Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
RAFE'S POV
It was dark.
The kind of dark that pressed against your skin like a second layer, like it was alive—breathing with you, choking you when you forgot not to hope.
I couldn't see shit. My body was a wreck. My wrists had been tied to that chair for—I didn't even know how long now. Days, maybe. Could have been a week. There was no light, no clock, no sense of time in there. Just me, that goddamn chair, the damp stench of concrete and rot, and the ache. Everywhere.
The first few hours had been the worst. My brain had tried to rationalize. Thought it was some kind of joke. Maybe my parents had sent someone to pick me up. Maybe it was just some twisted intervention because I'd stopped answering their calls. But then the punches had started. And the questions. Sofia. Her name had dropped into the room like a curse, and I'd known this wasn't about me being a prodigal son or pissing off some professor.
That night... when I'd come home from the party, the house had been gutted. Like no one had ever lived there. Furniture gone. My suitcase missing. No signs of life. Just two men in black. One had stepped out of the shadow near the staircase, and the other had come from behind me. I hadn't even had time to fight. The last thing I remembered was the blunt end of something metal cracking against my skull.
I'd woken up there.
Catalina. Fuck. Just her name in my head made my chest seize. I wondered if she was okay. I wondered what she was doing right then. I wondered if she'd seen the video.
Shit. That video.
The blonde girl, the one who'd shown up in that stupid rented limousine. I remembered flashes—strobe lights, music, my drink being topped off again and again. And then nothing. A blank. Just black until the moment I'd come to and she was sitting on my lap, her hands on my chest. Laughing, whispering something into my ear.
I remembered how fucking sick I'd felt when I realized what was happening. I'd pushed her off me so hard she almost hit the floor. She'd screamed something at me, called me a freak, said I should be lucky anyone wanted me.
But the damage had already been done.
That video—someone had recorded it right before I'd pushed her off. Right before I'd even known what the hell was going on. Catalina had probably seen it. Of course she had. And she thought... she thought I'd done that to her. That I'd let someone else touch me. That I'd chosen someone else. After everything.
God, she must have hated me. Or worse—she must have been hurting. And I wasn't there to explain. I couldn't be. I didn't even know where the fuck I was.
The door creaked open.
I didn't look. I already knew it was him. The guy with the smug voice, the one who'd been trying to break me since I'd gotten there. He'd never told me his name, probably thought it gave him more power to stay faceless. He carried in a plate like he was doing me some favor. It was a stale piece of bread, a cup of water, and something that smelled like wet dog. He put it on the little table and sat down across from me.
