hotter.
âThought you should get your sleep,â he admits.
You swallow hard. Itâs a foreign feeling, someone caring about you when they donât have to. Itâs almost unsettling. Like it canât be real.
You shift to rinse out your glass, your back to him, as if to shield yourself from how breakable you feel in this moment. But you have to ask.
âWhy did you do that last night?â you say, your voice reduced to a hush.
Rafe doesnât answer. When you turn, you realize he was waiting for you to face him. He leans closer, stares at you with those eyes you hate that you love to look into.
âBecause I wanted to,â he answers.
His words ring in your head again. I want you.
âWhy?â you press, looking up through your lashes.
It aches how bad he wants you to trust him enough to tell him. How bad he wants to just pull you in right now.
âBecauseâŠâ He squints as he searches your face. âYou never had anyone looking out for you.â
You stiffen, a rush of frustration stinging you. It still digs at you; why would he care now, and why would you think you need him of all people?
âI never needed anyone to,â you say. âIs that it? You pity me?â
Thereâs that defensiveness of yours, that stubborn pride that you seem to wrap yourself in all the time. Yet again, Rafe sees himself in you. Afraid to need someone. Desperate to let anyone see any weakness.
He doesnât know why youâre keeping it quiet. But he wonât confront you. He wonât make you explain. Heâll pretend he doesnât know youâre sick, that he hasnât seen what that can do to someone, even if it hurts him to watch you do it alone.
Opening up that part of himself reminds him of what happened the last time someone he cared about lived the way you do. And he canât run away from the fact that he does care for you.
Words refuse to form.
âWhy is this what it took?â you ask when he doesnât respond.
âWhat?â
âWhy did I have to be⊠like that for you to give a shit?â
Rafe breathes a sardonic chuckle. Heâs given a shit about you for a long time.
He held your hand when you needed an anchor, told that annoying publicist to stop making you wear uncomfortable things, looked at your project for you and left you a note you havenât even mentioned.
You need to be convinced that he cares. And he canât do that without opening up wounds. Without telling you that he understands being angry at the world, because he lost his mother to something that drained her of who she was, because heâs seen what a personâs body not cooperating can do to them.
He canât fault you for not wanting to admit it. Thereâs a lot he doesnât want to admit to himself.
You shake your head, uneasy with his silence, unsure if this is hesitation or manipulation. The quiet feels like a trap.
âSay something. Did you know reporters were out there?â you mutter. âDid you set that up?â
His face hardens, temper flaring at the accusation.
âI followed you outside,â he says. you serious right now?â
You step back. Itâs all so overwhelming, the fragile and contradicting sense of safety you feel with this man. You canât let yourself fall for it. You canât forgive him for the role he played in forcing you into this.
Last night was a wake-up call. Rafe is getting too close. Heâs seeing too much. And you canât allow it to continue.
âYou shouldnât have,â you say, your tone thin as you glare up at him.
âI shouldnât have what?â
âYou shouldnât have followed me.â
He takes you in, every moment of the last three months running through his head. Your recklessness and defiance read differently now. All he can think is that someone needs to make you feel safe. That it needs to be him.
But it canât be. Youâre cold and angry and he realizes that youâll always do this. Youâll always push him away. Youâll always look at him like this, like you loathe him, like you regret every single minute you share.
You told him youâd always hate him. You meant it. Whatever he thought you had isnât there. You clearly regret showing him that side of you last night. And it stings like rejection. Worse.
Itâs another thing he has in common with you. He hardly ever feels wanted, too. But this is not just in his head. You canât stand him.
His lips firm into a tight line, and he nods stiffly before he leaves. Heâs not going to make a fool of himself again.
You wish his walking away from you didnât hurt. You tell yourself to get a grip. Youâve spent your entire life protecting yourself from people like Rafe.
And as you stand in quiet solitude once again, you remind yourself that you canât fall for it. For him.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You donât take the risk of Rafe catching you in the middle of your monthly check-up again. This time, you head back to your familyâs home to meet with your nurse.
You go through the motions, until Iris stops mid-sentence when she reads your blood pressure. You notice the crease in her forehead as she resets, wraps the cuff around you again, shuffles in her seat.
The monitor beeps when it flashes a number again. Her lips turn into a frown.
âAre you feeling anxious or upset?â she asks.
You hesitate before you nod, divulging the details of the episode you had a few nights ago, sharing how the stress of awaiting your exam results has been affecting you.
Itâs so much more than that, but you have no choice but to lie.
Iris goes through questions about your diet, your substance use, your sleep, your pain. Each one of your answers doesnât seem to erase the worry in her face.
âIâd like you to see your doctor as soon as you can, honey,â she says. âJust as a precaution. I donât like this number. Try to minimize stress when you can, okay?â
For someone with your condition, this is risky. Your doctor had told you before how it could affect oxygen intake, worsening your lung function, leading to heart strain. Possibly even worse.
Tears prick the back of your eyes. Beneath the worry, you feel lonely.
Until you remember the feeling of Rafeâs arms around you in the backseat of the car, calling you baby and offering you a way out. It shouldnât, but it offers you a semblance of comfort.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Everything about today, on the outside, is perfect. The campus is buzzing with an excitable energy. When you received your grades, confirming that youâd passed all your classes and completed your degree, you shouldâve been happy. You werenât. Because you knew this was coming.
Today was supposed to be yours. A representation of all your hard work. In another world, you would have already moved away, but come back for this, avoiding the spotlight, seeing the people you studied with, catching up with your friends, celebrating.
The reality is so far from that. Thereâs so much attention on you that itâs suffocating. The security guards surrounding you and your parents and your brothers and your supposed fiance are enough on their own to garner stares.
Rafe has to hold in his scoff. This shit is ridiculous. The photoshoot thatâs been put up in front of the auditorium ahead of the graduation ceremony is such an exaggerated ploy.
The photographer makes his introductions. Heâs clearly nervous meeting Kal, and Rafe finds himself wishing people knew that the man they see as so wildly successful fails every day at being a father to a woman whoâs stronger than heâll ever be.
He looks away, eyes drifting to you. You meet his gaze, breaking the streak of avoiding each other. He shakes his head, in disbelief, in frustration. You do the same, validating the stupidity of this stunt.
Itâs quiet, but itâs there â a sign that youâre still in this together.
A dull pain has been digging into you since you last spoke a week ago. Thoughts of him wonât stop trickling in.
Your stubborn grudge refuses to release you, refuses to let you forget everything heâd done when you first met, but the night he held you feels like a dream now. A dream you donât want to go back to, but if you did, youâd find peace in it even though you know it ends badly.
You wish you saw your feelings for him coming. Youâd noticed the moments of fragile amicability, tried to ignore that the sex went from a physical release to something else, but nothing could have prepared you for the way you feel now.
You two went from hating each other to something new, something twisted and unavoidable. Whatever it is canât possibly be healthy, because when a relationship begins drenched in blackmail and coercion, isnât it destined to carry that rot within itself?
You hear your name called behind you. You crack the first genuine smile today when you spot your friend. Rafe notices.
âHey,â she says, pulling you in for a quick hug. âWe made it.â
âWe did,â you say kindly. âCongrats.â
âYou know I wouldnât be here without you.â
âYou would,â you say with a small chuckle. âIt was nothing.â
âIt was everything,â she says. By the way her gaze floats behind you, you can tell someone is listening in. You turn to see Rafe, features pinched in curiosity.
âEavesdropping?â you say, hoping he gets the hint to mind his business.
âWhat was everything?â he asks your friend. Your teeth clench in frustration.
âLast semester, I had an insane syllabus,â she explains. âI could never afford all the textbooks. But I was rescued.â
She points at you and smiles again. It really was nothing. When sheâd been venting to you about the bill she was dreading at the campus bookstore, having to put it on a credit card that was nearly maxed out, you transferred her the money without a word and refused to accept anything back.
She doesnât have the privilege that you do. When you had access to your familyâs wealth, even when it was limited, you couldnât find a reason not to help someone in need.
âIâve been trying to pay her back since,â she tells Rafe.
âWell, stop trying,â you respond to her with a lighthearted nudge.
âCan we get in front of the fountain?â the photographer calls.
Your friend steps back, catching on that she should go.
âIâll see you after?â she says.
You nod, and when you turn, you find Rafeâs eyes again. Heâs staring the same way he did the night of the fundraiser, like heâs seeing something he canât look away from.
âDonât tell,â you say quietly, worried that your family will find a way to use how you helped your friend against you.
He grimaces. Thatâs what you think of him? Thatâll heâll run to your father to tell him? Even after everything, you donât trust him, even a little.
Rafe looks away when he says, âI wouldnât.â
As instructed, you stand next to him. The camera shutters over and over, until a faculty member comes by to escort everyone to the ceremony.
âWait, we actually have to sit through this?â Sam half-laughs as you make your way towards the auditorium.
âNo,â you reply bitterly. âLeave.â
Rafe continues to walk next to you, listening in, and your brother scoffs and tilts closer to you.
âTell me, who did Dad pay off to get you a degree?â he taunts quietly.
Rafeâs chest starts to tighten. Heâs still aching over how you turned him down, but listening to this pisses him off more than anything.
You ran yourself into the ground to get here. He only saw glimpses of it, but he noticed how much you studied, how much work you put into your project, how concerned you were about your exams.
What an asshole to imply you took the easy way out. Itâs like nobody knows who you are, and no matter how loud you scream, they donât listen.
He was one of the people who wrote you off at first. You can be so damn spiteful and bratty and mean, but itâs not because you lack character. He was blind, and he hates himself for it. For being like them.
âI donât get him to pay my way into places like you do,â you spit back.
âOh, really?â Sam continues to taunt.
âJust shut up,â you whisper.
âWhat? Iâm just curious how you managed to get through class blacked out.â
Youâre trying to get a hold of yourself, to ignore him, to avoid stress like your nurse told you to.
Rafe catches it. The way you waver. And despite everything, the instinct to take care of you hasnât gone away.
âShe told you to shut up,â he snaps. You glance up at him, lips parting in surprise. Again, you didnât know he was listening. Again, heâs inserting himself into a conversation that has nothing to do with him.
But this time, itâs oddly relieving.
Rafe glares at your brother, jaw tensed. He pays attention to you in a way nobody ever has. What you once saw as nosy and controlling, what you once hated, what you thought you were too proud to accept, now gives you a sense of safety that you donât want to shake.
âI wasnât talking to you,â Sam scoffs.
Rafeâs eyes darken and he says, coldly, sharply, âApologize to her.â
âOr what?â your brother huffs, gaze darting between you two.
âYou think I give a fuck about causing a scene?â he mutters. âApologize.â
You see it in Rafeâs stare. Nobody can feign that level of rage.
You reach the doors. Youâre sure Sam can see it, too. Rafe isnât bluffing. And your brother cares too much about the familyâs reputation, or really, about disappointing your image-obsessed parents, to risk it.
âSorry,â he finally says in a tense whisper, refusing to make eye contact when he says it.
You have no time to react, beckoned by another faculty member to take you backstage.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The tv buzzes, flooding the living room in blue light, as Rafe reclines on the plush couch. He twists the ring on his finger, thinking about how heâll be wearing a wedding ring within a few weeks.
Are you going to be putting it on him at the wedding? Are you ever even going to touch him again?
This is a familiar type of pain. Heâs tried to prove himself as worthy all his life. And heâs longing to prove to you that heâs not who you think he is. Because youâre not who he thought you were at all.
Youâre hardworking. Resilient. Kind, and timid about it, because you actually seemed shy when your friend praised you for helping her out.
You pretend to be heartless, when youâre anything but.
Heâs seen your brother make cracks about your drinking twice now. Youâd murmured to him at the engagement party that you know you have a problem. Heâs sure your family knows it too, and they see it as a weapon to use against you.
He didnât have any impulse control when he told off your brother. When all this started, his goal, his dadâs goal, was top of mind. He wouldnât do anything to risk falling out of line. But youâve been changing everything and itâs making him feel like heâs going crazy.
You snuck away after the ceremony. Your family didnât care. Their job was done. But Rafe hated the drive back to the condo alone. So, when he hears the front door open, his heart lurches, because despite how twisted up youâve made him, he misses you.
You hold your keys in your hand, standing still as the door shuts behind you, noticing the tvâs glare in the living room, wondering if heâs there.
You went out with your friends tonight. Rafe was at the back of your mind the entire time.
Apologize to her. Has anyone ever stood up for you like that? Is he doing these things, comforting you, defending you, because he wants to? Or is it all a manipulative game?
Youâre afraid. You can usually turn off your feelings. Heâs an unfair exception.
Your feet take you towards the living room, instead of your bedroom. And heâs there, stretched across the couch, an arm over his head, the other on his chest. His shirt has ridden up, exposing an inch of his toned stomach.
He looks over at you and itâs the first time youâre seeing him like this. Relaxed. You donât know why your heart skips to being endeared, when this is the man whoâd cut you so deeply, over and over.
You swallow hard as you stand by the wall, trying to ignore the resentment simmering in you, the lust blazing in your gut, to say what youâve been thinking about saying to him since this afternoon.
âHeâs never said sorry to me before," you break the silence. You look down. âI, um⊠Thank you.â
Rafe sits up, his chest tight. He always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you like this is something else. Your guard is down, and youâre offering him a glimpse of the tenderness heâs seen you only give others.
âHe always been such a dick?â he murmurs.
âPretty much.â You cross your arms. âI thought you were about to swing at him.â
âI was.â
The two simple words make warmth flush through you.
âHeâs lucky,â you say. âIâve seen how hard you can punch.â
A smirk pulls on his lips. He swears he sees a hint of a smile on your face, but you look away again.
âAre you still telling my dad stuff about me?â you ask impulsively. You just want to prove to yourself that heâs only here for selfish reasons. That he doesnât actually care about you.
Rafeâs been doing the bare minimum, sharing the updates he agreed to give Kal, omitting things and making shit up so that he doesnât say anything that can be used against you.
âNothing thatâll get you in trouble,â he replies.
You nod. The answer feels good and bad at the same time.
Then, you step away, ripping back the sense of comfort you gave him when you entered the room. You told him he shouldnât have followed you. Because he refuses to open himself up to rejection again, he wonât.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You booked the earliest appointment you could with your doctor. He found that your blood pressure was still at a dangerous level, and he put you on temporary medication and advised that you stay away from any substances.
Heâd warned you about some possible side effects. You thought you were okay, until the bouts of dizziness set in. So, when you enter the bistro youâve been scheduled to have lunch at with Rafe, his parents, and your parents, youâre clinging onto his elbow like your life depends on it.
The sight of you stumbling is the last thing you want to give them.
You reach the table. Rafe doesnât like the feeling of you letting go of him. He especially doesnât like the feeling of not knowing where you stand.
A pinch of anger bubbles inside you as you sit. Itâs what you always feel when youâre around your parents. Itâs been a week since you saw them last at your graduation.
Your fathers lead most of the conversation. Your mother mentions how well her campaign is doing, while Rafeâs mother asks polite follow-up questions.
Again, another event that on the outside, looks pleasant. Two families having lunch, meeting to celebrate an engagement. But the truth is that reporters are lurking outside, and the engaged couple doesnât want any of this.
You notice a stiffness in Rafe that almost concerns you. When his father speaks, Rafe looks at him like heâs taking notes. Like heâll be tested on it later, and he canât risk missing a single word.
You hate it about him. This obedient admiration he has for the man who pushed him into this arrangement. Why does he have this ridiculous sense of being indebted to him? All because he had a rough time controlling his drinking once upon a time?
Youâd asked him what he could possibly owe. He said whatever I can give.
âNot very good?â Rose asks. You snap out of your daze to notice sheâs looking down at your plate, which you havenât touched since it was placed in front of you a few minutes ago.
âIâm just not hungry,â you say. Your loss of appetite is another symptom of your new meds, another thing you keep private.
She looks at you for a moment, regarding you. You donât see much of her son at all in her features.
âYouâre much quieter than I expected,â she says.
Your knee-jerk reaction is to be on the defense. Youâd typically ask if what she expected came from the bullshit they spew in the gossip rags. A party girl, boisterous and disrespectful and loud. But you keep your mouth shut, trying to maintain composure.
She looks to Rafe and offers a small smile.
âItâs what he needs,â she says, leaving you with an unsettled curiosity. You shouldnât care. Youâve been telling yourself not to. But no matter how hard you try to ignore it, Rafe is a puzzle you want to put together.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
âDoes your mom know?â you ask.
Rafe breaks his gaze through the car window as you drive away from the restaurant. Any mention of his mother, and the mistake youâve made assuming itâs Rose, lodges a sharp pain in his chest.
He only stares at you, brows furrowed.
âI want to know if I need to keep an act up around her,â you explain. âDoes she know this is a set-up?â
Rafe takes a beat. Ward told him his wife isnât in on it. He said he doesnât want her to have to keep up a lie. All that man cares about is protecting his wife and his daughters.
He shakes his head in response.
âOh,â you reply. âOkay.â
âWhat?â
âShe called me quiet. Then she said itâs what you need.â You look away. âI didnât know what to say to that. Whatever. It doesnât matter.â
You assume itâs the end of the conversation, picking up your phone. But then Rafe breathes a humorless chuckle.
âDonât listen to her,â he says, with so much poison in his tone that it sounds like resentment.
Itâs clear that he doesnât hold the same level of respect for her that he holds for his dad. You thought he wanted to impress both of his parents, but you get the sense his loyalty lies with Ward only.
And it proves you right. Rafe doesnât need a quiet girl. He needs someone to put him in his place when heâs acting like an asshole. If thatâs what his Rose meant, that he needs a girl whoâll let him walk all over her, sheâs dead wrong.
The ache in Rafeâs core tightens. Rose knows nothing about him. Neither does Ward. But his mom⊠she saw him. And itâs an insult to imply that his step-mother is more than she is.
The words spill out, his pain, his sense of justice for his motherâs memory pushing him to say it.
âAnd sheâs not my mom, alright?â he mutters. âStop calling her that.â
Your stomach sinks, goes ice cold.
Now youâre sure that the conversation is over, because he shifts his body away from you completely, his gaze fixed out the window, as if he shut a door in your face and locked it tight.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
When you wake up a few days later, every bone in your body feels like itâs made of steel. Itâs mid-morning. You check your phone to see that Celeste is expecting you and Rafe at the house at lunch for a meeting.
Youâre a month away from the wedding. She surely wants to discuss the logistics.
You search online to see what the public is saying. The lie is working. There are still negative things swirling around you, like always, but people are actually saying good things, too, specifically surrounding the photo of you and Rafe at the fundraiser.
Celeste had spun the story, writing that your tears were a result of being moved by the charityâs presentation. The fabrication feels so wrong, but then again, all of this does.
You open the comments under a social post, still getting used to the fact that the ones with the most likes arenât scathing at all.
Say what you will but you can tell sheâs been through it. I love this for her
This is actually so cute like why am I tearing up right now?
This kinda melted my cold heart
You hate to admit it, but the rebrand is working. Itâs ironic that so much of it is due to a photo that wasnât even planned. You hate that such a painful, private moment is being splashed everywhere, but youâve accepted long ago that thereâs no stopping the rumor mill.
You land on the first harsh comment in the thread, scoffing at it.
I give it another week
You wish you could reply: Try a couple more months. You canât define the feeling that twists inside you when you think about moving away and leaving everything, leaving Rafe, behind.
You scroll up to the photo again, never having seen yourself look so weak, curled up under his jacket.
Things between you are in another tense, silent period, catapulted by your conversation in the car. Rafe does a very good job avoiding you.
Youâre glad, because you can feel yourself starting to long for him, and thatâs the last thing you need. You need to keep him at a distance. You need to forget the way he held you.
You muster up the strength to stand up. You brush your teeth. You make your bed. And you have to lie back down. Your illness is going to make it a difficult day.
A few minutes pass before thereâs a knock on the door. Itâs surely Rafe, keeping tabs on you, making sure youâll be attending todayâs meeting.
âWhat?â you call.
âCan I come in?â
This isnât the man who used to barge into your room, who acted like privacy was a privilege. Still, it hurts that when he met you, he saw you as someone who didnât deserve respect. That he had to see you get hurt to treat you decently.
âYeah,â you answer. You wait for him to make a harsh comment about how youâre still in bed, just like he did mere days after you met, when he sees you. But he doesnât.
If Rafe didnât already know you were sick, his experience of living with someone with a chronic illness would make him suspect it now. Youâre clearly exhausted. Youâve been exhausted. But you wonât let him in.
âYou good?â he asks.
You sit up, hardly hiding your wince. Youâre far from good. You canât even fake it. And you can only hope that the protectiveness heâs shown towards you is real and still there.
âI canât go today,â you confess. âI mustâve caught something.â
He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. On the outside, heâs steady. On the inside, his heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
Heâs stood in this place before, witnessing someone struggling with their health. And he remembers what his mom always asked of the people who took care of her; to never assume what she wanted. She was determined to keep her dignity, to prove that she was still her own person, who could voice her own needs.
Heâs not sure if youâre the same way, but from what he knows about you, you hate when people try to speak for you or tell you what to do.
âWhat do you need?â he asks.
You bite the inside of your cheek, jarred. Itâs just like when all this started, when he asked you what he had to do for you to comply. It came from a place of frustration. Desperation.
But the look on his face tells you this isnât the same. Youâre afraid to think it, but he looks like he cares.
You only need one thing right now. A way out of that meeting.
âCan you cancel?â you ask. âAnd donât say itâs because of me?â
Rafe stills. Then, he pulls out his phone. To your surprise, he does it. He puts the phone to his ear. A few seconds pass.
âHey, todayâs not happening,â he says, voice low, eyes trained on you. âNo, Iâm too swamped at work. Weâll do it tomorrow, alright?â
He hangs up. You study him. Everything in your mind is screaming at you not to fall for it. Itâs like your survival instinct is pushing you to question him, to find a crack in his facade. Your mind refuses to stop trying to find something to prove that heâs not being sincere.
âWhat if it gets back to your dad?â
He shrugs passively.
âDonât you care about what he thinks?â
âI do,â he says. His answer disappoints you.
âRight,â you murmur. âWouldnât be here if you didnât.â
Rafe scoffs. Itâs like youâre repulsed with him for doing this for his father, even after he told you he does it because he owes him. After everything, after the things heâs done to try to help you and take care of you, you treat him like he disgusts you.
âWeâre almost through this,â he mutters, âand youâre still holding this shit over my head. Give it a rest.â
He starts to turn away, tilting towards the door, but you canât ignore the ache pulling at you.
âOkay,â you say, not thinking through your words, just wanting him to stay. âSorry. Just⊠sit for a second.â
He hesitates. But then, because you have some insane hold on him that he canât shake, he does it. On the edge of your bed, in the corner.
You sit a little straighter, cocking your head, your eyes travelling over his hardened features.
âDo you regret it?â you ask, because maybe heâll answer no, and then you can be sure heâs just as cruel as you thought he was.
âRegret what?â
âSigning up for this.â
He breathes a scoff, as if you should already know.
âObviously,â he says, and honestly, itâs mostly because of how it made you see him. If you met another way, maybe everything would be different.
Your eyes are soft as they travel over his face. Heâd do anything to know what youâre thinking. He loathes himself right now for agreeing to put the beautiful, complicated woman sitting across from him through this.
âBut you felt like you had to?â you ask, the need to understand still pulling at you.
Rafeâs lips flatten, and it kills him to keep yet another thing from you, but telling the truth is too much of a risk.
Youâve shown him how spiteful you can be. If he fucked up everything heâs been working so hard for because he let something like his fatherâs deal slip, heâd never be able to live with himself.
He nods in response.
âAnd heâs the only one who knows?â you ask.
The reminder of your last conversation hangs in the air now.
âYeah,â he answers.
The silence is thick and heavy. You take a breath. You canât find it in yourself to hold onto any bitterness towards him right now, not even a little. If you understood correctly, his mother isnât in his life.
âWhen did you lose her?â you half-whisper, thinking that if he doesnât answer, you wonât push.
The air between you is fragile, a sort of vulnerability that even the other night at the fundraiser didnât hold.
Rafe looks away. Your engagement ring sits on your nightstand. It should be a reminder of how artificial all of this is, but right now, nothing between you feels strained or fake.
If he has to lie about so many other things, he doesnât have to lie about this.
âA long time ago,â he finally says.
Your heart twists in pain. Thereâs so much you donât know. You didnât think anything about him was worth knowing.
âIâm so sorry,â you say in a hush. Despite how heavy your body feels, you give into your impulse and shift closer to put a hand over his.
Rafe looks down at where youâre touching him, not out of obligation, not for a carnal release, but because you want to comfort him. It softens his walls, stirring a need to express just how much admiration he held for his mom.
âShe fought hard," he murmurs.
The knife in you twists. It was an accident or an illness that took his mother. A battle she lost. And it tears into you. The day he found you with your nurse. You knew there was something more to his reaction, saying he didnât want that kind of shit in his house.
It wasnât about you having someone here without him knowing. It was about a painful reminder. It had to be.
âWhen you saw a nurse hereâŠâ Your brows furrow. âWas she sick?â
His throat goes dry. He shouldâve known youâd be smart enough to connect the dots. You see it now, that thatâs why he reacted how he did, why he shouted at you after youâd reached a place of amicability.
His eyes wonât meet yours. He doesnât need to answer. He would deny it if you were wrong.
âIâm so sorry,â you repeat, moving to wrap your arms around him now, perched on your knees, your face buried in his neck.
Rafe doesnât know how to relive this with a woman who rejected him after heâd tried to tell her that heâll look out for her. A woman whoâll always hate him.
But your grip around him tightens, even when he doesnât hug back, and it must mean that you donât completely hate him, not all the way.
He gives in, holds you, breathes in your comforting scent, mentally scolding himself for the awful things he once thought of you. Youâre flawed, but youâre perfect at the same time, and he was an idiot to not see it.
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Celeste had no choice but to agree with Rafeâs abrupt call to reschedule the meeting to the next day. But she moved it to first thing in the morning, in your home, giving you no way out.
She sits in the living room, going over the schedule on her laptop, rattling off information, unaware of the heaviness thatâs lodged itself between you and Rafe.
You havenât stopped thinking about him. Yesterday, he opened up a wound you didnât know he had. Every one of your conversations since have been brief and careful.
âYour dress fitting is on Saturday at two,â Celeste tells you. âAnd a bachelorette party is not on the calendar.â
âAs if Iâd want one,â you say flatly. âIs that all?â
She crosses her arms, looking unimpressed as she studies both of you.
âYou have reservations for tonight,â Celeste reminds you. âThere are eyes on you. No more of your little panic attacks.â
Fire rips through Rafe, the reminder of the way youâd trembled in his arms permeating his mind.
âWhat the hell is wrong with you?â he mutters.
Her face pinches in frustration, while yours softens with relief. Being protected still feels unfamiliar, and your impulse is to mistrust it, to fight it, but you let yourself embrace it. Just for a little.
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After Celeste leaves, you lock the door behind her and glance over your shoulder into the living room. Rafe is about to head to his side of the penthouse, but you stop him when you speak.
âShe looked mad when you stood up for me.â
He scratches the back of his neck, reminded of how he thought the same thing about your father when he defended you.
âYeah,â he replies. âIt pisses them off that weâre getting along.â
You nod, studying him with a curious glance.
âWho said weâre getting along?â you joke.
His lips curl into a smirk. You smile back. And although youâre exhausted, you find yourself looking forward to your date tonight.
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Youâre at the same restaurant you came to for your first date, on the balcony, overlooking the sea, candles flickering and waves crashing. When the waiter comes by offering wine, you politely decline.
âNo?â Rafe mumbles.
You look at him with subdued confusion. Itâs like youâre so used to being seen in a bad light that you think youâre invisible when you do something thatâs not fuel for criticism.
âIâm cutting back,â you answer honestly.
And itâd be nice to say it out loud. The truth. That as much as youâd love to loosen up right now, your last trip to your doctor has frightened you too much to drink. But itâs a piece of you thatâs yours.
Your lips twist in thought as you gaze out at the water. You wonder how bad it got for him, the rough patch he brought up before. It springs your brotherâs harsh comments about your own drinking to mind, which reminds you all over again about his wifeâs pregnancy, and how it was the match that lit the fuse of your flare-up.
Rafe watches you, the way your eyes grow distant.
âWhat is it?â he murmurs.
You look at him again. He must have caught onto your grimace. Itâs still so unfamiliar to be watched like this. To be cared for.
âI donât think my brotherâs going to be a good parent,â you confess. He recalls how you said you were scared for the baby. âHe practically worships our dad. He wants to be just like him. And I think he will be.â
It reminds Rafe of the disdain you have for him for wanting to impress his own father. Your observation from all those nights ago stuck to him, when you pointed out his dadâs passive aggression, suggested that Rafe practically waits to be told what to think.
Youâve been around people vying for that kind of approval all your life. Thatâs part of the reason youâd thought so low of him. Maybe you still do. And he wants to know what they did.
âWhat was it like growing up?â he says.
You look down at the menu, your pulse picking up. Youâd told your close friends about how difficult your family is, but the thought of saying it Rafe gives you a pinch of anxiety.
Even though heâs spoken badly about them, even though heâs been standing up for you, what if he agrees with them?
You care what he thinks. Itâs frustrating, but you do. And because you keep trying to prove to yourself that heâs insincere, you decide to tell him the truth.
âI questioned everything and they hated that,â you begin. âI always figured they regretted having me, but my dad⊠He told me I was a mistake to make sure I knew.â
You take a breath.
âMy momâs never said it out loud,â you continue, âbut she thinks the same. She criticizes everything I do and sheâd watch me get bullied by all of them and sheâd say nothing. It was just⊠four against one. All the time.â
Rafeâs face is pinched in ache, like you just physically hurt him with your words.
âHe said that to you?â he says, his tone somewhere between shock and anger. âA mistake?â
âYeah,â you reply. âSo, I just⊠I started doing whatever I wanted. There was no point in trying to please them.â
And thatâs the difference between you. You stopped trying to win an unwinnable game. But Rafe is still playing, still determined to do well enough that itâll make his father finally proud of him.
He canât think about the possibility of not getting there. He wonât. Heâs built his entire life around his career, around taking over the family business one day. His situation is different. You can cut the ties. He canât.
âI know you think Iâm like your brother,â Rafe says, his voice low, âbut I told you that shit with my dad is complicated.â
âI donât think youâre like him,â you say, admittedly touched that he cares about your opinion of him. âHe wouldnât regret anything he did to get ahead.â
âIf I could go back, I would,â he confirms, and he means it.
No amount of impressing his dad makes putting you through this worth it. This was just another way for your parents to control you, and he hates that he helped them.
âI wasnât thinking straight,â he says. âI just wanted to help him and â and prove myself and I shouldnât have fucked with your life like this.â
âYeah.â You blink, unsure if you can ever fully forgive him, but keen to put it behind you. âWhatâs done is done. We just have a wedding to get through and itâs over and Iâm gone.â
âGone?â
You gaze at him. Silently. And you nod and hope that it doesnât backfire.
âAnd it does piss them off that weâre being civil with each other,â you say. âThey were banking on you hating me."
You let out a shaky sigh, looking down at the menu again, unsure of what to do with how raw and exposed your heart is right now. You never thought youâd tell him all this, never thought that heâd care, and now it sits between you, this ugly truth you try to avoid.
Rafe grimaces. Youâre right. Your father expected you not to cooperate. He even told Rafe to not let you manipulate him. Itâs such bullshit. Thereâs so much to you and nobody has ever cared enough to look.
They were idiots for it. For making you feel so lonely. For calling you a mistake. For not giving you with the care you deserved. He doesnât even know how long youâve been dealing with your illness.
âTheyâre missing out on you,â he says.
You meet his gaze, lips slightly parted, stunned. Your eyes travel over his face, almost as if youâre waiting for him to take it back, to say that this is some cruel joke.
But he stares at you like he just said the most obvious fact in the world.
And in this fragile, bleak, and completely unexpected moment, you see each other as who you are. Just two people, trapped in very different ways, trying to escape.
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The beach is practically barren, blanketed in night. You suggested walking along the shore after dinner, craving to take a step outside of the staged dates and the condo youâve been spending so much time in, eager to taste the cool, salty air, to walk beneath the stars.
The rhythmic waves are a hush in your ears as you hold your shoes in your hand, pacing next to Rafe, settled in the quiet comfortability youâve found together. The sand is cool beneath your feet, birds calling in the distance, your heart pounding in your ears.
Youâre thinking about how in the world youâre going to get through hours of photographs at the wedding when frigid water swells over your toes, causing you to squeal and rush away from the shoreline.
âItâs just water,â Rafe teases, a boyish chuckle in his words. âYou scared?â
You scoff, glaring at him, that same spark he saw the moment you walked into the room the day you met now on your face. You stand firm, letting the impulsive idea that just sprung to your mind come to life.
âNo,â you reply, finding the zipper on the side of your dress, staring at him as you pull it down. âAre you?â
His teeth drag over his bottom lip as your dress falls to the sand, leaving you to in your bra and panties as you pace towards the water. You look over your shoulder and Rafe swears youâre carrying his heart into the sea with you.
âSo, you are,â you shout over the waves, wearing a smile. Fuck, heâd do anything for that smile.
You slowly lower into the frigid depths, turning to face him all the way, shuddering as you sink until the water is at your collarbones.
Your core twists watching Rafe shake his head, then begin to unbutton his shirt, humoring you. When he gets down to his boxers, he reaches you, the water line at his torso, eyes searching your face.
âCold?â you say.
âNot at all.â
âSo, whatâs happening here?â you tease, reaching forward, fingers tracing over the goosebumps that have formed along his chest, visible in the moonlight.
âNothing,â he replies.
You chuckle, wait for the water to feel more comfortable, but the cold is settling into your bones.
âWhy did I do this?â you wince.
âTo prove a point.â
âWhat was it again?â
âI never know with you.â
You donât stifle your laugh, letting it carry over the water. Rafe never thought heâd be the reason behind your smile or your laugh and it feels fucking incredible to be.
You wade in the water together, the moment stretching out, gazes locked, your hand still on his chest, the faint beating against your palm matching with yours.
His eyes drift to your mouth, and he closes the distance to lean in and press his lips on yours.
When he pulls back, his hands find their way to your cheeks, cupping your face like he did before. Holding you like he found something precious. And for the first time in your life, you feel like you are.
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It wonât kill her, but she likes to act like it will.
Rafe turns off the shower, stepping out and wrapping a towel around his hips, unsure if his heart has ever thumped this hard before.
Your fatherâs words wonât stop replaying in his head, a reminder of how you fight a silent battle every day, one that you feel like you canât tell him about.
You donât act like it will kill you. You act like nothing could. It takes bravery to be like that, to live your life so fearlessly, to refuse to play along with the bullshit your family puts on you, and it infuriates him to no end that you were forced to live such a hard, lonely existence.
You push him to his limits in good ways, in bad ones, and heâs never had that before. Itâs fucked up not to tell you that he knows youâre sick. He thought he was doing the right thing, but heâs not.
When he hears his name in your voice, soft and sweet, on the other side of his bedroom door, he opens it like he just might die if heâs not fast enough.
Your eyes drift to the towel sitting on his hips, holding your own towel wrapped around your body.
âWe match,â you say lightheartedly.
âYeah,â he says with a soft laugh.
You take a few breaths, ready to tell him what youâd rehearsed in the shower. As unexpectedly incredible tonight has been, you know this canât go anywhere.
Rafeâs brows furrow, the worried look on your face cutting into him.
âYou okay, baby?â he says quietly. His words and the way he said them makes it harder for you to tell him.
Heâll always be the man that trapped you. He regrets it, and again, you find yourself wishing you could be better, but youâve lived with so much anger for so long that you canât let it go.
This whole thing has put your health in danger. It was just another way for your family to degrade you, to dangle your trust fund in front of you, and he let them.
Nothing and nobody could keep you tied here. You need him to know that.
âI meant it,â you say. âIâm leaving after the contract is up.â
Rafeâs mouth opens, just a little. He wonât make you explain yourself. Not when you look so concerned. So scared.
âOkay,â he answers.
Because thatâs all he can say. Youâll leave. Heâs not worth even thinking about staying for and itâs better this way, because what if it happens again? What if an illness takes away someone he loves again?
It comes to him in a rush. Love.
Even after seeing the worst of you, after being so sure heâs never been so damn frustrated with anyone in his life, you took a piece of him he canât ever get back. And to you, whatever he is, whatever you have, isnât worth keeping.
This whole thing was always destined to end and heâll lie to himself that the remaining weeks he has with you are enough.
âCome here,â Rafe says, reaching forward before the words are even out of his mouth.
You obey, and his arms are around you within seconds, his open mouth hot and wet on yours, hands wandering. Your towels drop to his bedroom floor, your bare bodies pressed together as you stumble your way to his bed.
Your back hits the soft mattress and you watch as he shifts to hover over you, brushing two fingers over his tongue, putting them between your legs. You exhale in pleasure when his firm fingers graze against you, euphoria curling at the bottom of your stomach, hips bucking to his touch.
His eyes travel over your face as he traces over your soft core, feeling you get wetter, feeling himself get harder.
âYouâre so pretty, you know that?â he rasps. You grip his shoulder, pulling him closer so heâll kiss you again and again, writhing against him because you canât wait to feel him.
His heart is in his throat when he feels you lower your hand to cup him, stroking his length as you guide him inside.
His eyes roll back when he sinks into your heat, groaning in pleasure. You wrap yourself around him and let the heavy, hard pressure consume you, let yourself drift into the pure bliss that only he can give you.
His breaths are hot on your cheek as he thrusts. His hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers. And every movement is perfect, rhythmic, unreal.
You come with a tremble, unraveling beneath him, shutting your eyes as he cups your face.
âLook at me,â he whispers, and you do, forgetting that one day, youâll see his eyes for the last time, and instead, letting yourself believe that this will work out, that it has to.
Afterwards, you lie wrapped up in each other, bodies bare, skin warm. With the comedown, the truth settles in you.
This is what it was meant to be. Something destined to end. Itâs why eventually, you find it in you to get out of his bed and leave his room.
Youâve spent your entire life giving into impulse. But this is the first time that it feels like if you do what you want, if you let yourself fall asleep in Rafeâs arms, let yourself believe this could turn into something real and healthy and lasting, it will destroy you.
The door creaks behind you. Losing your touch, your warmth, makes Rafeâs heart crack open. And as he lies in his bed, he has to face it: youâre basically already gone. And his world will always feels colder without you in it.
(to be continued)
my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications.
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
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Youâre exhausted. Every ounce of strength you have is being poured into surviving the final push of the school year.
Your bodyâs betraying you, knocking out your energy without warning. And the chaos of this fucked up PR stunt has thrown everything into a tailspin.
Rafe has thrown everything into a tailspin.
Itâs been five days since your fight. Since he barged into your room, snapped at your nurse, and made you feel like you committed a crime by keeping a medical appointment from him.
His reaction was sharp. Unnecessary.
Nobody else has seen you like that, in the privacy of one of your check-ups. You were stripped of control. And he exploded.
Youâve avoided ruminating over how much it shook you, reaching for the version of yourself that doesnât care, because why would you care about what he thinks?
Youâve thrown yourself into school. Your senior project is due in a few days. Your finals are in just over a week. And then you have four months and a farce of a wedding to get through before you access your trust fund and get out of here.
Now, you stand in your bedroom, wearing a sheath dress for some upscale political campaign event for your mother. Donors, press, and political allies will all be in attendance. No doubt most of the crowd that was invited to your engagement party last weekend.
The memory takes you back to the way Rafe looked at you when he offered you his hand, suggesting you squeeze every time you needed to release your anger. He was almost nice.
It was a contradiction of the man you know. You thought maybe youâd found some common ground, some humanity in him, but what happened the other day was proof that you were right to keep him at a distance.
Youâve been instructed not to leave until security comes to your front door. When you hear the hard knocks, you slip into the hallway and see him.
Coming down the hallway to get to the door, Rafe looks painfully handsome in a crisp, black suit. His eyes meet yours. Then he looks away.
You grit your teeth and step in front of him, spitefully opening the door before he can. The security guard greets you both with a quiet nod.
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You settle in the backseat of the idling car with Rafe, the sharp minty aroma of his aftershave drifting over you, as the security guard sits up front.
âShall I bring the partition up?â the driver asks.
âNo,â you reply, overlapped by Rafeâs âYeah.â
You meet his eyes. He holds his stare when he repeats, loudly, âYeah.â
The divider whirrs up, closing you and Rafe in privacy. You cross your arms, shake your head, and break eye contact, looking out the window. But you canât stay silent for long.
âAre you not going-â you begin.
âYou know you didnât-â he mutters at the same time.
If you werenât so angry with him, youâd laugh at how you ignored each other for days just to break at the exact same moment.
âAre you not going to apologize for your little tantrum?â you state, refusing to let him lead the conversation.
Embarrassment settles into Rafeâs bones. He was set off by what he saw in your bedroom. It was the unexpectedness of it. For a moment, he was a little boy standing in the doorway again, powerless and afraid.
Heâs livid that you didnât tell him, that you thoughtlessly shoved him into a gut-wrenching memory by neglecting to share your plans when you said you would. He was caught so painfully off guard. And itâs your fault.
âHow many times do I have to remind you that you said youâd tell me what youâre doing?â he mutters.
âThis again? You donât have to know about a doctorâs appointment.â
âIf you have it where we live, I do.â
You exhale an angry, resigned sigh.
âYouâre ridiculous."
âJust go somewhere else for that kind of shit,â he says.
You scoff. That kind of shit is your life. Monthly appointments, daily medication, and an emergency inhaler are the foundation to your survival.
Rafe is clearly unsettled. Asking you to tell him about future house calls wouldâve been expected, but insisting you take them somewhere else hints at something deeper.
His frustration isnât just about a broken promise. Thereâs a weight behind it. His rage was aimed. It mattered to him.
You thought you wanted nothing to do with him, that your only interest in him was sexual, but now, thereâs a crack you canât ignore. Something about it lingers in your thoughts, and you hate to admit that you want to figure it out even after he hurt you.
âWhy are you acting like this?â you ask, your voice lowering.
âLike what?â His tone is still impatient. Clipped.
You meet his icy eyes. Heâs too angry for any sort of productive conversation. Youâd press if there was no chance of him questioning you back. Itâs a risk to talk about this. He could start wondering about these migraines youâve supposedly been experiencing.
He canât find a hole in your story. He canât piece together your secret, that a part of your body refuses to operate the way it should, but forcing reason into your mind wonât work. Youâre paranoid.
Thereâs one thing you need to know for sure. If he told your dad. Because if he did, he could have told him that your reason for having a nurse visit you was a lie. And Rafe could be keeping it from you for some reason.
âDid you tell him?â you murmur.
You donât have to say his name. Thereâs that concern in your eyes again, that fear, and while you like to act tough, he can see that youâre genuinely scared of Kal. Of what he can do.
âNo,â he says, his tone just a touch less harsh. âI knew heâd just find a way to get pissed off at you for it.â
He seems to be telling the truth. Thereâs a confusing comfort in realizing Rafe can truly see your fatherâs cruelty, a sense that heâs with you and against him.
âLike you did?â you reply quietly, regretting the words as soon as they spill out. You shouldnât continue a conversation that could uncover a piece of you that you hide from everybody.
âIâm sorry, okay?â Rafe snips, hating that the softness in your voice is doing something to him, hating that at some twisted point, he started worrying about what you think of him. âCan you drop it now?â
Normally, when heâs angry, his eyes lock onto you, but now his gaze drifts elsewhere, avoiding the connection, like even facing you would make the truth behind his words too bare.
Your instincts are right. Thereâs more to this. But you comply and keep your words unsaid for your own good.
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Prickly tension curdles in Rafeâs chest when the security guard takes your hand to help you out of the car, his eyes trailing up your legs.
You release his hand and Rafe immediately replaces it with his.
âWeâre good,â he says sharply. âWait outside.â
You study the security guard, who looks down and nods in response to Rafeâs orders.
He guides you up the steps towards the convention centerâs back entrance. After the way he just spoke to the guard, all you can feel is a bitter pinch of disgust in your stomach, reminding you of how he treated your nurse.
âYouâre just an asshole to everyone who works a job you think is beneath you, huh?â you murmur.
His forehead creases in irritation.
âWhat, that creep?â Rafe says, his tone terse. âHe was staring at you.â
His words dismiss your anger, making way for a burning thrill. Heâs being protective. Jealous.
You reach the top of the steps and he pushes the door open. He motions for you to go ahead, his eyes sweeping over the fast-moving groups of employees, each person absorbed in the chaos of the event set-up.
âSo what if he was?â you ask with a shrug just to goad him, turning to face him. It works. He looks bothered. âItâs only fine when you do it?â
His stare is steely and determined. Itâs like heâs resigned to the fact that you have a hold on him. That youâve taken him completely.
âWeâre supposed to be engaged,â he says.
âSupposed to be?â Celesteâs voice chimes behind you. You stiffen. âThought youâd know better than to talk like that in public. I told you that press would be here.â
She stands next to you, and to your surprise, you feel a rush to defend the man towering over you.
âBack here?â you say, looking around the hall. âPoint them out. Go ahead.â
Rafeâs teeth graze over his bottom lip. Even after that argument, you have an instinct to shelter each other. You tear into each other in private, then face the bullshit together.
âAnyone could hear you,â Celeste says quietly, holding out the clipboard she had pressed to her chest. She then walks you through the event, telling you and Rafe where you need to be.
After her speech, to your disdain, she utters the words, detached and rehearsed, âWe confirmed attendance for your graduation next month. Rafe, youâll arrive early for photos and sit front row with the family.â
âWhat?â you snap. She doesnât blink.
âWhich part do you need me to repeat?â
âStudents only get a few seats. And the deadline to reserve tickets passed,â you say, as if anything you retaliate with will change this.
Celeste gives you a look that says it loud and clear. Limits donât pertain to your parents. Rules donât apply to anyone who carries your surname.
âThis wasnât in the calendar,â Rafe mutters.
âYeah, it wasnât,â you confirm angrily.
âGood thing I did some digging,â she says, then glances at you. âItâll be a great look. People will take you seriously when they see you in a cap and gown, next to your fiance and your family.â
âI donât want anyone there,â you state.
âYouâll live,â she answers.
Riggsâs fists tighten, jaw locking. They expect him to perform, to fall in line, bound by a contract. And youâre unraveling right in front of them, and not one person bothers to notice.
Except him. No matter how pissed off he is at you, when he watches the mix of sadness and anger burn through you, he cares.
âSo, my whole family?â you ask Celeste. âIncluding my brothers?â
âOf course.â
âAnd you tell us this now?â Rafe snips.
âIt was just confirmed.â She looks at her wrist watch. âYouâre needed by the stage soon. Remember, just smile and donât say a word. Follow me.â
Your eyes lift to Rafe. There are no words, just tension in his handsome face and the quiet strength of his extended hand. A single nod from him tells you that the ruin you carved into each other doesnât matter right now. Getting through this does.
You lace your fingers through his, and even after everything, how cruel heâs been, how wrecked you feel, heâs the one holding you still. Somehow itâs his grip that stops you from falling off the edge, even though he played a part in putting you there.
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The lights are still dimming as you slip through the exit, your heels clicking against the concrete. The event was a blur, full of handshakes, camera flashes, and forced smiles, and you refuse to linger.
The energy was suffocating. Watching the crowd cheer for a woman whoâs spent years tearing you down feels toxic in a way you wonât accept.
The rage sits deep, like it always has. You canât forget that you didnât choose to be here. Your parents pushed you into it, and that resentment leaves another scar on your heart.
Outside, the late afternoon air is cooler, but your nerves still buzz. You feel Rafe following close behind.
He has no objections with your exit. Every time he has to be seen with you, itâs another tightrope walk, tense and exhausting.
The driver realizes youâre coming down the steps and rushes to open the door, but you hurriedly tell him itâs okay, opening it yourself, shifting into the backseat.
Rafe sits and shuts the door behind him, gazing ahead to see that the partition is still up, then looking over at you as you sit tensely, arms crossed, brows furrowed.
âI canât stand this,â you mutter. âWatching that woman get applauded is just⊠God, I just want to punch something.â
You sigh, looking out the window, just to start up again.
âAnd theyâre coming to my graduation? Theyâre using that to look like they give a fuck about me?â
Your exhale, to your surprise, comes out shaky. You didnât think today would rattle you like this.
âAnd donât give me shit that I wasnât convincing, okay?â you warn. âI canât be what they expect of me. I just canât.â
Then, you glance up at Rafe, confused that he hasnât made a rude remark since you sat down.
His gaze lingers on your face, quiet, knowing. He understands the weight of falling short. And for the first time, it shows that not living up to their standards isnât just noise in the background to you. For once, youâre not hiding it.
You give a shit. Itâs disguised as anger. But itâs there. He knows because heâs the same way.
âYou did good,â he finally says. He means it, because in the months leading up to this moment, heâs seen it. You donât act out for the hell of it. Youâre provoked.
The car pulls forward. You almost tell Rafe not to lie, not to say things just to appease you, but you know him well enough by now to see he wouldnât do that. Not with you. With you, he doesnât sugarcoat a thing.
He said it like he recognizes the fight behind every performance you have to give. Maybe itâs your stress dulling your instincts, but he seems genuine.
For once, you donât deflect. You look like you accept his words. It gives him an opportunity to take your beauty in, that pretty look of mild surprise in your features.
The simple exchange, one line from him, silence from you, shifts the tension in the small space of the private backseat. The frustration from your lingering argument is still very much there. But it has lost its ferocity.
And because you canât take any more vulnerability between you, you force down your feelings, focusing instead on the warm arousal flooding your core.
You just want to forget. And by the way heâs staring at you, you think he does, too. Your lips just barely part. The air between you thickens.
Although every other kiss youâve shared was initiated by him, this time, you lean in first. You grip his shoulders to bring him closer, confidently, because you know heâll melt into you instantly.
He does. Heâs just as needy for you, your mouths meeting in heated urgency. His hand finds your thigh, kneading roughly. You lose track of time as your kisses grow hungrier, burying yourselves into each other, hands wandering.
He pulls back, his eyes hard on yours as he leans forward to cup your ankles together, guiding your legs to rest on his lap.
âLie back,â Rafe half-whispers.
Your heart starts to thunder as you shift back against the car door, watching his big hand drag up your leg. You catch his gaze, biting your lip as you shift to pull your dress up to your hips.
His length hardens against your calf when he leans forward to touch you.
He sighs a relieved exhale as his thumb massages you through your panties. Theyâre sheer, the outline of your middle clear through the muted sunlight gleaming through heavily tinted windows, and he admits it to himself now: the more he has you, the more he wants.
Rafe licks his lips as he leans even closer to pull at the band of your panties. The way you lift your hips so he can strip you is a pleasure all on its own. You want his touch just as bad as he wants to give it.
He stuffs your panties into his pocket, and when you settle back on the cushioned seat and spread your legs for him, his jaw tenses. Youâre fucking perfect.
The firm warmth of his hand on you makes you buck your hips instantly. He tilts his head, eyes flicking up to meet yours, as he shifts towards you and pushes down the inside of your knee so youâll spread wider, show him more of yourself.
He swallows hard looking down at you, his gut coiling with need. He grazes his thumb over your clit and you rest a hand over your mouth to stifle your moan.
Rafeâs smirk is self-satisfied when he sees that a mere second of touching you has this effect. His palm is pressed over your pelvis, still stimulating you, while he raises his other hand to your mouth, pulling away your hand to brush two of his fingers over your lips.
âGet my fingers wet,â he murmurs. Your eyes donât leave his as you open your mouth wider, letting him slide his forefinger and middle finger in.
You close your lips around him. Heâs sure heâs never been this hard before, so turned on that it hurts, rubbing over your wet folds, feeling your hot tongue against his fingers.
âGood girl,â he rasps, and pulls his fingers out to leave your mouth with a smack.
He nudges his fingers, wet with your spit, into your entrance so agonizingly slowly that you want to scream. Itâs a hard reminder that youâre only a wall apart from two strangers as the car zooms down the freeway.
You tilt your head back once heâs knuckle deep. He watches you, in awe, in painful desire, as you squeeze around his fingers. Youâre hot and wet and flawless, and itâs insane how you make him feel a way heâs never felt before.
Just by being who you are, you promise him that youâll drive him crazy, and still, he canât wait to touch you and see that look of delight on your face. The sex started as a release of how much you enrage each other, but itâs more now. Heâs glad to see bliss on your face instead of anger. Instead of pain.
Because youâre not who he thought he was. Youâre more. Youâre a person who hasnât lost the fight in her, even though so many people would. Like he did.
You whimper in delight, your eyes fluttering open again. Rafe should stop staring, in case you can see it in his eyes. That this is becoming something more than it needs to be.
But he doesnât. He watches your face pinch in pleasure as he pushes all the way in, curling his fingers into your silky heat, still rubbing your slick clit.
Every muscle in you tenses from the euphoric sensation, your pulse thumping through every inch of your body.
âFuck,â you exhale through another relieved exhale, trembling beneath him.
âI know,â he whispers. âI know it feels good.â
You have to stifle another moan from the way the words sound coming out of his mouth, teasing you through a deep reverb, sure to never leave your memory.
The car slows and you look out the window to realize youâve turned onto the road towards your building.
âShit,â you whisper, sitting up, pushing him away. You hate the feeling of his touch leaving you, but being discovered like this would bring irreversible trouble.
Itâs ironic, that the man who was supposed to clean up your reputation has you panting with your dress bunched up in the back of a car.
âWhereâs my underwear?â you say in a huff, pulling down your dress.
âIn my pocket,â he rasps, clasping your hand and shifting towards the door as the car slows, impatient and starving for you. You notice the thick ridge in his pants, and you tense up all over again, needing him.
You rush home the moment the car stops, not looking back. The second the front door shuts behind you, your back is against the wall, your fingers tugging at his belt buckle.
Rafe hikes your knee up, fingers pressing against your pussy again, but you shake your head as you try to unzip his pants.
âNo,â you whisper hurriedly. âDonât make me wait.â
His mouth catches yours in a hard kiss as he pulls down his pants, palming himself.
âSay you want me to fuck you,â he says against your lips, tugging his briefs down.
âI want you to fuck me,â you say.
Satisfaction rushes through you as he zips down your dress, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud before he guides himself into you, entering with a rough thrust, one arm tight around your waist as the other is pressed against your back, his hand gripping the back of your neck.
You moan loudly, overwhelmed by how good he feels, how a man you swore you hated fills you with such unreal pleasure that itâs like youâre on the edge of drowning in the high.
âOn the floor,â he orders, arms still around you as you scramble to lie on the hardwood, quivering, never losing contact as he pins you down.
Rafeâs wet mouth is at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer so he can reach behind and take off your bra, the last piece of clothing you have on. After he unhooks it, he squeezes your breast while his other arm holds him up, elbow on the floor, his hot weight over you.
You try to unbutton his shirt, but with how hard heâs pounding into you, how dizzy you are, your efforts are useless. Heâs fucking you senseless and you can hardly see straight.
You can only arch your back and shut your eyes, lips parted with soft whines as he drives in and out of you, filling you to the hilt every time.
Your hands drag up his firm arms, clinging to his biceps, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, into his skin as your body begins to quiver with the promise of an orgasm. You take deep breaths as the wave takes you in, fireworks exploding through you.
Just like the other times, feeling you clench around him is what undoes him. He leans down to kiss you again, letting you breathe your moan into his mouth. Itâs fucking paradise coming inside of you, moving in passionate, frantic pumps as he empties everything pent up in him.
The ecstasy is sweet and heavy as he heaves on top of you. Heâs still inside, his lips grazing your collarbone as you both come back down to reality.
Your arms are draped around him and his are around you, holding himself up so he doesnât crush you, even though you can feel the weakness in his shakes.
His soft, lazy kisses on your neck confirm it for you. This time was different. The lines are blurring, because two people with nothing but hatred between them wouldnât hold each other like this after you already both got what you wanted.
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Itâs been days, and youâve kept your conversations short and your eye contact brief. You tell yourself you loathe Rafe. Itâs easier to carry the grudges, count the ways heâs failed you, replay his worst moments.
But itâs so much more complicated. Youâve learned how to silence emotion, how to slip out of feelings before they settle, but with him, itâs not that simple. Thereâs tenderness buried in him, a complexity thatâs quiet but real, and it keeps tugging at you.
You can outrun everything else. But not him. Not the way heâs always around. Now the way he lingers in your thoughts.
Itâs a Thursday night, mere minutes to 10 oâclock, and youâre sitting on your bed, going between studying and reading through your senior project.
The pages of the painstakingly meticulous assignment you completed sit in front of you in a thick portfolio. Everythingâs done. Youâre just not sure if itâs enough.
It was a long workout. Rafe needed it. He steps into the penthouse, freshly showered, one hand holding a box that was sitting on the doorstep addressed to you.
Heâs been wondering how, or even if, he should say something to you. While he hasnât ever shied away from telling you what he thinks of you, this is out of his control, and he canât afford to be out of control in this arrangement.
In the almost three months since he met you in your fatherâs office, heâs put it together. Underneath your outbursts, thereâs strength. Resilience. And once he noticed it, he couldnât stop.
Heâs been subconsciously hoping to find a bridge to you. The package in his hand is good enough.
Taps on your door pull you out of your focus. Your heart swells, a flush going through you. Youâd normally call out and angrily demand he tell you what he wants. But your emotions are betraying you. You want to see him.
You turn off your music and cross your bedroom to open the door, meeting the face that has been permeating your every thought.
You donât speak, looking up at him through those pretty eyes. It makes something in his chest twist when you gaze at him like that; not with anger or resentment, but with curiosity.
He sees it in the way your shoulders are dropped, in the heaviness of your eyelids. Youâre working yourself hard, just like you did the night he found you in the kitchen, cleaning up shattered glass.
âThis came for you,â Rafe says, holding up the box.
You take it from him, holding it to your body.
âMy cap and gown, probably,â you say passively.
A new type of tension settles between you. Itâs not driven by carnal desire anymore. Not for Rafe, at least. Something slipped in the cracks at some point. His attraction isnât just physical. And itâs bad.
âBullshit that she found a way to ruin it,â he offers, scratching the back of his neck. You nod, still ruminating over how your familyâs publicist made a plan to exploit a day that means so much to you.
âYeah,â you murmur. âNow itâll just be another thing I have to force myself through.â
Another beat of silence sits between you. You just stare, caught between all thatâs been and whatever comes next. Weeks of tension, clashing words, and reluctant teamwork hang in the silence.
Itâs like youâre both unsure of whatever it is you share means anything more now. Itâs not forgiveness or trust, but itâs something.
âStudying?â Rafeâs low voice breaks the silence, a soft nod towards the books strewn across your bed.
âThat and going over my senior project. Iâve been looking at it for, like an hour,â you admit. âItâs due tomorrow.â
Rafe puts a hand against your doorframe, leaning closer, his broad frame towering over you.
âIâd look at it, but you donât need my help, right?â he says, a light teasing to his tone, testing the waters.
Despite your pride, tonight, somethingâs worn thin. Maybe itâs the exhaustion in your bones or the way he asked. Youâve stared at your assignment for so long it stopped making sense. Another set of eyes would actually help.
âBe brutally honest,â you give in, turning around. âIf I need to change something, I will.â
Rafe takes the invitation, stepping inside with a quiet urgency. You sit at the head of your bed, and he settles at the edge. His gaze drops to the folder buried between your books.
You lean against your pillow as your mattress sinks under his weight, gazing at his broad back, lines of muscles shadowed under his t-shirt. Heâs quiet as he flips open the first page of your assignment.
You almost change your mind. Tell him to leave. Rafe stands for everything youâve resisted. Just looking at him reminds you of years spent clawing for autonomy. He helped your family trap you into a scheme centered in exploiting you.
Yet here he is, woven into the edges of your life like something inevitable.
Rafe eventually reaches the last page. He wouldnât make a single edit. Your work is clean and sharp. Better than anything he could ever come up with.
He finally looks over his shoulder, but your eyes are shut, your lips slightly pouted in your sleep.
In that stillness, something settles in him. Youâre not just someone to tolerate anymore. Youâre something fragile and strong at the same time. Something he wants to keep safe.
You might push him away, but heâs already made the choice. Protecting you is an instinct thatâs taken over him completely.
You wake up the next morning to your alarm, consciousness finding you as you realize youâre under your duvet. When you see your books stacked on your desk, your heart tumbles over itself at the writing on the sticky note he left atop your project folder.
Brutally honest. Donât change anything.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Later that week, you make it home with anxiety clinging to you. After a hard few days, youâve just completed your last final of the year, and while youâve been confident about every other exam, this one has rattled you.
Itâs past 6 pm. Heâs probably home.
Your feet take you to his side of the condo, stopping in front of his bedroom door. For some ridiculous reason, your need for comfort has brought you here. Maybe it was the consolation he gave you about your project.
Maybe itâs more.
âRafe?â you say through the door.
He opens it moments later. His eyes travel over your face, his heart puttering in a way that only happens around you.
âDo you remember how long you had to wait to get your exam results?â you ask.
He tilts his head, an endeared smirk pulling on his lips.
âYou worried?â he asks, partly tender, partly teasing. Itâs cute to see you concerned. After heâs seen your project, witnessed how hard you work yourself, he has no doubt you did fine.
You just look down at your phone, shoulders tense.
âI know itâs not going to be up within a day, butâŠâ
A text notification from Celeste makes your stomach sink.
Try smiling more. The event photos are barely usable.
You click the link she sent. It takes you to your motherâs campaign website, an image of you and your family from last weekendâs event splashed on the home page.
âOh, my God,â you mutter.
âWhat?â
âCeleste seriously just texted me to smile more,â you mutter.
You turn on your heels, unsure of what youâre even doing here, angry at the way Rafe is the only one to vent to about this, when he put you here. You have to keep reminding yourself of that.
A hole digs itself into his chest as you walk away. His mouth parts, trying to think of anything to say. Your words from last weekend run through his mind.
âYou still want to punch something?â he calls.
âWhat?â you ask.
âI know a place.â
âWhat are you talking about?â Your brows furrow, a hint of a confused smile on your face.
âGet some gym clothes on,â he says. âIf you have it in you.â
Heâs taunting you. Picking on your competitiveness. And no matter how tired you are, you never back down from a challenge.
âAm I going to get to punch you?â you answer.
His dimples cave into his cheeks. It makes your chest numb.
âJust get ready,â he murmurs.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The gym is on the other side of town. Itâs small, quiet, gritty; the complete opposite of the man youâve gotten to know.
Rafe was right when youâd asked him in the car if youâd run the risk of getting recognized. Heâd told you no. The gym goers keep their heads down, the sound of clanging weights and whispered grunts echoing through the mirrored space.
If the hard, muscular ridges of Rafeâs body werenât evidence that he comes here a lot, the way he confidently strides through the place is. He reaches a room near the back, looking back at you, eyes drifting down to your lips before he nods you in.
âLetâs see what you got,â he says.
You take in the empty space, a few punching bags on each corner of the room. Youâre amused, even a bit touched, when he stands behind a bag, hands on either side, waiting for you.
âSo, this is where you go when youâre not working?â you ask.
âYou keeping tabs on me?â
âLearned it from you,â you retort. Itâs second nature to jab at him, to remind him of how heâs hurt you. You watch his face fall.
He realizes you still see evil in him, as if he enjoys controlling you. It stings. But he could never risk telling you why he really signed that contract.
âJust punch,â he says. âKeep your thumbs out.â
You swallow hard, a part of you not wanting to give him the satisfaction of complying.
âThis is stupid,â you challenge.
Rafeâs jaw firms, his eyes hard on you. Heâs not going to give up.
âListen, I never thought Iâd meet someone more pissed off than me,â he says. âThen I met you. Youâre angry. Use it.â
You glare at him.
âWhat are you, scared?â he asks.
âYouâre just trying to egg me on.â
âIs it working?â
You roll your eyes, landing a half-hearted punch into the bag.
âWhat the fuck was that?â Rafe half-laughs.
âYouâre being annoying,â you reply.
âAm I?â he taunts.
You shake your head in frustration, locking your knees to punch for real. You drive your fist straight into the bag, the sound echoing sharp and raw in the hollow space around you. Admittedly, it feels amazing.
âNice,â he says, and the praise feels even better than the punch, reminding you of the way heâd called you a good girl in the car. Your cheeks burn. âAgain.â
You listen, landing punches as your breath starts to tear in and out. Every strike is a refusal: of control, of expectation, of every insult and rule thrown your way growing up.
You catch your breath, careful to not let it get too shallow, to not strain your lungs.
âYour turn,â you say, hands on your hips, stepping to the side.
His smirk is satisfied, maybe even cute, as he eyes you. Then, he indulges you, delivering a few hard blows. Itâs insanely attractive. He was telling the truth. He has real anger in him.
You didnât have to come here to see it. He tried to intimidate you. He yelled at you. But you can see thereâs something deeper. It wasnât just you that made him so angry. He said heâd never thought heâd meet someone more pissed off than himself.
Heâs breathing a little harder when he stops, holding onto the bag again, looking to the floor before he gazes at you again.
âWhat are you so pissed off about?â you ask accusingly.
Maybe itâs not fair, but you donât feel like he deserves to be angry. He lives such a cushioned life, the only challenge being a father whoâs difficult to please. Itâs nothing compared to your pain.
Rafeâs fingers dig into the bag. Anger is no stranger to him. He always hated how easily it surged, how quickly it clouded his judgment. But in here, it has a place. He can drown his rage in reps, let it out instead of rot inside him.
He doesnât know how to put it in words. How misunderstood heâs always felt. How heâs always been just a tool for his father to use. How the weight of grief never leaves his heart.
âI never had a say,â he admits, breath shallow, âin a lot of things.â
âI wonder what thatâs like,â you murmur sarcastically.
His eyes narrow. Youâre always on the edge of arguing.
âStuff with my dad⊠itâs complicated, alright?â he says. âItâs fucked up.â
âI know all about that, too,â you huff. âStill wouldnât make someone marry me because of it.â
Rafeâs jaw stiffens. You still resent him, and you refuse to hide it.
âI had a⊠rough time. When I was younger,â he says. âIâd get wasted every night. It was bad. I owe him.â
You donât know how to describe the tangle of emotions sitting in your chest. You understand the desire to fall into a drunken escape. But you donât understand the loyalty he has.
It seems rooted in absolutely nothing but blind obedience, and thatâs exactly what youâve always loathed: obeying family simply because youâre related.
âOwe him what?â you mumble.
âWhatever I can give,â he says sharply. He looks down, shakes his head. âJust go again.â
You donât need him to tell you twice. Youâre so angry that itâs enough to drive you to keep punching despite the weakness in your muscles. So you do. Over and over, until your throat starts to feel raw.
Then, suddenly, you need to stop. If you donât, your lungs might give out.
âIâm done,â you say through a broken sigh.
âWeak,â he teases. âA few more. Come on.â
You draw back, as if his words stung.
âI canât.â
âYes, you can.â
âStop it.â
âOne more.â
âI said stop it,â you snap. âTake me home. Now.â
You leave suddenly, storming out of the room, fists clenched. Heâs still for a moment, unsure of what just happened.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The water is hot against your skin, washing away the sweat from your short, but intense workout.
Weak. How dare he call you weak? Every punch took strength, exerted your lungs, risked your breathing vanishing on you like it does sometimes.
You refused to talk to him the entire drive back.
Rafe stands outside your bedroom door, palm rubbing over his buzzed hair. He meant to retire to his room, but his impulse brought him here.
He thought he was getting somewhere with you. He even let you see a side of himself he doesnât show anyone, admitting to the debt he feels he owes to his father.
He thought your banter was playful, but your faint smile disappeared. He saw it. That he hurt you. Something he said or did cut deep.
Maybe it was the way he pushed you to keep going. Youâve shown him time and time again how much it upsets you to be told what to do.
He knocks, unsure of what to say, but certain he needs to say something. You donât answer. Thatâs when he hears that your shower is running.
He takes a risk, turns the knob, crosses through your room, knowing heâll likely get turned away but finding the risk worth it.
Your ensuite door is ajar. Steam curls through the room, condensation on the mirror. And he knocks again.
âWhat do you want?â you mutter, your voice echoing.
He licks his lips, stepping in, seeing the blurred image of your naked body behind the opaque shower doors. You slide open the door just a bit, glaring at him, your skin gleaming with the waterâs shine.
Rafe stares at you, speechless, giving you that longing, aching look heâs given you more times than you can count.
Because words only come easy between you when theyâre laced with anger, because the sex is such an incredible release, because youâre two people who seem to piss each other off but need each other just as much, you pull the door open just an inch more. A silent invitation.
And after he strips himself of his clothes, he steps in, his hard, warm stomach pressing against your wet back, earning a shudder from you. His hands cling to your waist, hard and impatient, as you face the shower, its water drumming over your chest.
âTurn around,â he whispers in your ear.
âNo,â you reply, simply because you donât have it in you to listen to anyone anymore.
âLook at me.â
âStop talking.â
You take his hand from your waist and pull it low, gliding it between your legs, knowing he knows what to do.
You hike your leg up on the tubâs edge, breathing a sigh of relief when he obeys, stroking your folds, fingers tracing shapes that make your muscles go loose.
You canât wait. You bend forward, hands splayed against the wet tile, looking over your shoulder.
He pushes inside, still partly soft from how quickly everythingâs going, then hardening within seconds when he feels your velvet heat wrapped around his cock.
âHard,â you whisper, desperate to feel the type of pleasure that silences everything else.
He cups your shoulders, thumbs on the back of your neck to keep you steady. And then, he pulls back an inch and thrusts so hard that you couldnât keep in your strained moan if you tried.
You tell yourself itâs like the other times. That last time was a fluke. It seemed laced with emotion when it wasnât. But then he speaks.
âYou okay?â Rafe murmurs, thumbs stroking your skin.
You nod, pressing back against him, hands flat against the wall, urging him to keep going, to stop making you wonder why he has such an effect on you.
Every time he buries into you, you exhale a moan, echoed over the rushing water. His hands grip your shoulders tighter as he pulls back and reaches deep, again and again, skin slapping, broken breaths tangling in the humid air.
When you unravel, he wraps his big arms around your waist, his mouth by your cheek as he feels you tense up around him.
âThere you go,â he whispers his praise, his voice low and ragged. You shut your eyes, sinking in the bitterness of feeling so good with someone who can make you feel so bad at the same time.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Youâre at the halfway point of the six months youâre tied into. The worst part is, it doesnât make you feel better. Timeâs passing, technically. But it doesnât feel like progress. It feels like every day, you get more bitter and more confused.
Tonight, you couldnât hide your scowl for all the money in the world.
Your parents are hosting a fundraiser. The price tag of this lavish event couldâve gone to the charity theyâre pretending to care about. They couldâve quietly written a check for millions. Thereâs no need for all this spectacle. But then again, itâs all for looks. Always has been.
The ballroom is thick with noise and perfume. Youâre wearing silk and a smile that doesnât reach your eyes. Rafe is at your side, stiff in his suit, the definition of distant elegance.
He watches you sit at the table, tucked between family members. Heâs seen you alive before. Heâs seen you furious, amused, sad. This version of you is hollowed out. Your eyes are unfocused, lips still, posture tight. Enduring.
The longer he watches, the more it breaks something in him. You shouldnât have to disappear like this to survive.
What have these people done to you?
A server sets down a plate in front of you, but the sight of it barely registers. Surrounded by family and the quiet ache of your illness, your appetite is gone.
âAny queasiness?â you hear your mother say. You look across the table and notice her leaning closer to your eldest brotherâs wife.
âIâm alright,â she says. âThe baby has been craving sweets, though.â
You look at your sister-in-law, the realization hitting you hard. When she notices you staring, you speak.
âAre youâŠ?â you ask.
âYes,â she says with a smile. She puts a hand on her stomach. âTen weeks tomorrow.â
You canât even utter a congratulations. It hurts that this is how you find out. But knowing that another person will be born into this family is what drills a hole into your heart. Another baby. Another tiny hope born into a lineage that equates obligation with love.
You look at her sister-in-lawâs glowing expression. Hollowness gnaws at you.
If their child grows up to be different in any way, asks hard questions or breaks rules, will they cast them out like they did to you? What if the child has the genetic complications you have, is born with lungs that refuse to work how they need to?
Sorrow chills you. You know this family does to the ones who donât fit in. You wonder if anyone else at the table sees it coming, but they donât. Youâre the only one who knows what the outskirts feel like.
The ache in your chest twists tighter.
You stand, needing to get some air. Rafe follows, not because he gives a shit about optics, but because he saw the way your face fell when you heard the news.
As you push through the crowd towards the entrance, a group of men pass by you. Expensive cologne masking the scent beneath it: cigarette smoke. Thick. Burnt.
And your greatest fear slams into you.
Your chest closes in on itself. Your fingers twitch. You swallow. The damage is already working its way in.
You stop. In your haste, you didnât think to pick up your bag. You involuntarily step back, feeling Rafeâs hard body against your back.
You barely turn, barely find his eyes.
âRafe,â you mutter, strained.
His brows furrow, hands finding your wrists, gentle but firm as his eyes search yours. You wobble. Subtly, but itâs enough to make his heart drop.
âWhat is it?â
âGet my purse,â you say, short of breath. âItâs at the table. Please.â
The fear in your eyes is enough to send a rush of panic through him. He doesnât think, just does, and when your purse is in your hand, you scurry out of the crowded ballroom, trying to find the most private place you can. Behind you, the party blurs back into oblivious chatter.
You make it outside, the cold night air hitting you, and you round the corner of the banquet hall underneath a soft light hanging on the wall, nearly collapsing as you sit at a bench.
Rafe is kneeling on the ground in front of you, hands on your thighs, eyes searching you in concern.
âAre you okay?â he whispers.
Your hands shake as you open your purse, throat closing, chest burning. Then, your fingers grip the cool plastic of your inhaler, and you bring it to your lips, breathing in the cool mist, feeling air reach places in your lungs that it couldnât before.
Itâs an unbelievable relief. A terrifying thing for someone else, for Rafe, to see. You finally look at him.
Youâd expect yourself to be angry that he followed. That he witnessed this. You, in your most vulnerable, most broken form, a victim to your illness.
But his voice is as soft, as worried as his eyes. His hands rest on the curve of your jaw, cupping your face.
âBaby, are you okay?â he asks again in a near whisper.
Thereâs no harshness. No edge. Just pure worry. And thatâs what silences your frustration completely. That question. And the way he looked when he asked it.
You take a few seconds. Pull in breaths. Lie, because itâs all you can do.
âI get panic attacks,â you say, still panting. âI just⊠I told you before. Iâve been stressed. Iâm fine.â
His eyes wonât leave you as he pulls off his suit jacket and puts it over your trembling body. Itâs warm and soft, comforting as his hands rest on your cheeks.
He canât guide you back inside. He wonât.
âLetâs go home,â he says.
You nod, relieved. The concept of home is comforting to you for the first time in your life.
Moments later, the car door shuts. Your whole body is still shaking, curled in the corner of the backseat, trying not to spiral.
Youâre cold. Alone. Until his hand finds yours.
The car pulls forward, partition closed, car flooded in darkness. Youâre trembling beneath him. It makes every piece inside of him splinter.
He canât get it out of his head. How scared you looked, your labored breathing and glossy eyes. He doesnât want to see that ever again.
âYou get them a lot?â Rafe breaks the silence.
You have to take some time to clue in. Right. Panic attacks.
âLately, yes,â you say. âWhen she said she was pregnant, it⊠just shocked me. Iâm scared for that baby.â
âScared?â he urges gently.
âI donât want it to have what I have,â you say impulsively, shaking your head, praying he doesnât catch on that youâre speaking about more than your familyâs neglect.
Rafeâs face pinches in sorrow, shuffling closer, arms wrapping around you.
âCan you tell?â you rasp, fear blanketing your heart. Maybe you gave it away.
âTell what?â he asks.
In the mix of emotions, youâre relieved. He bought your lie about it being a panic attack. He has no idea this is so much deeper.
âTell what, baby?â he whispers again when you donât answer. The tender term heâs used twice now makes your heart numb, warm, full, and you wish it didnât.
You decide to tell him another truth. Just as painful, but not as risky.
âThat they never wanted me,â you mumble.
Like a wave, it rips into his mind. What heâd said to you during that vicious fight all those weeks ago. Who would want you? Heâs never felt like more of an asshole.
âI want you,â he confesses in a hush.
His words make your eyelids heavy, all in an effort to keep your tears in. Youâve been longing for someone to hold you like this, to say something like that, but you never trusted them enough to. Youâre not sure you even do now.
The edges of hate start to blur as you feel Rafeâs heart thumping against your cheek, anxiety and sadness still digging its claws into you, but quieter now that youâre being held through the type of breakdown youâve only ever had by yourself.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Rafe refuses to wake you up the next morning. He peeks into your bedroom to see you asleep under your duvet, then makes it to your familyâs home after Celeste called an early meeting, surely to discuss your unexpected exit last night.
He doesnât give a fuck what they have to say. Expecting you to endure this is just plain cruel. And if what heâs seen is only the surface, itâs already more than enough to make anyone furious.
He settles in Kalâs office, rage burning through him. The need to guard you from the damage theyâll inevitably deliver vibrates through him, as if itâs always been there.
Celeste asks where you are. Rafe responds that he didnât see a point in waking you up. Heâll take the brunt. He wonât let you get yelled at if they think you refused to come.
âWhat happened last night?â she says, while Kal rubs his forehead. âDid you see the photos?â
âWhat photos?â Rafe snips.
She sighs, showing her phone screen. Itâs an image from last night, far away, grainy. You, sitting on the bench. Him, on his knees in front of you, holding your face in his hands.
A stranger was watching you, snapping photos. Itâs fucked up, having a moment like that immortalized, other eyes on something that was only for him and you.
âShe had a panic attack,â Rafe says tensely, âbecause youâre putting too much on her.â
Celeste shakes her head, as if his words are utter nonsense.
âWe can frame it as a sweet moment, then,â she says. âShe panicked, and you helped.â
âNo,â Rafe says. Fuck. He shouldnât have said that. He shouldnât have exposed you like that. Theyâll find a way to hurt you, like they always do.
âYou shouldnât have left,â Celeste adds. âAnd you shouldâve known reporters would be lurking outside.â
He sees it clearly, how your pain is handled like a PR problem, not a cry for help. Itâs dismissed as an inconvenience. Theyâre all more worried about the familyâs image than you.
âIâll start writing a response,â she says, then stands up. Rafe lets that be his cue to leave, too. He follows the publicist out of the room, but Kalâs voice stops him at the door.
âKeep it together,â he mutters. âIf you break this contract, itâll be bad for everyone.â
The threat sticks in Rafe, the reminder that his fatherâs company, his familyâs reputation, is on the line.
âI know,â he says through gritted teeth.
âDonât let her manipulate you.â
Heâs working to drive a wedge between you. The fact that youâre amicable clearly unsettles him. That photo makes it undeniable: thereâs understanding between you now.
Rafe can tell that Kal is threatened. And he wants to shield you from whatever bullshit comes next.
âShe didnât fake it, if thatâs what youâre getting at,â he replies. âShe had to use an inhaler.â
âYou donât know?â
Rafe stills. Kal chuckles.
âItâs no panic attack,â Kal says. âItâs an illness. She has bad lungs. She lied to you.â
Rafe pauses. Cold floods his body.
âSheâs sick?â he says, squinting.
âItâs chronic,â Kal answers, seemingly pleased that heâs the one telling him this. âIt wonât kill her, but she likes to act like it will. Always been dramatic.â
Rafe is stunned. Not just that youâre sick, but that no one seems to care. The casual cruelty of the way your father told him, used as a tool to turn him against you, reframes you in his mind completely.
Youâre hurting. You always were. And the way no one, not even your dad, seems to think it matters, cuts deep.
A puzzle piece finally falls into place. Your constant fatigue, your secret appointment, your vague words last night. Youâre sick.
Rafe doesnât let Kal see how it slams into him. He storms out of the room, down the hallway, out of the place you grew up in, hurt in, suffered in, and the illness that took his motherâs life claws its way back into his mind. It wrings his heart out.
All the ideas he had of who you were crumble instantly. Heâs tangled in guilt. In fear. In something else he doesnât want to name.
(to be continued)
my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications.
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
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The daydreams wonât stop. Itâs like youâve discovered a new drug and youâre craving another hit.
You sat through your classes quietly today while your mind raged on, running through the memories of yesterday, your senses numbing every time you remember the way he felt, the sounds he made, the deepness of his voice and the coarseness of his touch as your bodies met in your bed.
The tension between you, laced with disdain, was finally broken open, but itâs like itâs just built itself back up today.
You havenât seen him since he slipped out of your room, but youâre sure heâs doing the same thing you are. Remembering it. Wanting to do it again.
Rafe is a distraction. The fact that it was so hard to focus today is proof. Thatâs why you took yourself straight to the library after class to work on your senior project. With just weeks left in your final college year, you refuse to let anything derail the masterâs degree youâve poured everything into.
Itâs late when you finally push your key into the front door, every edge of the condo blanketed in shadows. After you drop your bag onto your bedroom floor and change into your pajamas, you walk to the kitchen for water.
The appliances buzz in the quiet of the night as you reach for a glass in the cupboard. Youâre sure you have a good grip on it, but you realize just how tired you are when it slips out of your hand, ricochets off the counter, and shatters to the floor.
You brush your hands over your face, expelling a quiet sigh. You should know better by now not to work yourself this hard. You canât operate like you can afford to get burned out, to get so exhausted that youâre lightheaded.
You gently sink to your knees to start to collect the translucent shards of crystal off the tile, the glass clinking together softly.
Moments later, Rafe squints as his eyes adjust to the kitchen light. He realizes youâre crouched on the floor, and the anger he let go of yesterday comes back tenfold, because itâs past midnight and youâve woken him up in yet another reckless drunken stupor, the splitting smash of the glass having pulled him out of his deep sleep.
âWasted again?â he rasps.
You look up to see him standing over you just a few feet away. Heâs expecting the worst of you, like always.
Your heavy fatigue makes you teeter in place, nicking your knee on a piece of glass. You inhale a sharp wince.
âJesus,â Rafe mutters, closing the distance, gripping your elbows.
Youâre frustrated, but too exhausted to fight it as he guides you to stand, holding his hand open next to yours. You stare at his palm, fatigue enveloping you almost completely. You donât catch onto what heâs doing; he turns your wrist to gently drop the shards of glass in his hand.
âHow fucked up are you?â he mutters, in disbelief of how zoned out you are.
He guides you backwards, his grip still on your elbow, to create distance between you and the mess you created. But youâre too stubborn to let him. His grimace is judgemental, narrowed eyes brushing over your face as he towers over you.
âI donât need your help,â you tell him.
âMove,â he says. Youâre too tired to resist his force this time, stepping back, pulling your arm out of his grip with a frustrated huff.
He bends to pick up the remaining shards, wondering what the hell heâs doing cleaning up your mess. But when he glances at your bare legs, noticing those tiny shorts on you yet again, he realizes itâs to make sure you didnât cut yourself too badly.
A part of the tension bothering him is concern. And he hates that he cares, and that he has to hide that he cares, but if the last half of a minute showed him anything, itâs that nothing about how much you piss each other off has changed.
âYouâre doing what your dad wants you to do when you party. You know that, right?â
âI was at the library,â you say sharply. âWorking on my senior project.â
Rafe stands to toss the glass into the garbage. When he looks down at you, taking in how disoriented you are, heâs not sure he believes you.
And itâs a reminder of how the entire day, down to the moments before he fell asleep, down to the way he touched himself in the shower, he was thinking about how pretty you looked when you were on top of him, thinking about how he wants it again, wants you again.
âWhatâs it on?â he asks.
You scoff, pushing past him as you reach for another glass from the cupboard. He grips it right before you can, holding it higher, using his height to his advantage.
âTell me,â he says.
âAre you seriously testing me to see if Iâm lying?â you snarl.
Rafe shrugs, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. Your brows furrow, and he thinks about how much easier this would all be if you didnât look so hot when youâre pissed off. His anger is dissolving, his body remembering how good you can make each other feel.
But youâre obviously still very much upset, eyes swimming with irritation.
âI already told you Iâm getting an MBA,â you mutter.
âWhat kind?â
You suck your teeth, stepping forward, letting your body press against his. As youâd hoped, the misleading gesture throws him off, and his arm lowers just enough for you to take the glass out of his hand.
Itâs your turn to smirk as you brush past him, swinging open the fridge door behind him.
âIs it some kind of secret?â he taunts.
âI donât owe you details,â you murmur, filling the glass.
âCome on,â Rafe chuckles.
You roll your eyes as you take a sip. The track you chose for your degree was an easy choice for you. A given.
All your life, youâve watched what happens when someone leads by fear and intimidation. You want to make something of yourself, to work with people, to be more than your father is and to prove that you can do what he does and better.
Your academic goals may be driven by spite, but at least you have motivation. Itâd be easier if you took a different career path entirely, but this one interests you. Youâre good at it.
It must run in your blood. You try not to think about what could have been if your parents wanted you. Where youâd be. How well youâd do in the family business.
âManagement,â you reply curtly.
âSo, you want people to answer to you,â Rafe says.
âDoesnât everybody?â you reply, then take another sip.
His eyes travel down your body. You notice. If you werenât so tired, youâre sure youâd already have him naked at this point. But then again, the power you have over him, the only control you hold in this situation, is addictive.
âSo, what, is it a case study?â he presses.
âWhy are you asking?â
âItâs called a conversation.â
âI never asked for one.â
He cocks a brow, the amusement in his face refusing to fade.
âResearch project?â
âYou never stop, do you?â you say through a tired sigh.
âYou liked it last night.â
The words render you speechless for a moment, your lips parting, your core warming. And because of that comment alone, that cockiness, you decide youâll string him along yet again.
âI have to design a strategic plan,â you reply.
Rafe crosses his big arms and leans back against the counter.
âGot finals going on, too?â
âYeah,â you reply.
He nods, wearing a sense of recognition, as if heâs reminiscing. You wonât ask. You wonât give him the satisfaction of showing that thereâs a quiet pull of curiosity tugging at you.
You drain your water, stepping closer to him to leave the glass in the sink. Your arm brushes his, and you feel it, the undeniable magnetism, the one that was satisfied for only a moment yesterday just to lodge itself between you once again.
Rafe studies you. Itâs disarming, seeing the depth of your work ethic.
âAnd youâre in school âcause you want to be?â he asks.
âWhy else?â you huff.
In a matter of a minute, heâs seen a side of you he didnât know was there. Youâre doing this out of your own will. And taking it seriously. Heâs certain your trust fund would cover everything for you. But you want to work towards something.
It doesnât line up with everything heâs read about you, everything heâs seen from you firsthand.
âI was in the analytics track,â he mentions.
âMust have been hard to do before computers existed,â you chide.
Rafeâs lips pull into a smirk again.
âIâm only six years older than you.â
You almost crack a smile, but you look down. Then, your head pinches with dull pain.
Rafe notices that you hold onto the counter, watches your quick blinks and hears your shaky exhales. Heâs seen you after a few drinks, and this is nothing like it. Youâre being honest. You arenât drunk. Youâre exhausted.
It comes back, that needling sense of protectiveness that he felt not that long ago, the unsettling and confusing urge to disentangle you from your troubles, even the ones you bring on yourself.
He tells himself itâs because youâve obviously always been alone, your family versus you, and he knows what thatâs like. It's just impulse to want to do something about it.
âGo to bed,â he rasps. âI can look at your plan tomorrow.â
You scoff and turn away from him, making your way back to your bedroom. You have no idea why heâd offer to help you with your project. Itâs not even possible for anything an opportunistic person like him says to be well-intentioned. And heâs invading something sacred.
Your pride flares hot in you. You donât need anyone. If you ever were to let him help, itâd be admitting weakness. And you would never do that to a man whoâs witnessed your pain and still treats you like a PR strategy. Who didnât defend you when you needed him to. Who implies that youâre lazy and spoiled. Who tries to control you.
âI already said I donât need your help,â you reply.
Rafe watches you leave.
Heâs not an idiot. He didnât expect that after last night, which was obviously purely physical, youâd suddenly grow to be nice to him. But he thought the ice wouldâve cracked a little.
And now heâs wondering if you saw it as a one-time thing, if that was enough for you and youâre back to treating him like heâs a hassle, instead of a man who has no choice but to be in this arrangement with you, a man who you should cooperate with to get through this.
You really are going to hate him, no matter what. Heâs sure of it now. He thought he was fine with that. The weight on his chest tells him otherwise.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Days later, chatter fills your ears as you step into the softly lit restaurant on Rafeâs arm. Itâs time for another publicity stunt, another staged romantic dinner with your supposed boyfriend.
The photos from the boat party did their job. The cheating rumors that swirled around fizzled.
You settle across from Rafe, still feeling weird about the other night in the kitchen. You donât want him thinking you can be some twisted version of friends now. You would never take his help, no matter what the intention behind it is.
Itâll always bother you, that he could have backed out of this scheme. All that was on the line for him was approval. All he had to say was no. You have so much more at risk and he didnât have the humanity to refuse to put you in this position. You could never forgive that.
Heâd told you he tried to back out, but you donât believe it. The man youâve reluctantly been getting to know is hard-headed as hell. He wouldnât do anything he doesnât want to do.
You can tell by the way heâs looking at you that heâs craving you again. You want him, too, but while you typically give into impulse, youâve drifted into what you were doing before. Tempting him, torturing him, giving him no indication if heâll even get you again.
As you look over the menu, Rafe stares at you, frustrated that he canât figure you out. You gave him fiery passion, then you iced him out.
âAppetizers on the house, miss,â the waiter says, placing a steaming plate in the middle of the table.
Your brows furrow, looking up at him, gazing around, feeling eyes on you.
âThank you, but this isnât necessary,â you say in a hush.
âWe insist,â he says. âPlease enjoy.â
Rafe catches the contempt in your features, the subtle shake of your head as the waiter rushes away. He thought he was getting a different picture of who you are, but again, he can see why you have the reputation you do. Itâs beyond him why anyone would get annoyed over a complimentary gesture.
âYou just got a problem with everything, donât you?â he rasps.
You grit your teeth. Itâs so irritating how he sticks with the negative story heâs written in his head about you.
âTheyâll ask me to post a picture or do a review or something,â you explain. âThis wasnât them being nice. They just want publicity. Everyoneâs got an angle.â
He agrees. He doesnât really believe in the good of people, either. But itâs become second nature to needle at you now.
âThatâs what you think?â he asks.
âThatâs people for you.â
âBut you want to manage them?â he scoffs.
You cock your head, glaring at him.
âThatâs different,â you say.
âIs it?â
âWhatâs your deal?â you sigh. âWhatâs with all the questions? My dad give you a new assignment?â
Rafe breathes a humorless chuckle.
âYouâre makinâ me regret telling you about that,â he says. âIâm bored. Donât you think this shit gets boring? Just sitting with nothing to talk about?â
You want to ask him what the hell he expected from a girl he cornered into an arranged marriage. But when you remember the night you pretended to meet, when he came home disheveled and annoyed, you begin to speak.
âRemember what you asked me when this started?â you say. âYou wanted to know what I needed. I said to leave me alone when I say to, which by the way, you never do, and to not bullshit me. Right?â
Rafe nods, frustration still etched into his handsome face.
âSo, keep your word. For once. No bullshit.â You lean closer. âWhat do you think about the way my dad operates? Professionally, I mean?â
He grimaces. The cover story, the one that you and that publicist believe, is that heâs only here to benefit from the press visibility and business exposure. But beneath it, heâs protecting his familyâs name. And itâs all because your father twisted his arm and put a job on Rafe that he couldnât refuse.
âHeâs ruthless,â he answers.
Your brows lift a little in surprise. He looks like he means it. Like he condemns it.
âThatâs why Iâm studying business management," you admit. âTo prove you donât have to be like that to get somewhere in life.â
He gently taps his knuckles against the table, looking at you in a way you havenât been looked at in a long time. Maybe ever. Like what youâre saying is important.
âYouâre not going to work for him, are you?â he says, wondering where this somewhere youâre talking about would be.
You stiffen. You would never tell him your plans, that youâre going to take a one-way plane ticket hours away to the north of the coast, find a place to live, get a job, start a new life.
You donât trust Rafe at all. Youâre not sure of what he would do with any information you give him. Even talking about something as surface-level as school is making you tense.
âNo,â you finally say, then swallow hard. âYou were right. He set this up to fail. I could tell the last time we met. Itâs like he was happy that photo came out. Heâs obviously twisted.â
Rafe stares in that way again, and you canât, you wonât let yourself think heâs hanging on your words because he cares. He has something up his sleeve.
âDid you say I was right?â he murmurs with amusement.
âThatâs what youâre focusing on?â you say. âIâm done talking about this.â
You look back down at the menu. Rafe doesnât take his eyes off of you. Truthfully, he barely has since he met you, and itâs like tonight in the soft, dim lighting of this intimate restaurant, heâs seeing past the woman you pretend to be.
Youâre bratty and spiteful and irritating. Thereâs no doubting that. But youâve trapped him in a daze that he doesnât see himself falling out of. Thereâs more to you. Ambition, intelligence, a fire that he keeps coming back to, a fire that he keeps letting himself get burned on.
âSo, what, back to silence?â he asks.
âWorks for me,â you reply with a careless shrug.
At the end of the night, the restaurant owner comes by and subtly asks that you post about your meal. You look at Rafe with a snarl that tells him, I told you.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Youâve reached the two-month mark. Your momâs campaign is garnering attention. Everyone in your family is told to travel with strict security, no exceptions.
And the announcement of your engagement has just hit the media.
You fielded the texts and calls from your friends, accepting their congratulations and agreeing that this was all so fast, lying through your teeth about how it just felt right.
Celeste told you and Rafe that the supposed proposal happened behind closed doors and the real press opportunities would be within the following week: a photoshoot of you two, followed by an engagement party days after.
As if you hadnât already spent enough time in your familyâs home, your engagement photos are being taken in the manorâs conservatory.
Rafe snags a glance at the painting he saw when he first visited as he follows you through the foyer. The idea he had of that sullen-looking woman has flipped in so many ways in the past two months.
Things have been tense, and youâre back to doing what you were doing before, toying with him, giving him no indication of if you want him again.
He follows you as you storm down the corridor, making your appointment just on time. Youâve been your typical self: distant, and curt when spoken to.
Bright lights surround the expansive room, made of glass and marble, manicured plants spread out across tables, hanging from the ceiling. He watches you make friendly introductions with the photographer. Your smile doesnât quite meet your eyes.
Itâs getting even more annoying to see how you can force warmth for other people, but he gets nothing but scowls, no matter how hard he tries with you.
Minutes later, youâre facing each other in front of a window after the photographer angled everything to her satisfaction. She instructs you to place a hand on Rafeâs chest, step a little closer, and look up at him for your first shot. You feel the thumping of his heart beneath your palm.
âWhat a gorgeous ring,â she says kindly.
âThanks,â you say tightly, but your eye contact with Rafe says a thousand words between you. You already muttered to him about how gaudy, how not you, the ring Celeste chose is.
âYouâre a beautiful couple,â she says.
You canât even muster a thank you this time.
The camera begins to shutter as you gaze at each other. You hate how familiar the sound is to you.
And you stare at him, surprised to feel relief that you can do it under the guise of needing to.
Rafe looks good in white and youâre sure he knows it. His tailored button-up matches your silk dress, the picture of two people who are put-together and poised, when in reality, youâre pretty sure heâs just as damaged as you are.
Not that you care. Not that you feel bad for him in any way.
You move through the motions, following the photographerâs instructions, smiling when she tells you to, every bit of contact you get with Rafe reminding you of how good he felt bare against you.
You think of that night so often, ache for him, but heâs the one thing you can delay your gratification for. You find a thrill in waiting for him to crack.
âAlright, these are coming out a little stiff,â the photographer murmurs as she clicks through the photos on her camera. âSome couples just get camera shy. I have a good trick for that. Look at each other again.â
You lick your lips, eyes fluttering up to meet Rafeâs. The only thing more irritating than his brashness is how handsome he is.
âNow, think about your first kiss,â she tells you. âPlace yourselves in that memory.â
You catch the tick in Rafeâs jaw, his eyes boring into yours. It wasnât that long ago when your lips finally pressed together in your bedroom, followed by the most passionate night youâve ever had. You slightly tilt your head as you imagine it, the tension in your body softening just a little.
His eyes drift down to your lips, glossy from the way youâd just licked them, thinking about how good your tongue tasted against his.
âGreat,â she says. âThe sun is perfect at this angle. Can you kiss her cheek?â
Your pulse thunders in your ears as Rafe leans down, soft lips gently pressing against your skin.
âA real one now?â she instructs.
You tense up, hating how fake this feels, hating that youâre doing this because your parents told you to, hating how the only way Rafe will be tender with you is if itâs for show. Your dynamic is rough and angry and nothing like this, and it feels wrong to force gentleness that doesnât exist.
Rafe shifts just an inch, but you look down, as if youâre ashamed.
âSorry,â you say to the photographer. âPDAâs a little weird for me.â
âNo problem,â she says. âLetâs move over to the fountain and get some photos of you holding hands?â
âSure,â you say, stepping away, losing all contact with your fiance.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
You donât look at Rafe when you sit in the backseat after an hour of taking photos, your cheeks hurting from the forced smiles.
Beneath the frustration of your stubborn rebellious streak, Rafe feels bitter rejection. You were tangled up in each other that night he canât stop thinking about, but now you act like he disgusts you.
âYou canât just play along?â Rafe mutters.
âWhen something is forced, no, I canât,â you snap. âAll I could think about was how Iâm only doing all this because of a contract I was cornered into signing. And that pisses me off. I hate being told what to do.â
âYeah, no shit,â he says. That was the first thing he learned about you.
âThis is all so stupid,â you scoff. âItâs ridiculous to kiss someone because someone else told you to. I have to draw the line at some point.â
Rafe looks through the window as the car trails down the driveway, your words tumbling in his head.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
When you enter the quiet penthouse, the space is dim now that the sun has dipped below the horizon.
Your head swims with the studying you have left to do. The project thatâs been hanging over you. The degree youâve been working so hard on. The way you have to balance it all while managing an illness that silently takes so much out of youâ
âI wasnât going to do it because someone told me to,â Rafeâs low voice interrupts your thoughts.
You look at him. He savors that half a second of curiosity he sometimes sees on your face before it turns into frustration.
âWhat?â you breathe.
His brows furrow, his gaze darting to your lips before it trails up to your eyes again.
âYou know what.â
You do. Heâd kiss you because he wants to, not because it was instructed or orchestrated or demanded of him.
âYou canât play along,â Rafe says, his words heavy with desire, a pinch of pain swirled in, âbut you can pretend that the other night didnât happen?â
You glare at him, desire coiling beneath the frustration, impossible to separate, impossible to ignore.
âIâm not pretending anything,â you say.
Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose, barely hanging on by a thread now.
âYouâre soâŠâ He exhales sharply, looking down and turning away to go to his bedroom. âFuck.â
âIâm so what?â you challenge.
âYou just make everything so damn hard.â
âYou think youâve made it easy?â you say to his back.
âIâm trying,â he snips, turning around to stare at you again.
âAre you?â You cross your arms. âOr are you just mad I havenât let you touch me since then?â
Rafeâs jaw tenses, his blue eyes hard with lust. He hates your games, yet he keeps playing them.
You feel it spike in your chest, the rush, the satisfaction, the focus. You have so much power over him that every little step forward of yours is loaded.
âThatâs it, isnât it?â you taunt. âYou want me again?â
His Adamâs apple bobs with a tense swallow, staring down at you, all domineering breadth and sharp edges. Your pulse picks up when his gaze drops to your lips again.
âWish I didnât,â he murmurs, tense that youâre tempting him just to slip away. The corners of your lips curl in a satisfied smile.
Rafe shakes his head, as if heâs trying to convince himself itâs a dream he canât indulge. But it doesnât last long. He canât resist you and he takes the risk and leans lower, cradling your jaw in one hand while the other finds your waist, pulling you in.
You melt under his touch in an instant, his mouth hot on yours. Your hands have a mind of their own, dragging up his hard torso, tugging at his collar.
Your body buzzes with anticipation, impulses taking over as you shove him forward. He could easily withstand you, but he doesnât, letting you shove him into the living room, onto the couch, watching as you lean to straddle him, bunching your dress up to your hips.
His hands are on your thighs, squeezing over your pantyhose as your lips meet again, even more feverishly this time. You roll your hips against him, feeling how quickly heâs gotten hard, his cock urging to push out of his pants.
His buttons are stubborn under your fingers and you lose patience, tugging so hard that a button breaks off. He retaliates, his warm hands dragging to your inner thighs, pulling until your pantyhose rip.
Itâs urgent, nothing but pure hunger as you palm him over his clothes. His breath is ragged as he unbuckles his belt, wrapping an arm around your waist as he shifts to pull down his pants.
You stroke him over his briefs, a moan slipping past your lips when you feel a drop of precome in the cloth. His body needs you so badly, and yours needs him, the ache between your legs hot and wet.
Your knees press into the plush couch as you perch yourself up, watching him use the space to pull his briefs down. His cock springs out and youâre moving as if you have seconds left, because thatâs what it feels like.
You shift your panties to the side, watching as he holds himself at his base, ready for you.
When you sink onto him, you both breathe a sigh of relief at the same time. Your head falls back, eyes shut as he stretches you out, filling you with the pressure youâve been thinking about every day.
You squeeze his shoulders as you start to roll your hips, writhing in hungry, desperate thrusts. Rafeâs head is swimming in pure pleasure, watching the pretty way your face pinches, feeling how good your walls tighten around him.
His hand finds your jaw again, cradling like before, but tighter this time, guiding you so youâll stare at him. You meet his eyes, staring into them as your bodies melt together, thinking about how frustrating it is that behind them is someone so cruel and so irresistible.
âKeep looking at me,â he says.
You obey, panting, writhing, thighs growing sore from how fast youâre riding him.
Heâs in awe of how perfect you manage to be, even with all your flaws, even with how deeply you get under his skin.
And he doesnât want your eyes off of him, not for a second. He wants you to show how good he makes you feel. He wants to see those pretty eyes roll from pleasure instead of annoyance.
âDonât make me wait this long again,â he says hoarsely.
Your nails dig into his shoulders, earning a wince from him.
âIâll make you wait longer,â you whisper.
âYou want to look me in the eye when you lie like that?â
His grip on your jaw stiffens and his thumbâs so close to your throat that it sends a whisper of fear through you, afraid heâd dare to choke you.
You put your hand over his, cupping it roughly.
âMove your hand,â you snap in a hush.
Rafeâs face falls in a way you havenât seen before, a mix of confusion and curiosity, but he listens, resting his hands over your thighs again, shifting back a bit to give you more of him to straddle.
Your hands skim down his hard chest as you sink even lower and let him reach even deeper.
âFuck, you feel good,â his voice comes out rough. âKeep bouncing like that.â
You groan breathily as you move, angling to feel him rub against your sensitive bud with every rock of your hips. Euphoria curls at the base of your spine, heat trickling through you.
Your orgasm floods through you and the sound of you sighing so erotically, the feeling of you clenching around him, the sight of you in ecstasy makes Rafe feel high.
Heâs seconds behind you, his pleasure coming out of him in hard, hot pumps. Your foreheads press as you slowly come down together, skin sticky, exhausted, blissed out.
Youâre both in the middle of a storm, but in this minute, the world is quiet. Itâs something you both desperately needed.
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Lights twinkle across the grand ballroom, music and the hum of conversations float through the air, and once again, your hand is at the inside of Rafeâs elbow.
You stand by the framed photo of you two. Itâs only been days since the shoot, but the image of you, backlit by the glowing sun, is sitting by the entrance of your engagement party, conveniently placed next to you as you greet guests.
Despite yourself, you can admit itâs a nice photo. Neither of you are smiling, and thatâs probably because you looked too disingenuous when you tried to, but it works.
Itâs an elegant shot of you gazing at each other. You do look like two people whoâve fallen into a hard, fast romance.
You shake yet another hand, quietly greeting a man youâll never see again after tonight. Or, you might, at the wedding. Itâs hilariously sad, how these are all just strangers with influence, instead of the people youâd really want surrounding you to celebrate a milestone.
Rafe is relieved youâre actually doing this. When Celeste told you that you were expected to greet guests upon their arrival, you scoffed. But here you are, doing it.
You meant it when you said you can see that your father was banking on this to fail. And now, spitefully, youâre going along with it. He feels a confusing sense of pride over you.
The evening stretches too long. You reach for a drink whenever thereâs a break in the chaos. Your fatherâs toast, veiled as pride, name-drops your motherâs political campaign and lands a jab about you finally settling down.
It doesnât feel like any sort of celebration. It doesnât even feel like your life. Just a carefully choreographed role. And it drives you to drink more.
The event photographer scurries around the room, snapping photos. The guests focus on talking to your parents rather than the couple theyâre supposedly here for, not that you care.
And as the next hour passes, Rafe loses you. After a stressful search, he finds you, standing by the bar, arms crossed. He can see the glaze over your eyes. The anger in your features. He knows you well enough by now. Youâre close to imploding.
Anger burns through him. The pride he thought he felt is gone. Then again, everything to do with you is a rollercoaster. Highs when youâre naked together, catastrophic lows when youâre not.
And he hates how you donât have it in you to keep it together for just one evening. You wonât do it for yourself. For him.
âEver think you might have a problem?â he says sharply, gesturing to the drink.
You thought you didnât expect good in Rafe. But the way his words sting show you that something has crept in. Hope. And youâre furious that your subconscious let you put your guard down.
Heâs just like them.
âI know I do,â you respond bitterly. A small hint of recognition flashes over your face, noticing that his gaze loses some of its hardness.
The words spilled out before you could stop them. You have to get out of here.
âI need to leave,â you realize.
Rafeâs stomach clenches with tension. He looks around the crowded ballroom.
âYou canât,â he says.
âYes, I can.â
He says your name evenly. You glare at him.
âWe have to get through this,â he adds, eyes traveling over your face. âYouâre forgetting whatâs on the line.â
âSo are you when youâre such a dick to me,â you mutter. âWhy are you provoking me? Why are you soâŠâ
You stop yourself from saying it. Mean. Heâs mean. And the word implies that his jab at you hurt. You wonât show him that.
âTell everyone I was tired,â you mutter.
âPlease,â he begrudgingly whispers, leaning closer. âIâm sorry, alright?â
You shake your head. Things with him have gotten even more twisted. You have no idea where you stand, although youâd like to just be two people who have nothing in common but a contract and sexual tension.
But nothingâs ever that simple.
âI canât be around him, Rafe,â you admit quietly. âDid you hear that toast? He meant to embarrass me.â
He nods, searching your face with softened eyes.
âHeâs an asshole,â he says. He looks down, trying to find some way to fix this. âListen, you know when that chick was recording you?â
You shrug, failing to see the relevance.
âYou squeezed my hand so hard I thought you were going to break it,â he says.
âI shouldâve squeezed harder,â you reply, some of the edge in your tone gone. âWhatâs your point?â
âJust - just do that when you get pissed off,â he says. âDonât lose your shit like you always do. Donât give him the satisfaction.â
âI donât always lose my shit.â
He widens his eyes. You roll yours.
âSo, you want me to break your hand?â you say flatly.
âIf it gets us through the night,â he says.
He holds out his hand. You sigh. But then, you accept it.
And you take him up on it. Every time someone annoys you, every time Celeste whispers to you to adjust something, every time one of your parents is in sight.
You squeeze. Hard. And he lets you.
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When the night winds down, Rafe isnât sure he can breathe a breath of relief until he steps foot out of here.
He heads towards his father, and he notices the way he guides his wife with a hand on her back. As always, seeing that affection hits quiet and sharp and unwelcome.
It always reminds him of how his mother was treated, how Ward only gave her warmth and softness after the diagnosis. As if she didnât deserve to be loved only until her days were numbered.
He shakes away the thought.
âYou managed,â Ward says when he sees him.
âYeah,â he agrees.
âIâll find you out front, honey,â he says to his wife.
Rose offers a small smile before she leaves.
His father looks ahead, and Rafe follows his eyeline, eyes landing on you. Youâre sitting with your elbow on the front table, one hand holding your chin up, legs crossed, foot shaking with impatience.
On the outside, you look bored and apathetic and annoyed. A spoiled princess who doesnât even care about the event made for her, celebrating her.
But he sees past it. He sees how much anger simmers within, how much self-control it takes for you not to snap every minute.
âDonât let her forget she needs you, alright?â Ward says. âSheâs emotional, but you just need to be logical. Logic always wins.â
âYeah,â he replies, although heâs not sure he agrees with that word for you, or at least the connotation. He knows his father means emotional in a negative way. Itâs how heâs been raised. Feelings are weak.
But Rafe sees no fragility in the woman heâs staring at. He sees someone whoâs taken punches and never misses the opportunity to punch back.
âFew more months and itâs over,â Rafe murmurs, just to have something to say.
âJustâŠâ Ward claps a hand on his sonâs shoulder. âGet to the finish line.â
He looks to his dad. No praise or thanks, only curt advice, as if Rafe needs to be told to make it to the end of this. As if he isnât here to pay for a deal his father made years ago.
Ward steps away. Rafe used to argue with him. He used to have a backbone, until he clued in that he needed to take the hits to earn a place back in the family.
He looks at you again. Youâre difficult as all hell, but at least you have it in you to fight back. He thought he did, but heâs nothing compared to you.
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Rafe makes it a habit to stick around the office. It makes a good impression. Because thatâs whatâs driven him for most of his whole life: to look competent, to be respected.
But he can hardly stand it today. After his dadâs comment last night, heâs been pissed off all day.
After what was meant to be his last meeting is canceled, Rafe heads home. Heâs halfway to his bedroom when he hears it. Laughter. A light, clear burst of it. Yours.
It stops him cold. Not because itâs unpleasant. The opposite. Heâs never heard you laugh like that. Not in public, not around him.
He hears another voice. You have someone over. And you didnât tell him. Who knows how often youâve done this without him knowing?
He storms through the penthouse, ignoring how much it pisses him off that this is the first time heâs heard you sound truly happy and itâs when heâs not around.
Youâre perched on your desk chair, sleeve rolled up, looking down as Iris gently places the bandage on the inside of your elbow from where she just drew blood. Thereâs still a small smile on your face from the story sheâd just shared about her family.
You told her why you werenât taking your monthly appointment at your familyâs home for once. Even though you trust her almost completely, you canât risk anyone knowing the truth, so you went along with the public story that you just got engaged and moved in together.
She was happy to see youâve moved out. It didnât take her long to realize how difficult your relationships with your family are. Thereâs a risk Rafe might come home. But he wonât. He always gets here at five at the earliest. You have over an hour until then, and Iris is done here anyway.
The door silently opens under Rafeâs grip. A stranger in scrubs is kneeling over you, her gloved hands pressed around your arm. And for one sudden, nauseating, disorienting second, heâs twelve years old again, standing outside his motherâs room, nurses and doctors surrounding her.
His voice, sharp as a blade, startles you, âWhat is this?â
You flinch. Iris looks up, startled but calm.
âI was just finishing up,â she says quietly. Her eyes find yours, and you shake your head in confused apology, caught off guard.
Youâre not often left speechless, but this is too much. Rafe snapping at one of the people you truly care for, seeing you like this, jumping to anger, as if youâve done something wrong.
His hands are clenched, and thereâs a storm behind his eyes.
Iris packs up, her back to you. You glare at Rafe in disbelief, then turn your head towards her again.
âIâm sorry,â you say softly. âHeâsâŠâ
You donât know how you could possibly find a justification for his outburst. There isnât one.
Iris nods, offers you a tight smile, and leaves with her head down. Rafe steps back as if in disgust, as if your nurse brushing past him is something heâs too good for.
âWhat the hell?â you say, your voice in a tremble.
Rafe opens his mouth, then closes it. His jaw twitches. For a breath too long, he says nothing. Then he just turns and walks away. Fast. Like heâs trying not to breathe the air in your bedroom.
Your pulse thunders. In the last ten seconds, everything has started to crumble.
You clench your fists, fury pooling through you as you stand to find him. You cross the kitchen, the living room, through the hallway to his side of the condo. Youâve never been here.
You push open his bedroom door. If he has no respect for personal space, you wonât, either.
Rafe's chest is tight, the same tightness he used to feel as a kid when the beeping machines echoed down the hall, as he stands looking out the window.
âYouâre unbelievable,â you mutter, throwing him out of his daze. Unlike a moment ago, he doesnât hesitate to respond to you. He turns, his jaw clenched in anger.
âYou bring people like that here, you tell me,â he snaps.
âPeople like that?â you repeat. âYou were such an asshole to her. What the fuck is wrong with you?â
He only glares. You shake your head. If you have to give it to him in terms that heâll actually care about, you will.
âWeâre supposed to be putting on a show, remember?â your snarl. âYou think we just looked like a happy engaged couple?â
âYou gave me your word that youâd tell me your plans.â
Youâve already prepared a lie in your head just in case, ready to claim that you needed a medical house call for something minor. Youâre terrified of pity, of anyone seeing you as fragile.
âDo I need to call you every time I have a headache?â you say mockingly. âIâve been stressed out. It led to migraines. I wanted to see a professional to make sure I was okay. In private.â
You exhale. Slow, tight. Your hands shake, just a little.
He doesnât say anything. Just stares.
âYou donât see anything wrong with the way you just treated her?â you ask. âOr me?â
Your voice shakes on the last word. Because you thought you meant something to him after you found a semblance of common ground, after your exchanges have grown to have some softness to them.
He says nothing. You slam the door on your way out.
And Rafe is left to stand alone again, trying desperately not to remember the antiseptic smell of another room, another lifetime, where someone he loved was slowly slipping away.
(to be continued)
updates will be a little slower for the next while. my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications.
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
» masterlist
authorâs note filthy smut ahead đ
Rafe has never felt irritation flare quite this hot before. Thatâs the effect you have on him.
You refused to speak to him, staying under your covers. Now, he sits at the kitchen island, his laptop and paperwork strewn across the counter, working here so he doesnât miss you when you inevitably come out of your bedroom to eat.
The confusing urge he thought he had to protect you is gone. And he feels like an idiot for thinking there was more to you than the chaos you attract.
Itâs nearly ten a.m. when you finally stroll into the kitchen, venom behind your gaze.
Your skin pricks with heat, still angry over how he woke you up. He wasnât even willing to ask for the truth. He thoughtlessly bought into the tabloidsâ ridiculous speculations about last night, all the headlines framing you as a sleazy party girl.
âFirst of all, you dick, I told you that you canât come into my room whenever you want,â you say, crossing your arms.
âWhat the fuck were you thinking?â he snaps.
âDo you always believe everything you read?â you say. âYou actually think I would go on a date? I was with a group of friends.â
Rafe brings his hands to his face, frustratingly rubbing his eyes, exhaling an angry sigh.
âCeleste called a meeting with us and your dad at noon to deal with this,â Rafe mutters, recalling her text from early this morning. âWhatever he decides, Iâm going with it. I donât care if you need someone watching you every second. Youâre not fucking this up for me.â
His words make your heart twist. So much for the truce you thought you had.
You look down at the papers across the marble countertop, leaning forward, willing yourself to breathe through this. You can already picture it, sitting with him and your father and Celeste, getting yelled at, three pairs of judgemental eyes on you as you try to defend yourself in a battle youâre doomed to lose.
If you didnât have this meeting, youâd let Rafe believe whatever he wants. Let him believe you were out with another man. His opinion doesnât matter.
But you need him on your side. Youâre sure heâll do what he did when all this started - ignore you and do what he wants to do anyway - but this could very well be the end of this, only a month in, your trust fund null and void.
Itâs gut-wrenching to think you might lose everything when you didnât even misstep. You behaved. To get in trouble for a lie is not how this is going to end. You refuse to let it play out like that.
âDo you think theyâre going to report that I went out to dinner with my friends?â you say, looking up at him. The counter is all that lies between you, your eyes locked on his. âOr are they going to take a photo out of context and run the story thatâll get more clicks?â
Rafe shrugs, clearly not convinced.
You sigh, pulling your phone out from your pocket, navigating to a photo you took with your friends last night. The hardness in his face almost, almost, softens when you show him your screen.
Itâs a photo of you at a table with three people. And itâs his first time seeing a genuine smile on your face. All that springs to mind is how pretty you look and how ridiculous it is that thatâs the thought that sneaks in after everything youâve done and said to him.
âI had a quiet night with them,â you say, locking your screen. âBut even when Iâm doing something totally innocent, the tabloids find a way to make me look bad. And youâre falling for it.â
Rafe grips the edge of the counter, shaking his head as if heâs trying to disprove your words. Like thereâs no way youâre in the right here. You glare at him, irked that youâre going to have to ask him for a favor.
âI need you to be on my side at that meeting,â you say, your voice low.
He grimaces, in disbelief that you have the audacity to ask for help. Heâs asked for your help so many times, and all you offered him was an eye-roll, at best. But now, you need him.
And if he didnât need you, he would tell you to go fuck yourself. But this wonât work without you. Still, there's resentment simmering deep within him. Youâre only willing to cooperate after you made a stupid mistake that could have ruined everything.
âIâve been saying for weeks that this doesnât have to be hard,â Rafe says through gritted teeth. âNow youâll go along with it? After it could already be over?â
âCeleste will find a way to spin this,â you say, mostly to try to convince yourself. Itâs harrowing that this could really be it, that your trust fund will disappear into thin air. âJust tell them you knew I was going out with my friends, okay? Back me up.â
He scoffs. Itâs annoying as hell that you think you have the right to order him around.
âWhy would you even risk this?â he says tersely.
You swallow hard, hating how vulnerable you feel.
âI missed my friends.â You look away, refusing to open up to him, to tell him what the occasion was. âIt was dinner. I hugged them goodbye. Thatâs all.â
Rafeâs eyes travel over your face, skeptical. Youâre wearing that look heâs only seen a couple times before, unguarded. And now, he realizes, thereâs a flicker of concern in your eyes.
But the collected, reasonable person standing across from him is not the same woman heâs been living with for weeks. You have to be putting on a show for sympathy. Tricking him.
âThatâs all,â he echoes with an unconvinced edge.
The fact that he expects you to lie unearths the pain youâve been smothering for years.
You were seven when it started. Your nanny assumed your breathing issues were panic attacks. She told your parents and since they already saw you as such a dramatic child, defiant and questioning everything, they figured it was you seeking attention, reacting to being disciplined.
But it worsened. And the doctors said it must have been anxiety, then asthma, and then they found the infection in your lungs. The swelling that wouldnât go away with even the strongest medication. Many, many hospital visits resulted in you being diagnosed with a life-long disease.
And itâs like your parents were angry at you for it. You saw the stress it caused them, overheard them talk about how you always had so many appointments, how horrible it was to have to worry about you.
They didnât think to consider that by ignoring your symptoms at first, they let the infections grow stronger. They didnât see that you were the most scared out of all of them. They hated that they had this to deal with in their otherwise perfect life.
It wasnât many years after that, in the middle of your tumultuous teenage years, that your father screamed at you that you were unplanned. In a fit of rage, he admitted you shouldâve never been born.
You cross your arms tighter, as if to protect yourself from the memory.
âIf this is going to work, you canât always expect the worst from me,â you tell Rafe evenly. âThe tabloids make shit up. Itâs what they do.â
Rafeâs jaw firms, bitter, but assured that this means youâll cooperate from this point on. You just needed a good scare.
âYouâll tell me everything from now on,â he says. âYouâre dadâs still expecting me to report on whatever I can find out about you. And this canât happen again. Got it?â
You exhale slowly. All you see in his eyes is another way youâre being controlled.
You think of everything thatâs led up to this: having no choice but to sign that contract, fighting every little thing thatâs been pushed onto you, considering Rafeâs idea that your father really is banking on you messing this up.
Itâs such a fucking mess and all you want to do is run away. But thatâs impossible with no money to your name.
Growing up, you were given rules. Never love, even though itâs all you wanted. But if you try hard enough, this could be the last step to escaping the loneliness that haunts you. You could start a new life, find people to love you for you, leave this all behind.
Five more months of swallowing your pride and ignoring your impulses and allowing Rafe to hold some authority over you. Trusting him. If you can make yourself do all that.
âFine,â you agree.
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You canât remember the last time you were nervous around your father. Youâre always angry, always annoyed, but never afraid of what heâll say. Heâs already said every cruel thing he coudk.
But these could be his final words to you. This could be the moment he cuts you off. For good.
You sit in his office, quietly picking at a loose string on your sleeve as you sit next to Rafe, remembering how you first sat here with him not that long ago, when he was just a stranger. He still sort of is.
The door swings open behind you. Kal and Celeste stride in. Your father settles in his seat behind his desk with a sigh, lacing his fingers together, tilting his head as he looks at you.
âWhat weâve asked of you is very simple,â he says to you. âBut you never could make things easy, could you?â
âThat was my friend,â you say, your hands balling into fists. âI was out for dinner with a group. I hugged everyone at the end of the night, but they made it look like something it wasnât.â
âThatâs your story?â Celeste adds with a doubtful chuckle.
âItâs true,â Rafe says.
They glance sharply in his direction, their expressions flashing mild surprise. His eyes find yours for a second, and you can tell heâs pissed off to be saying this, but heâs doing it anyway.
âShe told me she was going out with them,â he lies. âAnd she did. That pictureâs misleading.â
âWell, you shouldnât be putting yourself into those kinds of situations,â your father blames you, like always.
âHugging my friends goodbye?â you sneer.
âAt best, it looks like things just fizzled out between you,â Celeste says, motioning between you and Rafe. âBut most people assume youâre cheating.â
You bite your tongue. You want to ask who gives a fuck what people assume.
âYour motherâs been polling well,â Celeste continues. âThis could hit her hard. Sheâs representing family values and when youâre creating trouble like-â
âHeâs a friend,â you snap.
âAnd you didnât think about how this would look?â Kal says.
But heâs not asking you. Heâs looking at Rafe, whose jaw tightens.
âHe doesn't know what the press can be like,â you say. âHeâs never had to know.â
You see Rafe glance at you in your peripheral, but youâd rather not meet his eyes when youâre doing everything your instinct is telling you not to do by protecting the man who trapped you into this.
âBut you do,â Kal says. âYou knew this was a risk and you didnât care.â
âItâs not like that,â you say bitterly, seeing a glint of something in his eyes. Youâre almost sure itâs amusement.
âWhat you do reflects on Rafe,â he continues. âDo you have any idea how bad youâre making him and his family look?â
âIâm not making him look bad,â you retaliate. You glance at Rafe, expecting him to back you up, like he promised he would.
But he doesnât. He doesnât even turn his head in your direction.
âJust tell us what to do,â Rafe mutters to Celeste. She straightens in her seat.
âThe best scenario is for both of you to be seen with this friend,â she begins. âIf you spend time together with him as a couple, the public will believe heâs not a threat. We have to plan something. Quickly.â
She carries on, but youâre left to try to make sense of what just happened. You defended Rafe. He defended you. To a point. When your father suggested something so harsh, that through this sensationalized story, youâve cheapened Rafeâs reputation, he was silent.
When it counted, Rafe looked away.
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You stormed out as soon as you could, left to wait in the quiet, private backseat, stewing in your frustration after that meeting. Celeste told you to set up a public outing with your friends, including Rafe, watching over your shoulder as you sent out a carefully crafted text to the group.
Itâs awful to bring your friends into it, to have to lie to their faces and have them unknowingly play a part in this.
As you left, Rafe was held back. When he finally opens the car door and slides into the seat next to you after his one-on-one with Kal, he exhales deeply.
Dealing with your father telling him heâs not holding up his part of the deal, that not informing him about your plans is not keeping his word, has put him even more on edge. Kal said it vaguely but intentionally. We have reputations on the line. It was a coded threat.
If Rafe couldnât tell before, he can now: Kal gets a kick out of having power over people. And if so much wasnât riding on this, Rafe wouldâve snapped at him for talking to him like that.
âThat was you backing me up?â you mutter once Rafe shuts his door.
âWhat the hell are you talking about?â he says, in no mood to listen to your bullshit right now. âI lied for you.â
âWhen my dad said Iâm making you look bad, you just agreed.â
âI didnât agree.â
You cross your arms. You know better than to expect any good from him, but the way he let your father get away with saying something so mean when you thought Rafe would be on your side stings.
âNot saying anything is agreeing,â you snip.
Rafe presses a button on the door, informing the driver youâre ready to go. The car pulls forward. He pinches the bridge of his nose, angry, hopeless.
âI backed you up,â he states. âBut youâre insane if you think this shit doesnât fuck with my reputation. It does. He was right.â
âNo, he wasnât,â you say tightly, furious that he actually agrees with the man he claims not to give a shit about. âTheyâre only saying bad things about me. And it wouldnât have been hard to tell him that.â
âJust count yourself lucky that they didnât call this off,â he says, every inch of him tight with frustration.
âLucky,â you echo angrily, staring out the window again.
He shakes his head to himself. You are lucky. You donât have any real responsibilities, no pressure on yourself to protect your family. You just want a life of ease and to live off of money you didnât earn. You act like a few months of going along with a PR stunt equates to being asked for the world.
Your heart is racing from anger as you replay everything that happened this morning. Rafe woke you up yelling. You proved him wrong and he still had no sense of regret, not even a feigned apology for you. He told you heâd have your back but he barely even did that.
And now, heâs calling you lucky. Heâs seen how youâre treated and he still has the gall to insinuate that youâre just an ungrateful brat.
You ruminate over the meeting, over the way your dad looked at you when he thought he had you on the hook.
âWhy did he keep you back?â you ask, an edge to your tone.
âTo tell me Iâm doing a shitty job keeping you under control,â Rafe says. It only scratches the surface of the conversation, but itâs enough.
You nod. It makes Rafeâs suspicion that your dad meant for this to fail all the more valid, because why would he choose him to keep an eye on you, choose this arrangement, when he knows how defiant you are, how you rebel against anyone told to hold you down?
It was a blind spot, but after seeing your fatherâs amusement today, youâre certain Rafe is right. He set this up to fail. And with that, thereâs a sense of reluctant cooperation between you two, no matter how weak it is.
You loathe Rafe, but heâs your only way out of this.
Your phone buzzes with texts from your friends, confirming that theyâre taking you up on your invitation to a party youâve been told to host on one of your familyâs boats. Itâs a manufactured ruse, a stupid trick to make your relationship with Rafe look real.
The reality sets in. Youâll be with people who know you better than anyone else, and theyâll be watching you with Rafe, who youâre supposed to be falling madly in love with.
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Rafe canât keep his eyes off of you. Itâs gotten to the point of cruelty, how much you tease him.
After exchanging brief introductions with some of your friends and boarding the boat under the afternoon sun, the driver set out onto the deep blue water. And then you slipped off your sundress, revealing a bikini that hardly covers anything.
Your eyes meet his as you let your dress fall to the deck. Like always, you know exactly what youâre doing to him, and you look proud to be doing it.
Rafe adjusts his shades as music floats through the breeze, sitting on the bench bordering the small yachtâs edge as you stretch out on the deck under the sun, washing yourself in its glow and chattering with your friends, a soft smile on your face, your words soft instead of terse.
Heâs waiting for the performance to drop. But it doesnât. What he sees instead is ease. Real affection. This is what you look like when youâre around people you want to be around. Itâs like youâre somebody else entirely.
Itâs a small party, only about twenty people, but youâd told him you fibbed to your friends that heâs quiet. Heâs fine with pretending he is. Heâs not sure heâd be able to form many words when he sees you like this anyway. Unguarded. Damn near naked.
You quietly sigh to yourself as the boat slows to a stop and bobs in the sea. The driver is just following instructions. He canât get too far into the water; the photographers that Celeste tipped off need to get good photos of the party. But you canât bring yourself to do it, to use your friend like that.
All of this is going to plan. Yet you canât make the final move.
Rafe watches you. Minutes pass. Youâre not getting up. And he finally calls your name.
You sit up and lift your shades to see him nodding for you to join him. You drink him in, the way heâs sitting with his legs spread apart, in nothing but his swim shorts, his skin carved with hard muscles. Heâs all breadth, all confidence, and itâs hard not to stare when your eyes catch him.
You walk over to sit next to him, his warm leg pressed against yours, the hairs on his skin soft.
âDid you forget why weâre doing this?â he asks, frustrated that youâre taking your sweet time and that you look so good doing it.
âItâs not as easy for me to use people as it is for you.â
He scoffs, his memory flipping through every time youâve proven you donât reserve any understanding for him, using what he tells you against him, calling him every name in the book. You may not use people, but you have no problem ridiculing them. Ridiculing him.
âLetâs just do this,â he says firmly.
You gaze at the small crowd, craving a drink, hating how this man has ruined everything down to your time with your friends.
âI canât,â you finally say.
âThen I will,â he mutters. His voice carries over the overlapping conversations and the music, getting Travisâs attention, who waves in greeting.
âDonât mention the article,â you say under your breath as Rafeâs arm curls around your shoulders, washing you in numbness. âPretend we donât know if he says anything about it. My friends know I never look at the tabloids.â
Travis closes the distance, and you gesture for him to sit next to you to make him feel welcome.
âHave you met yet?â you say, gesturing to Rafe.
âNot officially,â your friend replies, offering his hand. âTravis.â
You watch Rafe settle into his role, shaking his hand as he offers his name, doing a ridiculously good job of pretending like he wants to be here, his dimpled smile bright. For the first time, you almost feel jealous of Rafe, how easy it is for him to be inauthentic when he needs to be.
You can imagine the camera shutters clicking in the distance, capturing images of you three, one of you unaware, the other two wrapped up in an intricate lie. You flatten your lips together as they make small talk about the party, every passing second twisting the guilty knot in your core.
âWhatâd you guys end up doing for your birthday?â Travis asks.
You glance at Rafe, sure his eyes are searching your face beneath his sunglasses, looking at you like he did when you first met, like heâs waiting for you to explain yourself.
Youâre tense. You thought you wished your friend wouldnât bring up that ridiculous headline, but this is much worse.
âNothing crazy,â you lie. âHe made me dinner.â
Admittedly, itâs something you always wanted a boyfriend to do. Youâve been with men who could buy you anything, but it was never the way to your heart. The thought of someone caring enough to put in the effort to prepare a meal for you has always been a secret wish of yours.
And youâre meant to be acting like Rafe is the man of your dreams. You are expected to announce your engagement a month from now, anyway. So, to the public, to your friends, heâs everything youâve ever wanted.
Travis tilts his head, a confused smirk on his face as he studies you.
âWhat?â you half-laugh.
âNothing crazy? Youâve been weird lately,â he says. âWhat happened to the girl that goes all out?â
âIs this not all out?â you say, gesturing to the party.
âNot for you,â he says. âThis is subtle for you.â
âI guess Iâm subtle now.â You gently elbow Rafe, the words tasting bad as you say them. "Heâs a good influence.â
Rafe tightens his arm around you for show. The weight is heavy and hot and you wish you didnât like how it felt.
Travis gives you that look again, like youâre a stranger. You feel like one to yourself.
âSo, howâd you meet?â he asks.
âAt some gala. He was there because he works for his dad,â you say, just to secretly dig at him. âWe hit it off right away.â
âCool,â Travis says, not catching on to the poison beneath your words.
But Rafe catches on. He knows what youâre implying. If it werenât for his dad, he wouldnât be where he is in his career. He wouldnât be here, playing into this farce with you.
âDid you want a drink?â you ask Travis, eager to stop the forced conversation. âThe coolerâs over there.â
You stand, and even though the absence of Rafeâs arm should be a relief, your body wants it back. You look at him over your shoulder, sure you faked it well enough, but even more certain that the already fragile understanding between you two has weakened.
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Youâre thrown into privacy once again when you enter your condo. The door shuts behind you, the anger sitting in you unrelenting, needing a way out.
Rafe muttered to you that you didnât put on a convincing show on your way home, after youâd just said goodbye to your friends, after your body and mind and heart were already exhausted enough. He still refuses to see how taxing this is on you.
You ignored him. But as he drove, you caught that his gaze drifted where the hem of your dress ends at your thigh. That he kept licking his lips, his grip on the wheel tightening. That his hands are so big, so demanding that every time theyâve brushed against you, youâve wanted more.
You head towards your bedroom, stressed and pissed off, when Rafe speaks, making himself the target of your rage once again.
âThat was bullshit,â he says. âDonât you think I should know about your birthday?â
âCan we not?â you say, continuing to walk away from him. âI played it off.â
âYou agreed to tell me everything,â Rafe mutters, following you.
You scoff, storming through the hallway, furious that heâs trying to chastise you right now, to remind you of how your fate turned when you met him.
âLook at me when Iâm talking to you!â he snaps.
You stop just past your bedroomâs doorway, turning to face him, your body blazing. You despise how this man refuses to leave you alone right now, yet revel in it at the same time.
âIt was when I went out to dinner with my friends,â you snap. âThe day I was supposed to get access to my trust, remember? Before you came along and fucked everything up for me.â
He opens his mouth, lips parted for a beat, his brows furrowing in contempt.
âYou fucked everything up for yourself,â he says, as if itâs obvious.
âIs that how you justify it? You think I deserve this?â
Rafe chuckles humorlessly. Youâre unbelievable. You still think you play no hand in your own circumstances.
He saw the tabloids before you met. Images of you wasted in public, hanging onto different men, yelling at photographers. You made this bed. And your audacity to make a dig at him for his loyalty to his father in front of a stranger, trying to embarrass him, rattled him.
But most of all, the way you stayed away from him throughout that stupid party was worse. Deep down, it burned that you didnât want to be next to him. You played your part, got the photo op, then never came back.
Youâre supposed to look like you want to be around him. You canât even fake it. And it reminds him of how youâd called him the worst person you know. Itâs infuriating because you donât even know him at all.
It reopens a wound, sets off his lifelong ache to prove himself. Why heâd want to prove himself to a woman so ruthless is beyond him.
âYou didnât even try today,â he mutters.
âAnd you didnât defend me when you said you would,â you reply.
One second passes. Two. Three. Youâre staring at each other in your doorway, the air heavy with angry tension and brittle anticipation, the sense of competition heavy between you.
You almost tell him to go. Your body wonât let you. Itâs a game of whoâll crack first and you know youâll win. You glare at him before you pull your dress off over your head. You expect him to leave, to look away like last time.
He doesnât. He stares.
His muscles tighten when he notices the hard buds of your nipples beneath your bikini top before you turn around.
âEither leave or help me with this,â you order, passively gesturing to the knot sitting between your shoulders.
You could easily do it yourself. You could pull the top off without even worrying about untying anything. But youâre addicted to this, to tempting him, to testing his composure.
You stare at the floor as Rafeâs heavy exhale fills your ears. You feel his presence, coaxing a fire in you, his fingers brushing against your spine. Heâs obeying. He wouldnât do anything else you asked of him with no hesitation like this. Itâs like heâs been waiting, yearning to undress you.
A languid head pools in his groin as his fingers find the string, eyes travelling down your naked back. Heâs been trying to avoid it all day, but thereâs no chance now. Heâs getting hard, his growing bulge an inch away from your ass.
He starts to pull while the tension in him coils, his mind racing as he imagines you turning back around when your bikini top drops to the floor. Imagining you naked. Imagining touching you.
And youâve been toying with his imagination ever since you moved in together. Itâs about time he calls you out on it.
âYou know what youâre doing,â Rafeâs voice comes out in a low rasp, the knot finally coming loose.
You let your top fall to the floor, looking over your shoulder as the cool air presses against your naked chest.
âWhat am I doing?â you say, a lilt of amusement in your tone. His breath on your cheek is warm as he leans down, closer to you.
âFeel,â he murmurs.
His words coax an ache to burn at your core. Your body submits to the urge, blocks any logic from permeating your mind. You step back to seal what little distance remains. Your stomach numbs when you press against him.
Heâs so hard that it makes your knees weak. His warm hands find your hips, digging into your bare skin, earning a wince.
âYou do it on purpose,â Rafe rasps tensely. âAdmit it.â
âThen what?â you whisper, still toying with him.
He chews on his lip, a tangle of frustration and arousal coursing through him.
âThen Iâll give you what youâre asking for,â he promises.
You swallow hard, your heart racing as he dips his head to press his lips onto your shoulder, his breath sharp when you arch your back to rub up against him.
âI think youâre the one asking for it,â you say in a hush. âBegging, really.â
âLook at you,â Rafe taunts. Your pulse quickens as his hands drag up your waist, hungrily cupping your breasts. You exhale a moan, unable to resist tipping your head back, resting against his chest, looking at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes.
âAnd Iâm begging?â he whispers as you tremble under his touch. Another soft groan escapes your lips as he squeezes, just hard enough for the pain to feel good, his fingers pinching your pebbled peaks.
He wonât wait for you to turn. He steps around to face you, shifting to grip your face in his hands, leaning low to reach you.
You dive headfirst into your impulse, your lips quickly, finally, pressing together as he pulls you tight against him. You breathe each other in, his skin cool from the breeze, yours warm from the sun.
You drape your arms around his hard shoulders as he guides you towards your bed, shoving you onto the plush sheets.
Rafeâs lips are parted, icy eyes hard on you as he stands over you to tug off his t-shirt. You watch from your reclined position, drinking in his muscled torso.
His heart beats even faster as he takes in your nearly naked body, your perfect tits and spread open legs. His kisses are rougher once he leans down to hover over you, his frame broad and warm and heavy.
His tongue is hot on yours. His hips nudge forward to grind his cock against your middle, nothing but your skimpy bottoms and his swim shorts between you.
You run your hand over his coarse hair, pulling back to catch your breath.
âThis doesnât mean I like you,â you say, your tone bitterly hungry, as if youâre drinking poison and loving it. âI hate you.â
Rafeâs smirk against your lips makes your body buzz, proving to you that he feels the same way but wants you just as badly. He begins to leave a trail of hot, hungry, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.
âYouâre so desperate,â you tease. It compels him to graze his teeth against the crook of your neck, a soft bite chastizing you for fucking with him. You groan as he dips lower, locking his lips around your nipple.
You buck your hips beneath his weight, in euphoria as he licks and sucks and pinches, surely leaving marks on your skin.
âYouâre soaked, arenât you?â he mumbles against your chest. Heâs barely steady on his knees as he runs his hand up your thigh and lands at your aching core.
You involuntarily tilt towards him, desperate to feel his hand where you need it most.
He dips his fingers into the side of your bottoms, both of you exhaling in shocked pleasure when he finally makes contact. Rafeâs head is swimming when he feels how slick and soft your folds are, craving to be buried inside you, to have your heat wrapped around him.
He doesnât pause. He canât. He pulls down your bottoms, leaving you to kick them off once they reach your ankles, and pushes your legs apart with his hands on the backs of your thighs.
You watch Rafe stare at you, his lips slick from your kisses, his chest quickly rising and falling. Your breath hitches when he brushes his thumb over you, softly dragging over your clit, watching you respond to him.
Heâs touching you like a man whoâs been waiting to do this for years, instead of the mere month itâs been since he met you.
âSo fucking wet for me,â he whispers, spreading your arousal, the tightness in his groin demanding release. Your pussy is better than he even dreamed, glistening so prettily, ready for him.
You burn even hotter when you watch him prop himself up to pull down his shorts. Finally, you see all of him, his length pressed up against his stomach. Your eyes widen at his size, at how badly you need him.
Rafe leans over you again, held up on his elbow, guiding his length against your slit. You feel yourself dripping at this point, the head of his cock just barely nudging into you.
âIâm going to fuck you senseless,â he murmurs against your lips. You cup his bicep, squeezing the hard, flexed muscle.
âDo it,â you reply, still in competition to prove who wants it more. âI bet youâll come first.â
Everything about your dynamic is the same even when youâre naked together: a game of control, navigating an attraction that would make your lives so much easier if it didnât exist.
Amused and so turned that it hurts, Rafe pushes inside, giving you all of him at once. He groans as you squeeze around him, so tight he can hardly take it, bottoming out.
You see stars as he stretches you out, fills you up completely. He rolls his hips back to pound into you again with an angry thrust. This is hatesex in its purest form, your bodies meeting with rage as if to punish each other for wanting this.
You wrap your legs around him, cupping his shoulders as he drives in and out, the sounds of your breaths tangling and your bodies slapping together filling the room.
His lips find yours again, kissing roughly. The heated proximity spurs a hint of panic in you when you catch your breath falling shallower than youâd like, afraid youâll strain your lungs too much.
You push against his chest to separate your lips in a soft smack.
âOn your back,â you whisper.
Rafeâs smile is subtle, sexy, amused. He obeys. And it quells a surprising sense of comfort in you that he listens without objecting.
His head hits your pillow and you breathe a strained sigh as you sink onto him. He fills you again, this time at an even better angle. He hits so deep that you need a moment to collect yourself, licking your lips, shutting your eyes.
Your hands splay over his hard stomach and all he can do is gape at you. You look unreal like this, bare, pure bliss on your beautiful face. His eyes trail to where his body meets yours, and when your hips start to roll, he grips your thighs hard, telling himself he canât come although every inch of him wants to.
Your eyes flutter open to meet Rafeâs as raw, angry desire sizzles through you. You moan as you ride him, steadying yourself with your hands on him as the pressure and the friction on your clit stiffens the coil deep inside you.
âClose?â he taunts through quick breaths, the way youâre tightening around him coaxing him to the edge. âLet me feel you come.â
Thereâs no stopping the unraveling that rushes through you when his words hit your ears, every nerve ending exploding as you orgasm so hard that your mind goes blank.
You sink forward, your cheek pressed against his firm chest, damp with sweat. He grips your hips, thrusting under you, holding you down on him.
âFuck,â he says, his voice strained. âDo I need to pull out?â
âNo,â you say weakly, never having been so relieved that youâre on the pill.
Rafe hits his peak with a groan so erotic that you know you wonât forget it anytime soon. He stutters beneath you, his fingers digging into your flesh, his heart pounding against your cheek.
Youâre spent, exhausted, coming down from a high, barely finding the strength to move. Eventually, you shift to lay on your front beside him.
He watches you sit up off of him, lying down with your face on the pillow, looking out the window instead of at him.
Breathless, Rafe takes a moment to come down, staring at the ceiling before he turns to his side. His eyes travel down the valley of your back, the curve of your ass. That was easily the best sex heâs ever had. He never expected this. Any of this.
His deep voice breaks the silence.
âYou lost.â
âFuck you,â you breathe with a small smile, your eyelids heavy.
âStill hate me?â
âThatâll never change.â
He huffs a laugh. Heâs fine with that. Heâs fine with anything if he gets to do this again.
(to be continued)
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summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
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People are falling for it.
Your appearance at the art gallery was convincing enough to make the tabloids again, with commentary swirling around you being seen with the same unknown man as last weekend.
Hours have passed since the date, and youâre sunk into your bed sheets, restless and scrolling on your phone. The feedback, as expected, is mostly negative. After all, itâs about you.
Some people are praising your looks, but the majority are making digs about how quickly you rotate through boyfriends. And one particular comment has been digging at you.
Heâs either brave or has no idea what heâs getting into with her.
You thought you were immune to public scrutiny. That the noise of gossip was easy to brush off by now. But this one cuts deep. Because it carries truth.
All your life, youâve been a misstep. A risk. Something to endure. And people believe that Rafe is walking into a storm by dating you. In their eyes, youâre the villain, when the truth is that Rafe is the one pulling the strings, calculating and cruel.
The implication is unspoken, but loud: no one would choose you if they truly knew you. And after youâve spent years pretending that the idea that youâre difficult to love doesnât sting, that a stranger who knows nothing about you saying it holds no merit, it still hits the nerve youâve never managed to numb.
Your thumbs are moving before you can stop them, replying: or he likes a girl with a spine and youâre just an idiot.
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âDamn it,â you angrily mutter to yourself, failing to adjust the straps on your heels.
âWhat are you whininâ about now?â
You look over your shoulder, rising from your crouched position by the front door. Your ankles sting in the shoes Celeste sent over for another appearance as Rafeâs plus-one to a social dinner for local businesses.
âYou get to wear whatever you want,â you say to Rafe, noticing how his tailored shirt stretches perfectly to show his breadth. You hate that he has this effect on you. âAnd Iâm forced to wear shoes that I can barely walk in.â
He scoffs. The night hasnât even begun and youâre already irritating him.
âGet over it,â he says passively, brushing past you to open the door. âYouâll just be sitting tonight anyway.â
As you step out of the condo to make your way to the car waiting for you, you mutter loud enough for him to hear, âAsshole.â
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The passing cars on the highway blur together. Rafe sits in the backseat of the SUV with you, the partition rolled up. Celeste surely requested it when she ordered the car, not trusting you to keep appearances up, refusing to risk the wrong person hearing the wrong thing.
As if your passing thought of her manifested it, your phone vibrates with a text from her. In a group chat with Rafe, sheâs sent a link to a gossip article.
You skim over the article, noticing Rafe bringing his phone closer to his face, surely reading the same thing. Your impulsive comment last night made the news cycle.
Fired back⊠Never one to bite her tongueâŠ
Then, you read on to see that your PR team provided a comment, saying youâre simply making a statement about how strength and sensitivity arenât mutually exclusive, but that you regret your delivery.
You snort a laugh.
âHow is this funny?â Rafe grumbles beside you. Heâs seething, pissed off that his attempt to get you to work together didnât pan out. Youâre clearly still acting out with no concern for the consequences.
You glance up at him, the glow of his phone lighting the sharp planes of his face in the dimness.
âBecause itâs complete bullshit,â you reply.
Another text from Celeste comes into the group: Stay off social media if you canât reign yourself in. If anyone mentions anything about this tonight, follow what I said in the article. And you both need to be convincing. Event photographers will be there. Remember: youâve been dating for a couple weeks now. Act like it.
âSheâs so annoying,â you murmur under your breath, locking your screen.
For once, Rafe agrees with you.
You go back to staring out the window, crossing your legs, allowing the slit of your dress to expose your thigh just to torture him.
After just barely pulling his eyes off of you, Rafe scrolls through the article to find what you responded to.
Heâs either brave or has no idea what heâs getting into with her.
Even though none of this is real, both are true. When he realized how hard being around you was going to be, and how much was really on the line, it took some push to keep going with it, even though he didnât have a choice.
But the worst of it is that he has no idea whatâs in store. Youâre a wildcard, always doing things on impulse, and now youâre minutes away from this event, where most of his colleagues will be, seated with his dad and business partners.
Rafe had half a mind to ask you to actually try tonight. Ward will be watching, judging how well Rafe is handling this. But he knows that any sort of request backfires with you. Youâd fuck things up just to spite him.
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You hear your fatherâs voice in the crowd once you step into the event on Rafeâs arm. Typical. He loves to go on about how wise he thinks he is and people eat it up, starstruck and infatuated. You figured heâd be here. You just hoped youâd be wrong.
You push your attention into the opposite direction, eyes travelling over the interior of the historic estate, an old home repurposed into an event space. The ceiling soars above you, but the dark wallpaper, heavy chandelier, and murmuring crowds are suffocating.
Rafe gazes over the seating plan perched on an easel, finding your names.
âIâll get us drinks,â he murmurs. âGo sit.â
âGo sit?â you repeat with disdain. âWhat am I, a dog?â
âPlease sit down,â he replies through gritted teeth. âThat good enough for you?â
You glare at him, then release him, eager to get off your feet anyway.
Rafe finds the closest bar, ordering you a water. The longer he can keep you sober, the better.
He looks over his shoulder as you cross the room. Heads turn as you pass. It could be because people recognize you, that theyâre aware of the name attached to you. But heâs sure itâs not that.
Itâs a reminder of what he tries not to think about every time heâs around you. Youâre beautiful. You know it. And you wield it like a threat.
You keep your eyes on your phone once you sit down, the other seats at your table empty as people float around to network. Rafe settles next to you a minute later, placing a glass in front of you. You take a sip.
âWater?â you say quietly. âAre you kidding me? I canât get through tonight on water.â
âTry,â he replies cuttingly.
Your brows furrow. Heâs just like your father the other night, trying to control your drinking, trying to force you to behave. You keep your eyes on him in defiance as you push your chair back, perfectly fine with getting your own drink.
âStop,â Rafe says under his breath, his hand suddenly on your knee. Youâre about to tell him to fuck off, but a voice interrupts you.
âYou made it.â
You look up to see a man leaning over the table, offering you his hand, saying your name like itâs a question.
âWard,â he adds.
You nod and briefly shake his hand only for the optics, responding with nothing else. Heâs just another part of this set-up, another man controlling you by placing you into a marriage as a punishment for the sake of his profit margin.
âAre we late?â Rafe asks his dad.
âLike you give a shit about manners,â you reply, echoing what heâd said to you on your first date.
Rafeâs pissed off, but not surprised. He meets his fatherâs gaze to find sympathy mixed with disappointment.
A moment later, you meet Rose, cluing in that she must be Wardâs wife and Rafeâs mother. Then, another man sits at the table, followed by another.
Seats quickly fill and you stay silent as conversations overlap around you, small talk falling on your ears.
You did the math last night. You have 140 days until you have to walk down the aisle. Around 30 after that. Then, you can put your life into a suitcase and leave.
You pick up on a few things as dinner is served. Ward built his own business, unlike how your dad had inherited his. And people seem to genuinely like him; theyâre schmoozing, but itâs not all that forced.
And most of the things he says to Rafe sound casual, maybe even like reassurance, but you sense the cut in them.
In the middle of dinner, Ward mentions another companyâs development project, led by someoneâs son, surely a corporate heir like Rafe. He explains that investors pulled out this week because he didnât plan well enough ahead, and when he looks at Rafe, he says, âAnyway. That wonât be you.â
Itâs veiled, but itâs there. A quiet, pointed threat.
Ward isnât what you expected. Heâs humble. Social. Maybe even warm. But as much as you hate to give Rafe the benefit of the doubt, you know firsthand that most people can do a great job lying about who they are. And after hearing that shrouded criticism, itâs possible that Rafe didnât try to trick you - maybe his father did push him into this.
Still, if itâs true that Rafe tried to back out, then itâs just pathetic that he allowed himself to be talked into it. Heâs the complete opposite of you - obsessed with duty, living in a world that was carved out for him, spinelessly tolerating his fatherâs muted threats.
Too many eyes are on you. Rafe wouldnât dare try to keep you seated. So, you stand up to head to the bar. When you come back with a stiff drink, you wince from the pain in your feet, leaning over, slipping the back of your heels off beneath the table.
Rafe notices. And heâs not convinced that youâre just being dramatic anymore. Still, heâs pissed off at you for being so damn single-minded, for still making no effort to hide your disinterest in being here.
âWas the walk to the bar worth it?â he asks sharply.
âAnything that helps me tolerate you is worth it,â you retort.
A photographer appears a moment later, asking for a photo. You meet Rafeâs frigid eyes, a silent exchange, telling each other, Look the part.
You stiffen as you lean into him, catching the crisp scent of soft soap and sharp mint, pasting on a smile and angling your chin towards him.
Rafeâs arm circles around you, resting on the back of your chair, heat crawling up his spine as he remembers the way youâd stood just inches from him the other night, half-naked, challenging him.
He doesnât want to want you. But his heartâs quickening doesnât care to try to deny it; even though youâre impulsive, difficult, irritatingly aware of the power you hold, his body craves yours.
The flash goes off. And your smiles drop.
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âThat was hard to watch,â you say once the car door shuts. âDo you even notice it?â
âWhat?â Rafe sighs tiredly, not even looking at you.
The driver pulls forward into the night, following the estateâs tree-lined driveway, taking you home. The partition is still up and sealing you and Rafe into complete privacy in the backseat.
âYour dadâs digs at you,â you reply, eager to get a rise out of him. âYou let him make you look weak. Itâs pathetic.â
âIâm the pathetic one here?â he snaps.
A slow smirk pulls at your mouth. Youâre getting to him.
âI wouldnât let anyone talk to me like that,â you say.
âLook where that got you.â
âLook where it got you,â you reply. âYou know what? I believe you. Your dad totally made you do this. I can see that whatever he says, goes. Does he tell you what to think, too?â
Rafe snarls. Maybe his father is domineering, maybe his affection is conditional, but itâs what he deserves. He doesnât like to think about those years, the ones after his mother died, but he knows his pattern of self-destruction embarrassed him.
Falling apart made him lose the already sparse love he once had, but if he works hard enough, he might get it back.
Praise is given out only when Rafe delivers with good work. And thatâs fine. Even after everything, his dad accepted him into the family business. Ward never directly insults, never outright orders, but the cold, clipped comments he dishes out are just debts Rafe owes. Heâll pay them for as long as he needs to.
âI know what passive aggression looks like,â you taunt.
Rafe runs his hand over his buzzed hair. Something he buries deep simmers beneath the surface. Sadness. It stings that he has to keep working, keep winning, keep hoping that eventually, heâll be enough.
âYouâre not as smart as you think you are,â he retorts.
âDid I hit a nerve?â you reply mockingly, picking up your phone to turn your attention to anything other than the man sitting beside you.
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You frustratingly kick off your heels the second you step into the condo, your feet aching. You cling onto your purse as you head towards your side of the penthouse, telling yourself that youâre gotten another date over with, that youâll never have to do tonight again.
âYou were right.â
Your forehead crinkles in confusion, turning to meet Rafeâs gaze. Heâs still by the front door, wearing an expression you havenât seen before. Itâs tough, guarded, but not as angry as youâre used to.
âWhat?â you mumble in annoyance.
Rafe looks down. Tonight was a harsh reminder of how much is on the line. Cameron Development has a reputation any other business would kill for. It has so far to fall. His father worked for that, and if Rafe can do this and get them out of Kalâs debt, heâll be a hero.
He already considered how this will damage his own personal reputation a little bit, a sudden marriage that ends in an annulment, but thatâs a small price to pay to open doors and wipe the companyâs slate clean.
He needs you on his side. He needs you to know heâs doing this for his family, and that he genuinely detests your dad. Heâd never tell you the whole truth, but heâll confess something heâs sure you can already see.
This is a risk. But he has to take it.
âYour dad told me to keep tabs on you,â he admits.
You cross your arms, letting out a huff, no crack in your armor whatsoever.
âWhat have you told him?â
Rafe scratches the back of his neck.
âToday would be nice,â you demand. âIâm dying to get off my feet.â
âNot much,â he replies, clipped. âOur first meeting, I saw that you⊠took a call from a law office.â
You nod, your smile nothing but contemptuous. Your father screamed at you over that. Nice to know the information came from Rafeâs lips.
âAnd I said that you asked me to back out,â he continues. âAnd that you and Celeste fought. Thatâs all.â
âI knew it,â you say. âYouâre not the first person my dad sent to spy on me. Not so loyal to him anymore?â
âListen, I⊠donât give a shit about Kal, okay? Iâm here for my family.â
âYouâre using me for your family?â you say. âOh, that makes it so much better.â
âFor fuckâs sake.â His tone is terse, almost defeated. âIâm trying to be honest with you right now, but youâre so hellbent on being pissed off all the time.â
You scoff. The audacity he has to think he deserves gratitude for admitting to lying to you is laughable.
âThank you so much for your honesty,â you say mockingly. âI had you figured out right away. When I met you, I knew you were just another guy my dad got to do his bidding. I thought you were a bodyguard, but you turned out to be way worse.â
His features pinch in frustration, looking at you like most people do. Like youâre a disappointment.
âYeah, well, when I met you, it took about a second to realize how fucking impossible you are,â he mutters.
âYou mean you donât like me?â you whine, voice thick with sarcasm. âOuch. Iâll go cry myself to sleep now.â
You huff as you turn around. He probably thought this was going to be a moment of mutual agreement, that youâd feel for him, that youâd agree to fall in line because heâs doing this for his family. As if family means anything.
Rafeâs heartbeat pounds in his ears. Heâd told you the truth, something risky and uncomfortable, and youâre still too stubborn to see itâs better that you just go along with this.
âWhen you pull that crap you pulled tonight-â
âWhat crap?â you interrupt, whirling around to meet his eyes again.
âYou didnât even try to look like you wanted to be there,â he says. âCut the shit. Weâre on the same side here.â
âNo, weâre not,â you say. âWe never were. Youâre here because you obviously live to impress your parents. Itâs a joke.â
Rafe doesnât correct you, doesnât tell you that your fatherâs blackmail is why heâs here, doesnât tell you that he has only one parent to make proud and a step-mom he doesnât care for. Like always, youâre poking at a wound, smug while you do it, and his rage bubbles over.
âStop fucking fighting me on everything!â he shouts, his voice echoing through the hallway.
âYou know what you signed up for!â you shout louder.
âThis? You think I want this?â he says, gesturing to you. âWho the fuck would want you?â
His words hit like a slap, stinging and sore. You stare at him for a beat, your pulse quickening, your breaths shortening.
âIâve dealt with a lot of really, really shitty people,â you say evenly. âYouâre easily the worst.â
âAnd what?â he spits. âYouâre some kind of angel?â
âAt least I have a spine. Itâs fucking insane to agree to marry a stranger just so your dad will like you,â you snap, itching to hurt him harder. âWhat, does he not tell you heâs proud of you enough?â
You said it just to twist the knife. And it worked. For once, Rafe doesnât have anger laced in his tone. He just says, stone-faced, âHe doesnât have to.â
You cross your arms. He doesnât have to. Because Rafe knows heâs proud? Or because he knows he isnât? You decide to go with the latter.
âMaybe itâs time you give up,â you say. âEventually, you have to accept the fact that your parents are never going to love you.â
You wait for him to retaliate. But he doesnât. He just stares at you. Itâs like heâs rooted there.
And in the silence, broken softly by the ticking clock, you see his ache for approval. Heâs not free, either, but heâs in a cage he built himself. And you will never feel bad for someone who made their own prison, who forced you into this arrangement because heâs obsessed with getting a pat on the back.
Rafeâs body is blazing hot, your words slicing through his silent grief. His mother is gone, and with her, her love, and his father makes him work for affection, but itâs only fair that he has to earn it after what he put him through.
He forces a breath out, jaw clenched so tight it aches. He wonât give you the satisfaction of seeing him break. Heâll just cut you deeper.
âWhat, because yours donât love you?â he asks.
You glare at him. You refuse to let him see the girl who used to try to be enough just to learn that she was never something her parents would cherish. Because once a person is told that they were a mistake, their self-worth takes a hit it can never fully come back from.
Your eyes narrow. Your inhale is sharp. And you leave.
Rafe watches you walk down the hallway, punctuated by the slam of your bedroom door. For once, you didnât try to have the last word. Your quiet exit was the closest thing he could get to confirmation that he hit you where it hurts.
He runs a hand over his jaw, heart thudding against ribs that suddenly feel tight. Yet again, what started off as an attempt to find some common ground turned into an explosive argument.
Did he just make you hate him more? Or did he find something youâve been trying to hide?
His gut tells him itâs both.
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Itâs been days since your fight. You and Rafe have ignored each other at every turn.
You didnât think he had the power to hurt you, to really hurt you, but his every word quietly validated all your fears. Heâs had a front-row seat to your familyâs toxicity, witnessing the way they treat you, and he still acts like you deserve it.
You know you donât. But having someone this close to the chaos, watching your pain and not doing anything about it, invites whispers that maybe you should think otherwise. That maybe you earned your parentsâ cruelty.
After all, like he said, who would want you?
Itâs Saturday morning when Rafe gets a text from Celeste that she needs to speak on the phone with both of you.
Itâs inevitable. Heâd have to talk to you at some point. But it doesnât make crossing the line you drew between each other any more unnerving.
Nobody has ever gotten under his skin like you do. You taunt him for his sense of responsibility towards his father, as if itâs crazy that he wants to make the man who raised him proud.
And then, when you said the word parents, it was a harrowing remark of how he only has one, a reminder of how his mind constantly slips into possibilities of what kind of man heâd be today if his mom were around.
Maybe sheâd think heâs bad, like you do. He doesnât know why he canât forget that you said heâs the worst person youâve ever met, as if your opinion of him matters.
On top of the chaos, heâs been wondering if youâll use what he told you against him. You could vindictively tell your dad that you know Rafe was told to keep tabs on you.
Whenever he thinks heâll get you on the same page, this whole thing tangles itself into a tighter knot.
He reaches your bedroom, his phone to his ear, still not sure how to navigate all this in a way thatâll make him win in the end.
âCeleste is on the phone,â he says, roughly tapping on the closed door.
You eventually swing open your door, your eyes downcast. This is the first time youâre standing in front of him since your argument.
Just to add to the clutter in his mind, his skin goes hot when he notices the way you bite your lip.
Youâre such a storm of a woman, rebellious and spiteful and stubborn, and he shouldnât have snapped and asked who the fuck would want you. He wants you, and it might just be physical, but itâs enough to make him feel like heâs losing it.
You keep your gaze low, off of Rafe as he puts his phone on speaker, holding it between you. Youâve been studying without breaks, stressed out as you inch closer to your final exams.
âWhat?â you cut the silence, crossing your arms.
âIâll be tipping off the paparazzi tonight,â Celeste says on the other end. âYou both need to look like you enjoy each otherâs company, okay?â
âFine,â you answer. Rafe watches you, your eyelashes fluttering with gentle blinks as you stare at his phone. Celeste says your name sternly, making you exhale in frustration.
âWhat?â you sigh.
âYouâre sitting by the window, so be ready for cameras outside at any point,â she says to you. âYour clothes will be delivered in an hour.â
âHow are you dressing me this time?â you ask, disdain woven into your tone.
âYouâll be wearing what a respectable woman meeting her boyfriend for dinner would wear,â she says matter-of-factly. âRafe already told me you need more comfortable shoes. Hopefully tonightâs will be up to your standards.â
For the first time in days, your eyes meet Rafeâs, moving by their own volition. His lips are in a firm line, his gaze cold. His expression gives you nothing, while youâre sure yours is pure confusion.
âGood,â you finally say, wavering a little.
âWeâll be in touch,â Celeste concludes.
The phone gives off a muted ding when she ends the call. Rafe steps back with a tight jaw and pockets his phone.
âDonât be late,â he says, his voice a deep rumble.
He turns to go back to his side of the condo.
âWhy did you tell her that?â you ask, suddenly in a fog that you need to clear.
Rafe stops, just barely facing you.
âHad enough of your whining,â he answers.
You scoff. But then, he says something else just as he turns the corner.
âAnd she wonât listen if you ask.â
Thatâs what throws you off. He used his voice because he knows that yours isnât heard.
You already know that Rafe is the farthest thing from nice. It was a manipulation tactic. A selfish move. It had to be.
Either way, youâre left standing still in your doorway for a moment, not naive enough to read into it as kindness, but not fully convinced there wasnât something behind the gesture.
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The restaurant is intimate, the table so small that your legs keep bumping Rafeâs. You couldnât be any closer to the image your parents want; youâre modestly dressed, with man they approve of, sitting in an upscale establishment instead of stumbling out of a club.
It wonât let go of you, the anger that youâre doing what they want just by being here, the man across from you helping them pull the strings.
Rafe watches you as you gaze out the window. That same frustrated crease in your features is on your face. He could draw it from memory at this point.
You didnât speak on the way here, to whatâs technically your fourth date. You just ordered your food and went back to silence. Heâs been wondering what happened behind your closed door the other night, after you stormed off.
Your argument suddenly halted after he returned what you threw in his face. You have to accept the fact that your parents are never going to love you.
And your leg keeps pressing against his, making goosebumps bloom across his skin, adding tension to your already tense proximity.
You sigh when you brush against Rafe once more, frustrated that you keep touching him, and frustrated that you keep wanting to.
âYouâre still complaining?â he grumbles, breaking the silence.
You realize he thinks youâre sighing from discomfort. You are, but not for the reason he thinks.
âThe shoes are fine,â you reply. âWhen did you tell her?â
Rafe takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes fixed ahead. Itâs strange, this sudden, quiet urge to look out for you.
He expected satisfaction when he found a crack in your facade. He thought heâd enjoy it. But when you walked away after what he said, the triumph felt hollow.
Exposing your weakness didnât feel like winning. And he canât figure out why.
âThis morning,â he answers.
You nod slightly, not sure what to do with the information. Either way, the fact that he did it at all is odd, but knowing he did it after your fight stirs something in you.
You stung him with your words. He stung you. And then he secretly did something to help you.
âShe takes her job too seriously,â you mutter.
The words sit on his tongue, urging to point out how she does it because she has to, because all you do is cause trouble and leave people to clean up your messes.
But that damned fight keeps playing in his head. Maybe beneath all your bullshit is someone who just wants people to care. He knows what thatâs like.
So, he settles for a tense, âYeah.â
You nod softly, looking down. You see him as something standing in your way. Youâre certain he feels the same way about you. But youâre in this, no matter what.
And with that, a fragile truce settles between you.
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The first month is over. You and Rafe have done your parentsâ bidding, and the public are eating it up, the photos from your dinner all over the media.
Youâre sitting close to each other in a dimly lit restaurant, seemingly in deep, intimate conversation. Youâre leaving hand-in-hand, as if youâre unable to go a second without touching.
But the cameras didnât catch how you let go of each other the moment you were in the car. How the whole drive back, you didnât speak. How you made it home and went to separate rooms.
They donât capture that youâre just two people who see each other as nothing but obstacles.
You wonât risk Rafe seeing you take any medical visits at the condo, so youâre back at your family home for your monthly appointment, sitting in the same front room, awaiting your nurse.
Itâs a relief how with Iris, you donât have to pretend. She doesnât follow the gossip rags, and you donât have to keep up appearances. You ask her about her family and stay quiet about yours.
As you head down the grand hallway to leave, laughter echoes from the other side of the front door. You try to rush away through the kitchen, but itâs too late.
Before you can turn the corner, the door clicks open, and your mother catches you. She says your name, thin and terse.
You sigh, turning to see that sheâs just coming back from what looks to be a shopping trip with your brothersâ wives. The daughters she always wished she had.
They step into the lobby with the audacity to look tired as butlers carry in their massive paper bags, carved with designer names.
âWhat?â you say.
âIâm glad I caught you,â she says.
You shake your head with impatience, loathing that her words make a tiny piece of you spark with hope. Itâs like the little girl inside you comes out from hiding sometimes, wondering if finally, her mother will want her.
âStay out of the headlines tomorrow,â she says. âI always get nervous about what Iâm going to see on the tabloids after your birthday.â
You swallow hard, saying nothing as you continue on your way to exit through the back door.
Itâd be better if she forgot.
But she remembers, and itâs a cutting reminder that tomorrow wouldâve been the day that you got your trust fund if you werenât forced into a farce of a marriage, and more painfully, that the woman that gave birth to you doesnât care to do anything to celebrate. Because youâve never been something to celebrate.
You made it clear long ago that you want nothing to do with your family. That doesnât make the fact that they donât fight you on it hurt any less.
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The next night, you find your friends at a small restaurant on campus.
Bea, Mara, and Travis have been with you since high school. They come from the same background, born into wealth and prestigious surnames, and since you typically party with them, they were surprised to hear that you didnât want to go somewhere loud for your birthday.
You were honest, saying you needed something quiet this year. While you typically drink yourself into oblivion, masking it as a way to have fun while itâs really a way to forget, you decided to do something small. Youâre not that far off tradition, though, already nursing your third drink of the night in the middle of your meal.
You catch up with each other and they ask about where the guy youâve been seeing is. You lie and say youâre celebrating your birthday with him on the weekend. Then, they ask what heâs like, to which you reply, Heâs quiet. Which he most definitely isnât.
When the night wraps up, you give each of them a hug before you leave. It gives you a sense of normalcy, which these days, is impossible to find.
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Your temples are aching as a loud bang pulls you out of your sleep.
âWhat the fuck is this?â
You clutch your head, eyes fluttering open to see Rafe standing in your bedroom, the door slowly drifting back into its frame after he angrily shoved it open.
âWhat?â you say in a tired mumble, blinking as you look at his phone. Your name is in the bolded headline on the screen, followed by Onto Another Guy Already?
Thereâs a photo of you from last night, your arms wrapped around Travis in the dark restaurant, clearly taken from a distance, through the window.
It doesnât show the two women with you, that you hugged them, too, that youâre innocently saying goodbye to your friends.
Your eyes slowly travel over the words, and once you see that apparently, you were caught in a cozy embrace with a man whoâs not your boyfriend, you pull the duvet over your head.
If you werenât experiencing the hangover from hell, youâd scream at Rafe.
âGet out,â you snap.
âYou just fucked everything up,â he says through an angry chuckle.
âLeave me alone,â you mutter, still hidden in the dark of your covers, shutting your eyes, as if wishing hard enough that none of this is real can make it come true.
to be continued
my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications!
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
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Your first date with Rafe has been hanging over you. Itâs tonight. Reservations at a five-star beachfront restaurant, no doubt at a very visible table.
Itâs been a week since you moved in with him. A week of snippy passing remarks. A week of gazes that linger longer than they should.
Itâs hard not to stare at him when you cross paths, mainly when he comes home from the gym, his shirt stretched over his wide chest, the fabric clinging to his big, taut figure. The tension between you tightens with every passing day, an invisible string you wish you could cut pulling you in.
Youâve kept your promise. Youâre staying out of trouble. Mostly. Youâve been seeing friends, out late some nights, but itâs tame compared to what you used to do. You try to remind yourself as much as you can that itâs your trust fund, your future, on the line.
Rafe has asked you a few times where youâve been when you roll in late. You only respond with a retort that if thereâs no headline about it, it shouldnât matter to him. It really shouldnât. Heâs just an annoyingly necessary pitstop on your way out of here.
Your reflection looks back at you as you stand in your bedroom, your low-cut top leaving very little to the imagination.
Celeste had another dress sent over. Since you finally gave in and mailed the signed contract after being badgered by her incessant phone calls, you canât ignore the impulse to break some rules whenever you can, even if itâs just with your clothing.
Youâre too possessed by every little reminder you can get that youâre still your own person.
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You follow the hostess to your table. Rafe, whoâd told you this morning that heâd meet you here, is on the balcony with a drink in his hand, the sleeves of his button-up rolled to his flexed forearms as the chair across from him sits empty.
In any other scenario, youâd enjoy this. The balmy beach breeze pressing against your skin, the glow of dusk, the smell of salty seawater, the feeling of meeting eyes with a man so good-looking that it makes your pulse quicken.
Then, your stomach turns with displeasure at the reality of the situation. This is nothing but a game that you were threatened into playing.
Rafe swallows a swig of scotch as you settle at the table facing him. He puts down his glass, the flame of the candle between you reflecting on the ring on his forefinger.
âItâs rude to start drinking before your date arrives,â you snip quietly.
He was planning to keep his cool. You make it impossible.
âLike you give a shit about manners,â he chides.
You roll your eyes and pick up the drink menu. It gives Rafe a chance to stare at you. As if he hasnât been doing it all week anyway.
Youâre aggravating. You prance around the condo wearing next to nothing, and here you are, doing the same thing in that flimsy excuse for a shirt. And youâre constantly refusing to tell him where youâre going and what youâre doing, giving him nothing to relay back to your father.
Heâs been at a loss for how heâs expected to get past your wall. Itâs a loop; he asks you an innocent question, and you shoot him down, and he tries not to lose his temper.
All he can think of is extending some of himself, bringing vulnerability between you, even if itâs faked. He needs to stop giving into the urge to fight back when you give him attitude. He needs to be something heâs not: patient.
Rafe exhales slowly, then he speaks.
âYou asked how old I am,â he says, his deep voice cushioned by the waves crashing onto the shore beneath the balcony. âIâm thirty.â
You lean in just a little, donning a scowl.
âI donât actually care,â you say.
Rafe huffs in frustration, his fingers cupping the smooth, cold glass of his drink again, determined to break through.
âIâve been in project management for a few years,â he continues. âAnd I wasnât handed the job just because of who my dad is. I had to work for it.â
âAgain, spare me,â you mutter. âI signed that stupid contract. Iâm here. Iâve done enough. I donât need to listen to your lifeâs story.â
Annoyance needles at him. Youâre so committed to making this painful that itâs grating at this point.
âWhat the hell is your problem?â he finally asks.
âYouâre humiliating me,â you tell him, âand youâre fine with it. Thatâs my problem.â
Rafe looks to the side, past the glowing string lights curled along the railing, over the cusp of sun sitting on the seaâs horizon. Every minute with you is an unending test of his tolerance.
Youâre so obsessed with being mad about this instead of just accepting your circumstances and going with it. Calling it humiliating is such a stretch.
âSo goddamn dramatic,â he murmurs.
The word cuts into a wound. You shut the drink menu, loudly slamming it against the table, earning a few side-eyes from other guests seated along the balcony. Rafeâs eyes meet yours, flaring with anger.
The waiter approaches your table, oblivious to the tension. He quickly takes your drink order. Then, you notice a woman a few tables away with her phone pointed towards you, failing at being inconspicuous.
You grit your teeth, knowing that right now, you need to put on a show. Youâll come out on top at the end of this. Youâll leave this place and these people and this life. Eventually.
âGive me your hand,â you half-whisper to Rafe.
His eyes narrow in confusion.
âThat girl has her phone pointed right at me,â you explain, sliding your hand across the smooth linen draped over the table.
Rafe cups your hand in his, his skin cool from his drink.
âThis happen a lot?â he says, cocking his head in the direction of the intrusion. Itâs a reminder of why you typically date men who are in the public eye, who are accustomed to being watched.
âTabloids pay big for these types of things,â you tell him. âJust look convincing.â
You glance down at the menu again, one hand flipping open the cover, the other still in Rafeâs.
Youâve been a vault ever since you were young and saw how unwelcome you were in your own home, and with time, the guard around your heart only grew stronger as more and more people used you. For money. For attention. For connections.
Youâve even had things you shared with people you thought you could trust come out in the press. You love your friends, but you never give them all of yourself, because you know you can't entirely trust anyone. Everyone sees you as a way to gain something.
And this is another episode of the same show. The man sitting across from you is taking advantage of your lack of choice in your own life. All to climb up the corporate ladder and get an attaboy from his dad.
Your eyes drift to the person still pointing her phone at you. Normally, youâd call her out through a string of expletives, but after signing that contract that ensnared you into six months of this, youâre legally bound to put on this act.
Sheâs still recording you.
âCan she stop?â you mutter quietly, impulsively squeezing Rafeâs hand tighter out of anger.
He watches your brows furrow, your eyelashes fluttering with your tight blinks. Your hand looks so small in his, but damn, is your grip hard. You have so much anger in you that it almost reminds him of himself.
Your words swirl through his head. Youâre humiliating me and youâre fine with it.
âIâm not fine with this,â he corrects you.
âYet you go along with it,â you say, shaking your head, unconvinced.
Itâs so much harder for Rafe to come to terms with why heâs been asked to do this now that he knows this is all a product of Kalâs blackmail. He thought it was just a mutually beneficial move.
You called it when you asked him what your father has on him. He didnât even know it then and you figured it out in seconds. But thereâs no chance in hell heâd ever tell you that. Youâre unpredictable and spiteful and would use it all against him.
âI couldnât back out, alright?â Rafe admits. âI tried.â
âBullshit,â you reply. âYou just didnât want to say no to your dad.â
Youâre sharp. You might be too sharp. Maybe youâll catch onto the real reason heâs trying to reach a place where your differences arenât so glaring. Itâs not easy, admitting how much he craves his fatherâs approval. But if heâs going to get anything real out of you, he knows he has to go first.
âItâs not crazy to want to show him some respect,â he says, quieter than before.
âItâs pathetic is what it is,â you say in a thin tone.
It rises in him again, the impulse to jab back, the refusal to let such a spoiled brat mock him.
âBetter than being a disappointment,â Rafe retorts.
You slip your hand out of his, burning with rage, pretending you moved just to hold up the menu.
âDick,â you say through clenched teeth, the words on the menu blurring. âI bet this is the only way a girl will go out with you. She has to be forced into it.â
Rafe breathes a disbelieving chuckle. He does just fine with women. Itâs snobby princesses like you that he steers far away from.
You glance up, his unaffected reaction proving you wrong. Heâd be defensive if you were. He surely has girls flocking to him, running their hands over his hair, drifting to the other places of his body.
You look back down at the menu, never having to hold onto self-restraint like this before. Youâre used to letting your mind run away with imagination, craving pleasure and escape. You never cared enough to ignore your impulses, always giving into fun, into lust.
Itâs frustrating. No matter how much you hate this man, no matter how much you try to push away the daydreams, you canât deny the attraction sizzling inside you.
âNobodyâs forcing you to be here,â he says. âYouâre doing this for money, remember?â
âIâm entitled to my trust fund,â you state. âAnd what are you here for? A pat on the back? A pay bump? Is an arranged marriage the last step to a promotion?â
âDonât be so loud,â Rafe snips, leaning forward.
âI can be as loud as I want.â
You glare at each other.
âIs she still recording?â he asks tensley.
You glance over at the girl to see a drink in her hand, then shake your head no at him.
âI donât get why people care about you so much,â he murmurs.
Youâre not even offended by his words. You donât understand why the public wants to follow your life, either. You assume itâs because they crave scandal and you serve it on a silver platter.
âI canât do anything without someone watching,â you tell him. âAnd you want to keep being seen with me?â
âWeâre in this,â Rafe says. âGet used to it.â
You huff. Youâve been on some bad dates, but this is easily the worst.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The next day, rapid knocks tap on the front door. Celeste had called Rafe early this Saturday morning, making sure you were both home.
She waits in the living room as Rafe heads to your bedroom, half-shouting your name before your music cuts out.
âWhat?â you snap.
âCeleste is here,â he says.
âTell her I say hey,â you reply sarcastically.
Rafe repeats your name sternly, and finally, you swing open the door.
âWhat the fuck does she want?â you sigh.
âI donât know,â he mutters. âLetâs get it over with.â
When you follow Rafe into the living room, Celeste gestures to the couch for you to sit down. You remain standing just to defy her. Her lips tighten and she holds out her phone.
âI had a dress sent over,â Celeste says, the photo of you at dinner last night on her screen under a tabloid headline youâve already seen. Something about you dressing shockingly skimpy for date night. âWhat is this?â
âA much cuter outfit,â you reply.
Rafe would crack an amused smirk if you werenât so annoying.
âYou canât go out looking like this.â
âLooking like what?â you challenge.
âTrashy,â she says.
Rafeâs jaw firms. You may be making this difficult, but so is everybody else, down to your familyâs publicist giving you shit over clothing.
Something he thought would be straightforward has been a circus. And as he stares at you, he sees the opportunity to get you on his side.
âDoes she really have to listen to this?â he says.
You both look over at him, wearing matching expressions of confusion.
âPardon me?â Celeste says.
âDoes it say anything in her contract that you can tell her what to wear?â Rafe asks firmly.
âShe verbally agreed to follow my instructions.â
âThis whole thing is already batshit,â he says, tapping his temples. âWe donât have to get into every detail.â
âRead the article,â you cut in, glaring at Celeste. âIt says I was on a date. That proves that people are convinced. Iâm doing what I said Iâd do. We done now?â
Celeste sighs, standing up as she says, âDonât forget you have an image to maintain.â
âDonât forget I can wear whatever I want.â
She clicks her tongue in irritation, seeing herself out. You glare at Rafe one last time before you turn to go back to studying.
Your guard doesnât crack, not even by a little. You know he didnât defend you out of the goodness of his heart.
âYouâre not slick,â you say, your voice carrying as you stride to your room. âI know you only did that because you like having more of me to stare at.â
He exhales to himself, your brazen words igniting something in him.
Youâre right. He selfishly stood up for you to get you on his side, but itâs a bonus to keep seeing as much of your body that he can. No matter how frustrating it is that he canât touch it.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
It takes your father less than an hour to try to put you in your place. Youâre preparing your lunch when you hear a knock on the front door, followed by quiet chatter between him and Rafe.
Resolute footsteps thunder over the hardwood a moment later.
âOne phone call,â Kal says, holding a finger up as he crosses into the kitchen. âThatâs all it takes for your trust to be dissolved. Do you understand that?â
You send a groan up to the ceiling, your eyes momentarily landing on Rafe standing a few feet behind your dad.
âSeriously?â you sigh, certain Celeste tattled the first chance she got. âItâs not a big deal.â
âI told you to follow her instructions,â he shouts.
âDoes she want to instruct me on how to breathe, too?â
Your father steps closer, his eyes hard with anger.
âYouâre embarrassing us when you go out looking like that,â he mutters.
You breathe a humorless laugh. Rafe almost canât believe how pitiless you are. Youâre completely unwavering, unburdened by whatâs at stake here, staring up at your father with nothing but fury.
âIâm a grown woman,â you say. âI can dress how I want.â
âFall in line or youâll have nothing!â he shouts.
You swallow hard. You already have nothing. But heâs never been able to see that.
You glance at Rafe. He looks away.
âWhat are you looking at?â you say. âYou wonât stand up to him, will you?â
He flattens his lips and steps out of the room. Your father doesnât even turn around, as if he has full certainty that Rafe will only back him up. Itâs a chilling reminder of how much power he holds.
âFor once in your life, just do as youâre told,â Kal says sharply.
It always happens like this. An overwhelming crash, followed by a familiar chill that settles deep in your stomach. The numbing of your emotions, the trickling away of your thoughts, all leave you unfeeling.
Like every other time one of your parents berates you, you shut down, as if your body canât tolerate the pain. Because it canât. Stress only makes your lungs have to work harder as your breaths get shorter, and itâs a subconscious urge not to put a strain on them. Itâs involuntary to dissociate.
Your father continues to yell. And Rafe is gone. Youâre used to people not protecting you - you donât even know what it feels like to have a shield you havenât made yourself - but knowing you live with a man who watched you get berated just to walk away only makes you loathe him more.
Rafe doesnât hear you say another word as he retires to his bedroom.
Heâd called Kal to tell him what happened this morning, relieved he finally had some information to share about you. Celeste surely wouldâve told him anyway.
Yet as your fatherâs voice echoes from the kitchen, a piece of Rafe can understand what you meant last night. Maybe humiliated isnât all that dramatic. Even though you can be immature as hell, youâre an adult being treated like youâre a child.
Heâs been in that position. And heâd be mad, too.
But he canât risk standing up to Kal and pissing him off. Not when so much is weighing on him to get through this.
His fatherâs approval and his success at work are all he has. They're his lifeblood. Theyâre his only proof that heâs worth something. And heâs not going to let you take that from him.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Your keys clatter against the lock. Your orientation is blurred, body warm and buzzing as you finally slide the key in after what feels like both seconds and hours.
You step in the condo, the space suddenly blanketed in light. You see Rafeâs large hand on the lightswitch, his frame standing over you just a few feet away in pajamas.
âWhat?â you mutter.
âYou serious?â he replies. He looks over his shoulder to read the time on the clock hanging in the living room. Itâs nearly 2 a.m. âYouâre being loud as hell.â
You chuckle, amused that you disrupted his sleep. Itâs payback, considering he disrupted your entire life.
You lean over to slide off your heels, holding yourself steady against the wall. Rafe doesnât leave, unlike earlier today when he quietly stepped away while your father was laying into you.
âYou can go now,â you say, worn down by your night out with your friends.
Rafe crosses his arms, and even in your tipsy state, you notice the faint veins lining his muscles, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt.
âWhere were you?â he asks.
âDid I need a permission slip?â you mutter, a heel dropping to the floor with a thud.
He exhales sharply, seething.
âYouâre going to screw this up for both of us,â he says.
âIâm allowed to have a social life, asshole,â you reply. You slip off your other heel, your height dropping dramatically, allowing him to tower over you even more.
You meet his eyes, scowling as you think of every other time heâs asked you about your whereabouts and your plans. The inkling that he was told to do it has been needling at you.
âDid my dad tell you to keep tabs on me?â you say, giving a voice to the suspicion.
Rafeâs never been more glad that heâs a decent liar, not pausing, not letting a single second pass between you.
âWhat?â he says. âNo.â
You scoff, unconvinced, and set out towards your bedroom.
âYour roomâs in the other direction,â you call over your shoulder when you hear his footsteps following close behind.
âDid you ever think that maybe he wants you to fail?â he says.
You step into your bedroom, flipping on the light. You turn to glare at Rafe as he leans against your doorframe.
âWhy are you still talking?â you mumble tiredly.
Rafe could barely fall asleep when he started ruminating over this. Every single thing thatâs happened since this ruse began could easily be seen as sabotage. Against you. Against him.
âHe could be doing all this on purpose,â he says.
You furrow your brows, too careless to let him stop you from getting ready for bed. Besides, giving Rafe a look at what youâre certain he wants but canât have gives you a power trip. You pull your shirt up over your head, tossing it to the hamper.
Rafe hesitates for a second, his eyes lingering before he turns towards the door frame, looking down at the floor, his body going hot at the sight of you in your bra.
You smirk. Itâs amusing to taunt him.
âHe keeps starting shit and yelling at you over nothing,â he says. âHe wants-â
âOver nothing?â you interrupt. âSo, you agree that whole thing today was bullshit. You were just too scared to say it.â
Rafe glares at you, despising the implication that heâs scared of anything. That heâs weak. You have no idea how much strength it takes just to be this watered down version of himself.
You glance down to unzip your pants. He exhales and looks away again, close to getting hard. How a woman can irritate him yet turn him on just as much is insane.
âItâs not like anything Iâd say would change his mind,â he says stiffly.
âWhatever,â you mumble. Youâve never had someone sincerely, selflessly stand up for you. Ever. âIâm used to people watching me get yelled at and doing nothing about it.â
Rafeâs caught off guard. Itâs not what you said, but how you said it, the hollow indifference in your voice proving that this really is your norm. Still, he wonders how the hell you canât see that the reason nobodyâs rushing to stand up for you is because youâre in the wrong.
Heâs still not sure your fatherâs explosive reaction earlier today was justified, but when he remembers that your family has been trying to make you fall in line for years, he kind of gets it.
He lost his patience with you within a day. He canât imagine having to stomach years of your bullshit.
You pull your jeans down, left in just your bra and underwear, stepping up to face him, confidently squaring your shoulders. He makes a visible effort not to look lower.
âI get it,â you say scornfully. âItâs so important for my dad to like you, right? Whatâd you say⊠this is good for business? So noble.â
Rafe shakes his head in frustration, seeing right through your attempt to provoke him.
âListen, all Iâm trying to say is maybe he wants you pissed off enough to break the rules,â he states.
Through the fog in your mind, a quiet sense of clarity seeps in.
Youâve been too blinded by spite to consider that ruining this is exactly what your dad is betting on you to do. Maybe Rafeâs right. It could all be a mind game. And rebelling might feel like winning, but actually mean youâre losing.
This could be Kalâs form of reasserting dominance, proving that you could never have it in you to succeed in something.
Itâs a far-fetched theory, though.
âHe wouldnât put my momâs campaign at risk,â you conclude. Your father would move mountains for her. He does anything for the people he loves. Itâs how you know he doesnât love you.
âEver think he just wants to look like he wouldnât?â
You cock your head, apprehension refusing to let go of you.
âYouâre trying to manipulate me,â you say.
Rafeâs mouth tightens. Sure, heâll say whatever he has to to get you to go along with this, but he really does believe that this whole thing was set up to crash and burn, down to the way you met. You were practically set up to hate him.
And he needs you to trust him, at least a little.
âIâm helping you,â he says.
âSpare me,â you half-laugh. âIf you wanted to help, you wouldâve backed out when I told you to.â
âI tried to get out of this,â he states. âI already told you that I didnât have a choice.â
âSure you didnât.â
âI didnât!â Rafe snaps. You donât flinch.
He could never tell you the truth. Not after you threatened going to the press to air out your own familyâs dirty laundry. You would use his honesty against him in a heartbeat.
You study him. And youâre not buying it. You know men like him. He would do anything to get ahead. And heâs just trying to make you think heâs some sort of ally, when really, heâs an enemy.
âYouâre lying.â
âNo, Iâm not,â he mutters.
You glare at each other, the air thickening, the knowledge that youâre both only a few pieces of fabric away from being completely naked like a cloud looming over you. His gaze drifts to your mouth.
âDo you trust me, Rafe?â you finally ask, your voice softening.
âNo,â he concedes.
You lick your lips, stepping closer by just an inch as you say, âThen why the hell would I trust you?â
You step away towards your ensuite, unwilling to give him what he wants, revelling in the hold you have on him.
He walked away from you today, coldly, heartlessly, while your father berated you. Now, you can walk away from him, shut the door, and leave him to regret everything thatâs brought him to this point.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
Rafe is sure heâs never heard a song this filthy. And heâs no prude.
He came to knock on your bedroom door to tell you to keep it down. Your music is so loud itâs giving him a headache. Now that heâs close enough to hear the lyrics playing from the other side of your door, heâs not sure if he can face you.
Youâre singing along, your pretty voice paired with dirty lyrics. He rubs his hand over his buzzed hair, so sexually frustrated at this point that itâs painful.
Another week has gone by, and your second date is tonight, this time at an art gallery opening.
Youâre surely getting ready in there. He canât stop his mind from darting into maddening territory, picturing you in the bra and panties you wore standing just inches away from him last weekend in this very doorframe.
Heâs sure that you do shit like this on purpose. Thereâs no way you donât know how attractive you are, how much you make his every muscle tight with desire, how you singing those lyrics is fucking with his head.
He finally finds it in himself to pound on your door.
âWhat?â you shout.
âTurn it down,â he replies.
âWhat?â you repeat, then chuckle. You smile at your reflection as you apply your makeup. Your petty efforts to frustrate him are clearly working.
Rafe clenches his fists, never having been one to not pick every battle thatâs presented to him. But itâs what he needs to do here. Heâs unsure of how heâll get through tonight, through the rest of this, when all you do is fuck with him.
â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±â°â±
The heels Celeste had sent for you to wear tonight are ridiculously uncomfortable. The moment you step out of the car with Rafe, you cling to his bicep for balance, quietly snipping at him not to walk so fast.
His words from the other night have been echoing in your head. Youâre skeptical that your father would design this just to watch it fall apart, but with him, cruelty disguised as strategy is nothing new.
You donât know what to believe. But you think Rafe might have a point. Itâs why youâre donning everything Celeste sent for you to wear.
You enter the gallery, white walls glowing under directional lighting, polished floors, clinking glasses, not a single person in the crowd underdressed. Jazz threads through the air as people float from canvas to canvas, chattering, whispering.
Cameras shutter close by. Rafe doesnât think heâd ever get used to this. Itâs absurd, this focus on the daughter of a powerful man who hides threats behind contracts, these reporters acting like your antics are so damn important.
All this attention, even though you complain about it, is surely what made you so full of yourself.
âThey got their pictures,â you murmur to him. âWe can leave now.â
âNo, we canât,â Rafe replies, stepping forward into the crowd. You grit your teeth, following as strangersâ eyes flutter in your direction. You know heâs right, but it doesnât make this any less painful.
âThese shoes sheâs making me wear hurt,â you mutter. âAnd I donât know how long I can pretend I want to be around you whenâŠâ
You stop speaking mid-sentence. And youâre not the type to trail off when youâre delivering a jab.
Rafe looks over to see you staring at something. He follows your eye-line to study the painting thatâs caught you off guard. Itâs simple artwork of a crowd, yet youâre completely still as if you saw something life-changing.
When he gazes at you again, for the first time since he met you, you look unguarded. No bite, no posture, no fire. Thereâs something in your eyes, your gently parted lips, soft and open.
Your heartbeat slows as you take in the image. Itâs striking. A mirror. You can feel the solitude, the sheer hopelessness of the woman in the painting, surrounded by happy people while sheâs dull and lethargic, both center stage yet completely unseen.
You can understand her. You too watch your own life from a window, through a camera lens, on a canvas, instead of living it. Yet at home, you always felt like you were being forced out of sight, and you did anything you could to avoid fading into the background.
You smooth down your hair, taming strands that donât need fixing, as you pull at Rafeâs arm to continue circling around the gallery. Youâre craving a drink. All you know is sadness that needs to be smothered by anything, anything, that will quiet it.
And the man youâre clinging to is just another stranger in the crowd, oblivious to how lonely you are. Not that heâd care.
Your sudden shift toward the drinks table is sharp. Rafe feels the strain in your grip and for a second, he thinks to ask what the hell just happened, but the urge stops somewhere between instinct and pride.
Instead, he just lets you lead.
(to be continued)
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