The silence in Amara's apartment was suffocating.
She was alone.
Alone with the ghost of his touch.
Alone with the weight of his words.
"You're mine, Lenz. And I don't share."
The way Rafael had spoken those words, the way his fingers had wrapped around her chin, tilting her face up like he owned her—like he was branding her with his touch—it left something inside her aching, restless, and utterly shaken.
She exhaled shakily, pressing her fingers against her lips.
Her body was still on fire.
A fire she couldn't douse, no matter how hard she tried.
Her hands clenched into fists.
This wasn't real. It was a game. His game.
One she refused to lose.
Her phone vibrated beside her.
She grabbed it, praying for a distraction.
A message.
Her mystery man.
Are you home?
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Yes.
A pause. Then—
Did he hurt you?
Her breath hitched.
Her mind flashed back to Rafael's grip on her chin, the way he had forced her to meet his gaze, the cruel stroke of his thumb along her jaw.
No.
She hesitated. Then, her fingers moved on their own.
But he won't stop.
The reply was instant.
Then I will.
Her stomach twisted.
Would he?
Could he?
Could anyone stop Rafael Aldridge?
She placed the phone beside her, curling under the sheets, trying to force herself to sleep.
But sleep didn't come easily.
Not when his voice was still inside her head.
Not when his touch was still burning her skin.
Not when her body still remembered him.
And when she finally drifted off—he was waiting for her.
A Dream Made of Fire and Sin
The room was dark, but the heat was unbearable.
The air was thick, suffocating, filled with the scent of leather, smoke, and something intoxicatingly male.
She wasn't alone.
She knew it before she even turned.
"Running again, Lenz?"
His voice sent a shiver through her.
Slow. Low. Dangerous.
A breath ghosted over her bare shoulder.
Then—fingers.
Fingertips tracing along her exposed back, barely touching, yet setting her on fire.
Her pulse hammered.
She couldn't move.
Didn't want to.
"I told you," Rafael murmured, his breath teasing the shell of her ear, "You'll come to me yourself."
His fingers slid lower, brushing over the curve of her spine.
A slow, torturous touch.
She shuddered, her lips parting, a whimper slipping free before she could stop it.
"Look at you," he whispered.
His fingers trailed down her arms, his hands grazing the sides of her waist.
"You pretend to hate me, but your body says something else."
Her knees felt weak.
Heat coiled in her stomach, a slow, delicious torment.
She clenched her fists. "This is just a dream."
His lips barely skimmed her neck.
"Then wake up, Amara."
She gasped when his hands suddenly gripped her waist, yanking her flush against him.
Her body crashed into his—solid, unyielding, suffocatingly close.
Her breath hitched.
She could feel him.
Every hard, lean muscle pressed against her back, his chest firm against her spine, his breath hot against her skin.
And worse?
He wasn't holding back.
He wanted her to feel exactly what she was doing to him.
"Tell me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.
"Tell me you don't want this."
Her body betrayed her.
She was burning.
Trembling.
Drowning in him.
His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into her hips, forcing her to feel the tension between them.
A cruel, unforgivable tease.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"I hate you."
His chuckle was low, sinful, vibrating against her skin.
"Liar."
His lips skimmed her throat, the touch barely there, but enough to steal the breath from her lungs.
She gasped.
Her fingers found his wrist, intending to push him away—
But instead—
She clutched him closer.
Rafael exhaled slowly, his body stiffening against hers.
"That's it, Lenz," he whispered. "Give in to me."
Her body screamed for her to stop.
But her mind?
It was already lost.
His lips trailed lower, down the side of her neck, hot, unyielding, possessive.
His hands skimmed over her stomach, pulling her deeper into him, making her feel how much he wanted her.
"You belong to me," Rafael murmured. "And I'll ruin you until you remember it."
Her breath came in quick, uneven gasps.
She should run.
She should fight.
But she did neither.
Because he had already won.
His teeth scraped along her pulse point—a wicked, claiming touch.
A broken moan slipped past her lips—
And then—
She woke up.
The moment Amara's eyes fluttered open, her body betrayed her.
She was burning.
Her skin felt too hot, her breath too shallow, and the weight of something unseen still pressed down on her chest.
The dream.
Her fingers curled into the sheets, a tremor running through her limbs.
It hadn't just been a dream.
It had been a memory of something that had never happened. A preview of something she feared would.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, feeling the ghost of his kiss still lingering there, the way his hands had claimed her, the way his voice had coiled around her throat like a chain.
"Say my name again."
Her body tensed, her thighs clenched involuntarily, and she hated herself for it.
She hated how real it felt.
She hated how much she remembered.
And worst of all—she hated that she wanted it.
"It was a dream."
"Just a dream."
So why did she still feel him in the places he had never touched?
Amara shook her head violently, trying to erase the feeling, erase him.
She stumbled out of bed, her legs weak, the room too warm, too suffocating. She needed air. She needed distance.
She dragged herself into the bathroom, turning on the faucet with shaky hands. Cold water. That's what she needed.
Splash.
The shock of the ice-cold water against her face made her gasp, her breath sharp, her heartbeat wild.
But it did nothing to get rid of him.
Nothing to erase the mark he had left behind.
She gripped the edges of the sink, forcing herself to breathe.
"It was just a dream, Amara. Get a grip."
But deep down, she knew.
It wouldn't end here.
Because Rafael Aldridge wasn't just a dream.
He was a living nightmare.
A Morning That Felt Like a Curse
The day passed in a haze of cold showers, forced breakfast, and silence.
She didn't check her phone.
Didn't want to see if her mystery man had messaged her.
Didn't want to see if Rafael had left anything behind.
Because what could she do?
She was trapped between two ghosts—one she didn't know, and one she could never escape.
By the time she arrived at Ravenswood, the hallways were buzzing with energy.
Students laughed, talked, shoved past one another, too lost in their own worlds to notice how Amara was barely holding herself together.
But she noticed him.
She always did.
Rafael.
He was already there, leaning against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed, eyes locked onto her the moment she stepped inside.
Her breath hitched.
He wasn't smirking this time.
He wasn't playing.
His gaze was calculating, unreadable—but heavier than usual.
Like he knew something she didn't.
Like he could still feel what she had felt last night.
Her chest tightened, and she forced herself to look away, walking faster, trying to disappear before—
THWACK!
A sharp explosion of pain shot through her skull.
She barely processed what happened before she staggered, vision blurring, a low, sharp ringing filling her ears.
A ball rolled at her feet.
Laughter.
Mocking. Cruel.
The air shifted.
Her fingers trembled as she touched her forehead. A sharp sting. Wet.
Blood.
She blinked rapidly, trying to fight off the dizziness.
"What the hell, man?" A voice snickered from the crowd.
A familiar voice.
Lucas.
Her stomach dropped.
Her fingers curled into fists as she slowly lifted her gaze.
Lucas stood there, surrounded by his group of friends, his smirk wicked, unapologetic.
"Oops," he drawled. "Didn't see you there, Lenz."
More laughter.
More whispers.
She should leave.
She should walk away.
But her body wouldn't move.
Her hands shook.
Her vision swam.
And then—
A voice.
Low. Lethal.
"Do you think that was funny, Vance?"
Everything went still.
The crowd parted instantly, as if an invisible force had just ripped through them.
And there he was.
Rafael Aldridge.
His stride was slow, deliberate, dangerous.
The smirk on Lucas's face wavered.
"Relax, Professor," he said, but his voice wasn't as confident anymore.
Rafael didn't stop walking.
Didn't blink.
Didn't break eye contact.
"Do you think she's here for your amusement?"
Lucas scoffed. "It was a joke—"
Rafael moved.
Fast.
The next thing Amara saw was Lucas pinned against the wall, Rafael's forearm pressing into his chest, his hand gripping his jaw with calculated force.
A gasp rippled through the hall.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Lucas struggled, but Rafael didn't even budge.
"Was it a joke when you tried to corner her?" Rafael's voice was quiet, but it dripped with ice.
Lucas's eyes widened.
"W-What—"
"Was it a joke when you thought you could put your hands on what's mine?"
Silence.
Lucas swallowed. "I—"
Rafael leaned in slightly, his grip tightening.
"Do it again," he murmured. "And I promise you won't be able to use your hands ever again."
A low, cruel promise.
Lucas trembled.
And then—Rafael let go.
Lucas collapsed slightly, gasping for air, his friends too afraid to help him.
The weight of Rafael's presence suffocated the hallway.
Then—his eyes turned to her.
Amara barely had time to react before Rafael closed the distance.
His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up.
His thumb brushed over the fresh cut on her forehead, a touch too soft, too cruel.
"Look what you've done to yourself, Lenz," he murmured.
She stiffened. "I didn't—"
His grip tightened just enough to silence her.
"Careless," he whispered. "And here I thought you were smarter than that."
Her pulse raced.
His thumb traced down, ghosting over the line of her jaw, his touch warm, possessive.
Her breath caught.
"You're bleeding," he said, voice almost amused.
She swallowed hard. "It's—fine."
Rafael's smirk returned.
"Is it?"
And then—his thumb brushed her lower lip.
Slow. Unforgivable.
Her entire body locked up.
Her lips parted slightly, breath shaking.
The hallway was silent.
Everyone was watching.
And Rafael didn't care.
"Fix yourself up," he murmured, voice low, teasing, dangerous.
And then—he stepped away.
The air rushed back in.
She barely held herself together.
Rafael didn't look at her again.
He simply turned—and walked away.
Leaving her dazed, burning, and utterly wrecked.