Possessive as f**k

Dahlia

The blood-red words on the paper burned into my retinas long after I flicked off the bedside lamp.

I sat on the edge of the oversized bed, staring at the dark window where rain continued to lash against the glass like thrown gravel. My pulse beat a fast, ragged rhythm in my ears. Someone at that table... Orin, Maelis, or maybe even Julianna with her venomous smile, had slipped that note into my purse while I was distracted by Rafe’s hands and heated words. They didn't just want me gone; they remembered something about me that I hadn't even fully pieced together yet.

I folded the heavy cardstock, tucked it alongside Orin’s old badge inside my boot, and pulled on a pair of dark denim jeans and a fitted black sweater.

It was 1:00 am. The estate was dead silent, wrapped in that heavy, suffocating stillness that only old money and buried sins can buy.

I unlocked my bedroom door with a quiet, practiced click and slipped out into the corridor.

Rule One of my contract with Rafe was explicitly simple: No wandering the third floor. Which meant, naturally, that the third floor was exactly where the answers were hiding.

I moved up the narrow, winding spiral staircase tucked behind the east wing. The air grew colder with every step, smelling of old paper, damp wood, and faded varnish. At the top of the stairs, a single hallway stretched out into the shadows, lined with closed doors and dark family portraits whose painted eyes seemed to track my every move.

At the far end stood the heavy double oak doors of the master study.

I reached the handle, my heart hammering against my ribs, and gave it a soft turn. Locked. Of course it was.

I pulled a thin metal tension wrench and a rake pick from my pocket—tools of the trade that Rafe’s security detail had foolishly forgotten to clear from my coat. Kneeling on the cold floorboards, I inserted the pick into the keyhole. Click. Click. Spring.

The lock gave way with a satisfying snap.

I pushed the door open, stepping into the cavernous room. Moonlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling arched windows, illuminating polished bookshelves, a marble fireplace, and a massive mahogany desk littered with leather-bound ledgers.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to break Rule One, sweetheart."

The voice came from the dark corner by the window—smooth, warm, terrifyingly gentle.

I froze, my hand still resting on the brass doorknob.

Rafe stepped out of the shadows, a glass of dark liquor cradled in his hand. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His dark hair was slightly messy, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sharp, corded muscle of his forearms. He looked entirely relaxed, like an old friend waiting up for a late-night chat, except for the lethal, unblinking focus in his eyes.

"You really are terrible at following directions, Dahlia," he murmured, taking a slow step toward me. The floorboards didn't even creak under his weight.

"I could say the same about you," I replied, keeping my voice steady, injecting a sharp, casual bite to hide the sudden knot of tension in my throat. "You said you'd be in your wing."

"And miss your little midnight excursion, again?" Rafe chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through the chilly air. He set his glass down on a side table and closed the distance between us until he was standing right in my space. The scent of cedar, rain, and expensive bourbon rolled off him in warm waves. "Not a chance."

He reached out, his long fingers lightly catching my jaw. The touch was feather-light, almost romantic, sending a dangerous, electric prickle down my spine that made me want to slap him and pull him closer all at once.

"Why are you up here, Dahlia?" he asked softly, his thumb trailing over the line of my lip. "Looking for more pictures of yourself from seven years ago?"

"I'm looking for nothing else," I whispered, holding his gaze, refusing to back down. "I'm sick of the riddles, Rafe. I'm sick of your brother glaring at me like he wants to dig a hole for me and your ex-girlfriend marking her territory in the hallway."

Rafe’s eyes darkened slightly at the mention of Julianna, a faint, dangerous smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Is that what this is? You're upset about Julianna?"

"Don't flatter yourself, big man," I shot back, using that informal, sharp tone to shield the raw, aching friction inside me. "I don't give a damn who you sleep with. But someone slipped a threat into my bag at dinner. Someone in this house wants me dead."

Rafe’s friendly demeanor vanished in a split second. The warmth in his face turned to pure, sub-zero ice.

"Show me," he said, his voice dropping into a command so cold it cut through the room like a blade.

I reached into my boot, pulled out the folded note, and handed it to him.

Rafe unfolded the paper. As his eyes scanned the jagged red letters, a dark, terrifying stillness settled over him. The jaw muscles beneath his skin clenched so hard I thought they might snap. The atmospheric pressure in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Where was your purse when you got this?" he asked softly, though the softness was now a violent, contained storm.

"On the back of my chair during dinner. Anyone could have dropped it in while we were arguing."

Rafe stared at the note for three long seconds before folding it neatly and sliding it into his back pocket. Then, without warning, he reached out and pulled me against his chest.

His arm wrapped around my waist with unyielding, possessive strength, locking me tight against the hard plane of his body. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin right below my ear, his breath warm and dangerous against my neck.

"I told you yesterday," he whispered, his tone dripping with a terrifying, sweet intimacy that made my breath hit a wall. "You walk into this house, you stay under my wing. Nobody touches you, Dahlia. Not Orin, not Maelis, and certainly not Julianna."

"I don't need your protection, Rafe," I rasped, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my chest, my body reacting to his proximity despite every alarm screaming in my head.

"You do," he murmured, his fingers gently tangling into the hair at the nape of my neck, tilting my head back so I had to look into his dark, obsessive eyes. "Because the people in this house aren't just greedy, sweetheart. They're monsters. And you're standing right in the middle of their feeding ground."

Before I could reply, a soft, distinct click echoed from the far wall of the study.

Rafe’s head snapped toward the sound instantly, his body shifting into a defensive stance, keeping me firmly behind him.

The heavy velvet curtain covering the east wall swung open slightly. Behind it was a hidden panel secret door leading into a darkened inner chamber.

And standing in the doorway, holding a brass key and a manila file folder stamped with my father’s old corporate logo, was Orin.

Orin looked at Rafe, then at me, a slow, sickening sneer spreading across his face as he held the file higher.

"Well, well," Orin drawled, his voice thick with malicious triumph. "Look who finally decided to join the family reunion. I was wondering when you'd come looking for your father's ledger, Dahlia."