「✦ THROWING STILETTOS ✦ 」

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MJ WALKED INTO John B's house with a storm cloud of thoughts hanging over her head. Her mind replayed Rafe's words, the sincerity in his voice, the desperation. But she pushed the thoughts aside as soon as she walked into the living room, where Sarah Cameron was sitting, flipping through a magazine. Sarah looked up, her expression softening as she noticed MJ entering.

"Hey," Sarah greeted, setting the magazine down and giving MJ a nod. "You alright? You look like you've been through a war."

MJ forced a smirk, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah, well, it feels like I just waded through one."

Sarah frowned, immediately picking up on the tension radiating from MJ. "What happened?"

MJ sighed, running a hand through her hair as she paced the length of the room. "Rafe's auctioning the cross." The words felt bitter in her mouth, but she forced them out with all the conviction she could muster.

Sarah's eyebrows shot up, her expression morphing into a mixture of surprise and anger. "He's what?"

"You heard me," MJ said sharply, stopping in her tracks and looking at Sarah. "He's selling it off to the highest bidder. He doesn't care what it means to us. He's just in it for the money."

Sarah stood up, her jaw tightening as her hands clenched into fists. "Of course, he is. I knew he couldn't be trusted."

MJ hesitated, her stomach twisting at the outright lie she was spinning. But she couldn't tell the truth—not about why Rafe was really doing this. They wouldn't understand. They'd never believe that Rafe was doing this to protect her, to finally put an end to the chaos.

"I tried to get him to stop," MJ continued, keeping her voice steady despite the weight of the guilt pressing on her chest. "But he doesn't care. He just wants the money. Said it's already in motion and there's no way to undo it."

Sarah scoffed, pacing now herself. "Typical Rafe. Always thinking about himself. He's just screwing everyone over again. God, why am I not surprised?"

MJ swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet Sarah's fiery gaze. "So, what are we going to do about it?"

Sarah stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing with determination. "We're going to stop him. We're not letting him get away with this."

"How?" MJ asked, feigning skepticism as her heart pounded in her chest.

"We play his game," Sarah said firmly. "Let him think we're not onto him, let him think he's in control. But when it comes time for the auction, we take the cross back. No way he's walking away with it."

MJ shook her head, her voice wavering. "That's risky, Sarah. What if he finds out? What if he—"

"Who cares?" Sarah interrupted, her voice sharp. "Rafe doesn't get to screw us over again. He doesn't get to walk away with what's ours."

MJ clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her expression neutral. The truth of Rafe's actions—the way he was risking everything to protect her—burned on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back.

"I don't know," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if we can pull this off."

Sarah stepped closer, her eyes blazing with determination. "We can pull this off. And we will. But I need you with me, MJ. Are you in or not?"

MJ hesitated, her heart aching with the weight of the choice she was making. Finally, she nodded, forcing herself to push the guilt aside. "I'm in. But promise me this doesn't get messy. No one gets hurt."

Sarah's expression softened slightly, but her resolve didn't waver. "No one gets hurt," she promised. "But we're taking that cross back, MJ. One way or another."

As Sarah turned away, already beginning to formulate a plan, MJ sank onto the couch, her chest tight. She hated lying to Sarah, hated hiding the truth about Rafe. But she didn't see another way.

Rafe was trying to protect her. And if this was the only way to make sure his plan worked, she'd play along—for now.

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MJ crept through the back door of her house, the hinges creaking softly as she pushed it open. The house was eerily quiet, abandoned almost, with boarded-up windows and dust settling in the corners of every room. It felt like a ghost town, even though it was technically her home.

Her eyes flicked to the stairs as she moved silently through the hallway, her heart pounding as she climbed the steps. She knew she couldn't stay there for long—too much risk, too many eyes. But she needed a moment. Just a few minutes to process everything, to try and make sense of the whirlwind that had overtaken her life in the past few days.

MJ moved into her bedroom, the door creaking open slightly. She flicked on the light, and the soft glow illuminated the room. It hadn't changed much since she left, except for the eerie stillness. The room held remnants of a life that felt like a lifetime ago.

She walked over to her closet, eyes scanning the familiar clothes. But her hand stilled as she noticed something tucked at the back—a dress. A simple black dress. Elegant, but not too much. Her fingers brushed against the fabric, her mind instantly drifting back to the day she and Rafe had gone to the mainland.

The memory was vivid—Rafe, looking so different from the person she'd known, wearing that tight black shirt and those jeans that somehow made him look like a completely different person. They'd walked around the bustling streets of the mainland, pretending for a few hours that they were just two people in love, with no baggage, no issues, and no reasons to feel conflicted.

They'd gone to that quiet little restaurant, the kind with fairy lights and candles on every table, and shared a bottle of wine—just the two of them. They laughed and talked about everything and nothing. It was a day of normalcy, a day where MJ allowed herself to forget the dark side of Rafe, to pretend they had a future that didn't involve manipulation or lies. But then... they'd danced. In the middle of the restaurant, no music playing except for the soft hum of conversations around them. She'd let herself fall into him, allowed herself to be swept away as if nothing else mattered. The world faded away as they moved together.

A flicker of warmth hit her chest at the memory, but it quickly faded into something else—something darker.

She pulled the dress out of the closet, staring at it momentarily before setting it on her bed. The soft fabric slid between her fingers as her thoughts spiralled. The good moments—they'd been so good. Rafe's smile, his rare, unguarded laughter, the way he'd touch her like she was the only thing grounding him. But the bad moments crept in just as fast—the secrets. There was desperation in his voice when he told her about the plan. The weight of everything he carried, everything he was willing to risk... for her.

MJ's fingers tightened around the fabric of the dress. She didn't want to do this, but she didn't have a choice. She'd lied to him. She'd told him she trusted him, that she believed in what he was doing. And in a way, she did. He wasn't selling the cross for himself—he was doing it to help her. To keep her safe. But Rafe didn't understand the bigger picture. He didn't see the danger his choices brought, the way his father's shadow lingered over everything he touched.

Taking a deep breath, MJ moved toward the bathroom, the dress still clutched in her hands. As she began to get ready, her motions were stiff, and mechanical. Her mind drifted back to their last conversation. The way he had begged her to trust him. The way he'd looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in his crumbling world. He'd called her "Rosemary" again, his voice soft, vulnerable, as though the name still held the power to fix everything between them.

A part of her wanted to believe him, to let herself fall into his arms and forget everything else. But she couldn't. She had to stay focused. She couldn't let him know the truth—that she and Sarah had a plan of their own. That she was about to double-cross him, even though it broke her heart.

As she pulled the dress over her head, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked the same, but she didn't feel like herself. The girl staring back at her wasn't the girl who loved Rafe Cameron. She was someone else now—someone who had to lie, to manipulate, to survive.

With a final sigh, MJ slipped on her shoes and glanced at her phone on the counter. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. She thought about texting Rafe, telling him to stop everything, to find another way. But she couldn't. Not now. She had to stick to the plan, no matter how much it hurt.

Taking a deep breath, she typed the message, her fingers trembling as she hit send.

I'm at the house. Come get me.

The text felt like a betrayal, but it was too late to take it back. Moments later, her phone buzzed. Rafe's name lit up the screen, and her chest tightened. She unlocked the phone, reading his reply.

Rafe:

Be there in 20.

MJ sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her phone in her hands. He was coming. Of course, he was. Rafe always showed up for her, even when she didn't deserve it. Even now, when she was lying to him, playing him like everyone else in his life had.

She grabbed her bag, throwing in her phone and a few essentials. The guilt gnawed at her, but she forced herself to push it down. She couldn't let herself feel right now.

The sound of a car pulling up outside made her freeze. Her heart pounded as she stood, walking to the window. Rafe's car was parked in the driveway, the headlights casting a faint glow over the front yard. He stepped out, his movements confident but tense, like he already knew tonight wasn't going to go the way he hoped.

MJ swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she reached for the doorknob. She opened it just a crack, watching as Rafe walked up the steps toward her. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away.

"I'm here," he said softly, his voice steady despite the storm raging between them.

MJ forced a smile, stepping back to let him inside. "You always are."

But in the pit of her stomach, the guilt twisted like a knife. She wasn't ready for what came next, for the moment when he'd realize the truth. That she wasn't just lying to protect him. She was betraying him to protect herself.

And there was no turning back now.

She opened the door fully and stepped out, careful not to make too much noise. Rafe was already walking toward her, his eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of relief and concern. When he saw her, his expression softened—he looked like a man carrying the weight of the world but willing to bear it for her.

Rafe was dressed in a suit—impeccably tailored, the dark fabric accentuating his strong, broad frame. For a moment, she couldn't reconcile the sight of him with the Rafe she'd fallen for. He looked so polished, so out of place in the world they shared. But then she saw the way he was looking at her—like she was the only thing that mattered—and her heart twisted.

As he neared, she felt her pulse quicken. His eyes held hers, filled with the kind of raw emotion that always left her breathless. He stopped just in front of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"You look beautiful," Rafe murmured, his voice low and reverent, like the words were meant only for her.

She tried to smile, but the guilt bubbling beneath the surface made it falter. "You clean up well yourself," she said, her tone light, though it didn't quite mask the turmoil inside her.

His lips quirked into a small smile, but the tension in his shoulders didn't ease. "I had to, didn't I? Tonight's a big deal." He ran a hand through his hair, the nervous habit betraying his calm exterior.

Rafe reached out, cupping her face gently in his hand. The warmth of his touch steadied her for a moment, but it also reminded her of the lie she was keeping, the betrayal she was about to commit. "I'm doing this for you, MJ. You know that, right? Everything I've done—everything I'm about to do—it's for us."

Her stomach twisted painfully at the sincerity in his voice. She leaned into his touch, letting herself believe, just for a moment, that everything could still be okay. "I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. And she did know. She knew he was putting everything on the line for her.

What he didn't know was that she was about to betray him.

Rafe's thumb brushed over her cheek, his eyes searching hers. "I need you to trust me tonight. No matter what happens."

She nodded, the motion is small and hesitant. She wanted to trust him. God, she wanted to be honest with him. But she couldn't. Not now. Not when she'd already set her plan into motion.

"Let's just get this over with," MJ said, pulling back slightly. She hated the flicker of hurt that crossed his face, but she couldn't let herself soften, not when she was already in too deep.

Rafe stepped back, his hand falling to his side. He didn't argue, though the disappointment in his eyes was hard to miss. Instead, he nodded and gestured toward the car.

As they walked together, MJ couldn't help but glance at him. He was always a step ahead of her, in more ways than one, but tonight he seemed quieter, more subdued. She could feel the weight of his emotions hanging between them, heavy and unspoken.

When they reached the car, Rafe moved to open the door for her. His movements were deliberate, almost too formal, and the gesture caught her off guard. She hesitated, her breath hitching as she looked up at him.

"You don't have to—"

"Let me," he interrupted softly, his voice steady despite the turmoil she could see in his eyes.

MJ climbed into the car, her heart pounding as she tried to ignore the lingering scent of his cologne—familiar and comforting, yet suffocating under the weight of her guilt. Rafe slid into the driver's seat beside her, starting the engine without a word.

For a while, the hum of the car filled the silence, and MJ stared out the window, unable to bring herself to look at him. Then, Rafe's voice broke through the quiet, low and raw.

"I know this isn't easy for you," he said, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "But I need you to know—I'm doing this because I love you. I'd do anything for you, MJ. You know that, right?"

Her chest ached at his words, the sincerity cutting through her like a knife. She wanted to tell him the truth, to stop the plan before it unravelled everything between them. But she couldn't. She'd made her choice, and now she had to see it through.

"I know," she said softly, keeping her gaze fixed on the passing streets. "I love you too, Rafe."

And she did. That was the worst part. She loved him more than anything, but love wouldn't be enough to save them from what was coming.

As the car sped down the dark, winding roads, MJ's chest tightened with every passing second. Rafe's hand rested on the gearshift, close enough to brush against her thigh. Normally, she'd reach over, and let her fingers intertwine with his, but tonight, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Her mind was a mess of conflicting emotions—guilt gnawed at her insides, clawing its way up every time she thought about what she'd done. What they were planning to do. The Pogues had convinced her that double-crossing Rafe was the only way out, the only way to protect herself and her family from his world. She'd told herself it was justifiable, that it was survival.

But now, sitting next to him, watching the tension in his jaw and the determination in his eyes, she felt like the worst person alive.

This wasn't about him protecting himself. This was about him protecting her.

"You're quiet," Rafe said, his voice breaking the silence. He glanced over at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "That's not like you."

MJ forced herself to meet his gaze, even if just for a second. "Just... a lot on my mind," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Rafe's lips pressed into a thin line. "I get it. I know this isn't easy for you. But I promise you, MJ, once tonight is over, things will be better. We'll be free of this. You'll be free."

His words hit her like a punch to the stomach. Free? The irony of it nearly made her laugh, but the lump in her throat wouldn't let her. He thought he was saving her, thought he was giving her the fresh start she'd been craving.

And here she was, setting him up to be blindsided.

"Rafe..." she started, her voice trembling. She wanted to tell him the truth, to confess everything and beg him to forgive her. But she couldn't. The Pogues were counting on her to pull this off. They needed her to keep him in the dark long enough to make their move.

His hand reached out, finding hers and squeezing it gently. The gesture was so simple, so Rafe, that it nearly undid her.

"You don't have to say anything," he said, his voice softer now. "I know you're scared. But I've got you. I always have."

Her heart clenched painfully. He was too good at this—too good at reading her, too good at comforting her. How was she supposed to go through with this when he was sitting right there, holding her hand and looking at her like she was his entire world?

The car slowed as they approached their destination—a sleek, modern estate glowing in the night with lights that looked as cold and uninviting as the people inside. Rafe pulled up to the valet, his hand still on hers as he turned to her.

"Ready?" he asked, his blue eyes searching hers.

MJ nodded, though she didn't trust herself to speak. She wasn't ready. Not for this. Not for what was about to happen.

They stepped out of the car, and Rafe was at her side in an instant, his hand settling on the small of her back as he guided her toward the entrance. She could feel the steady strength in his touch, the quiet reassurance that he was there for her, no matter what.

He's doing this for you, a voice in her head reminded her. And you're going to destroy him for it.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the Pogues. She spotted them near the back, blending in as best they could in borrowed suits and dresses. John B caught her eye and gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

The plan was in motion.

MJ's chest tightened. She couldn't do this. She couldn't stand by and let them rip the rug out from under Rafe while he was trying to save her.

But if she backed out now, she'd risk everything. The Pogues wouldn't forgive her, and she wasn't sure Rafe would either, not once he found out she'd been involved in the first place.

"Hey," Rafe's voice pulled her back to the moment. He was watching her closely, his brow furrowed. "You okay?"

She forced a smile, nodding quickly. "Yeah. Just... nervous, I guess."

His expression softened, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You've got nothing to be nervous about. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I swear."

The guilt was suffocating now, threatening to choke her as she looked up at him. He meant every word, and she hated herself for what she was about to do.

MJ glanced back at the Pogues, their silent signals urging her to stick to the plan. But her heart was screaming at her to stop, to pull Rafe aside and tell him the truth before it was too late.

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. One way or another, tonight was going to change everything. The only question was whether she dared to do what she knew was right—or whether she'd let the weight of her choices crush them both.

Rafe walked ahead, exuding a calm confidence that made it seem like he owned the place. He moved with purpose, his presence commanding attention in a way that only someone like Rafe Cameron could. MJ tried to match his stride, but her legs felt heavy, and her nerves were crawling up her throat like vines choking her. Every step felt like she was inching closer to a precipice she wasn't sure she could survive.

The moment they were ushered into the main room, her chest tightened. Wealth dripped from every corner—the crystal chandeliers, the polished marble floors, and the hum of conversation that floated through the room like champagne bubbles. The attendees were impeccably dressed, their voices smooth as silk, discussing stocks, mergers, and yachts like they were trading favourite books.

MJ felt like an impostor. The heat rising to her face made it impossible to pretend otherwise. She glanced at Rafe, who, even among this crowd, stood out. He carried himself as he belonged, but his usual swagger was muted. She caught the slightest hint of tension in his jaw as he scanned the room, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

His hand grazed the small of her back, light and subtle, but it sent a spark through her that she couldn't ignore. Whether it was meant to reassure her or ground him, she couldn't tell, but the contact burned like a brand. They were directed to their seats—front and center, the perfect vantage point for the auction to begin. Prime real estate, of course. Rafe always had to be at the center of everything.

Her heart pounded as she sat down. The weight of what was coming pressed on her chest, and she couldn't stop herself from scanning the room, looking for exits, for familiar faces, for anything that could anchor her. But this wasn't her world. The polished veneer of these people made her feel small, and insignificant, like they could see right through her and knew she didn't belong.

A passing server offered a tray of champagne, and she grabbed a glass without thinking. Maybe it would steady her. Or at least give her hands something to do so she didn't fidget like a nervous wreck. The first sip was bitter, but she forced it down, hoping the alcohol would loosen the tight grip her nerves had on her.

"Easy there," Rafe murmured, a soft smirk playing on his lips as he watched her down the glass quicker than she probably should have. "We're not even through the first act yet."

"I'm fine," she muttered, though her voice sounded weak, even to her ears. She straightened in her seat, trying to project an air of confidence, but she knew she wasn't fooling anyone. Rafe didn't press her, but the way his eyes lingered on her made her stomach twist.

As the auction began, the sound of the auctioneer's voice boomed through the speakers, breaking through the hum of chatter. MJ barely heard a word of it, her thoughts spiralling. This wasn't just an auction. It wasn't just about money or the cross. This was about her and Rafe. About how much he'd risked to be here. For her.

Her chest tightened further, and guilt gnawed at her. He didn't know that the Pogues were planning to double-cross him. That everything he was doing tonight—all the risks he was taking—was going to be for nothing. He had done this for her, to help her, and here she was, letting it happen.

Her hand tightened around the stem of the champagne glass. She hated herself for agreeing to this plan, for being a part of the deception. But how could she back out now?

Rafe, meanwhile, was in his element. He moved through the room with the ease of someone who had grown up in this world, shaking hands, laughing softly at whispered jokes, making everyone around him feel like they were in on something special. And yet, every so often, his gaze would flicker back to her, softening just a fraction when their eyes met.

He was trying to make sure she was okay. That realization twisted the knife of guilt even deeper. She wasn't okay. Not even close. And the worst part was, he had no idea why.

Another glass of champagne found its way into her hand—she didn't even remember grabbing it—but the burn of the alcohol was a welcome distraction. It dulled the edges of her panic, even if it didn't erase it.

"You sure you're good?" Rafe leaned in, his voice low, just for her. His lips brushed close to her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine," she lied again, her voice shaky.

He studied her for a long moment, his brows drawing together ever so slightly, and she knew he didn't believe her. But he didn't push, just gave her a small nod and let his hand drop back to her lower back as they moved through the room.

The auctioneer's voice picked up again, drawing the crowd's attention as the first item was brought to the stage. The tension in the room thickened, anticipation crackling like static electricity. MJ felt it in her bones, a weight pressing heavier and heavier on her chest.

Rafe, standing beside her, looked completely at ease again. His mask of calm confidence was firmly back in place, but she knew him well enough now to recognize the cracks beneath the surface. This wasn't easy for him either, and yet here he was, standing tall, putting himself on the line—for her.

Her stomach churned. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.

Would he ever forgive her when he found out? Could she forgive herself?

Rafe finally turned back to her, catching her eye as she grabbed yet another drink, this time barely taking a moment to breathe before finishing it. "You sure you're okay?" he asked again, his tone a mix of concern and something else—maybe guilt. Maybe something deeper. He seemed to notice her frazzled state now more than before.

"I'm fine," she replied with forced confidence, though her voice was slightly slurred. "Just enjoying the party."

He didn't look convinced, but he let it go for now, shifting his attention back to the crowd around them. But as he spoke, he kept his hand on her back, a silent reminder of his presence. He seemed to want to protect her, and keep her steady, but she wasn't sure if she even wanted to be steady anymore. She felt too much, too quickly, and she didn't know how to untangle the mess of emotions that swirled inside her.

Every time MJ reached for another drink, a voice in the back of her mind whispered that this wasn't who she was. She wasn't the girl who drowned herself in alcohol to escape. But tonight, it was easier to silence that voice. It was easier to numb the uncertainty clawing at her insides than to face the reality she wasn't ready to confront. The burn of the wine down her throat offered temporary relief, blurring the edges of her fear and doubt.

Rafe's presence beside her didn't help. His guiding hand on her lower back was steady, and grounding, but it also tethered her to something she wasn't sure she wanted. Yet, she couldn't ignore the tenderness in the way he treated her tonight. His gaze softened every time it landed on her, the arrogant smirk he so often wore replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable. It caught her off guard, that flicker of something real beneath the layers of bravado.

But she couldn't let herself believe in it. Not when everything about tonight felt like a carefully constructed illusion. Not when she knew how quickly it could all fall apart. She had to keep her distance, had to shield herself from the warmth of his touch, even if it left her feeling like she was drowning in the space between them.

The auction began, at last, the hum of voices fading as the first lot was displayed under the spotlight. Rafe's hand slipped away from her back as he leaned forward, his attention on the auctioneer. But MJ could still feel him—his presence, his gaze, the weight of him lingering like a shadow. She knew he was watching her, waiting for her to decide what her role would be tonight.

Would she make her move? Could she? She didn't know. The wine swirling in her glass offered no answers, only a false sense of courage that dulled her thoughts. She clung to it, draining the glass as soon as another was offered. The room seemed to tilt slightly, the opulent surroundings spinning in a haze of golden light and murmured voices.

All she could do was focus on the next glass, letting it distract her from the storm brewing inside. Because when the moment came—when everything they had set into motion finally collided—she wasn't sure she'd be ready to face it.

────

Two hours into the auction, MJ was well past tipsy. The wine, now flowing freely, had dulled her nerves to the point where she was starting to feel weightless—like she was floating in a haze of luxury and lies. Every sip seemed to take the edge off, making it easier to forget the mess of emotions churning inside her. She should have been paying attention, should have been watching Rafe, but instead, her focus kept slipping away, drawn to the next glass of wine, to the dizzying patterns of the chandelier overhead, to the way the crowd murmured in whispers.

It was easy to get lost in the noise, in the laughter, in the sparkling glasses clinking together like some kind of game where she wasn't sure if she was winning or losing. She kept stealing glances at Rafe, but somehow, in the chaos of it all, he'd slipped away from her. She didn't even notice when he left her side, so consumed by her spiralling thoughts and the buzz that clouded her mind.

And then, out of nowhere, a man appeared at her side. Tall, well-dressed, with a slick grin that practically screamed "I belong here." He was probably someone important, someone who could buy anything in this room without batting an eye. His eyes swept over her with a certain kind of interest—like she was a challenge, a puzzle he wanted to solve. And maybe, just maybe, he thought she'd be easy.

"Hello there," he said, his voice smooth like velvet, but with a hint of something sharper beneath the surface. He had the look of someone who was used to getting what he wanted. "You look like you're enjoying yourself."

MJ blinked, swaying a little on her feet, trying to steady herself, but the alcohol made her feel weightless and unmoored. "I guess I am," she replied, her words coming out a little slurred, but it didn't seem to deter him.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he reached out, brushing a hand near her waist as though already claiming her. He was tall, and well-groomed, a stark contrast to the rough-and-tumble life she was used to, and it made her want to laugh. "You're far too stunning to be alone in a place like this."

The compliment felt like a cheap trick, but MJ was drunk enough not to care. The wine was swirling in her head, blurring everything around her, and she could almost convince herself that the night wasn't a complete disaster. Almost.

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand lightly grazing her arm. The touch was possessive, too much for someone she didn't even know. It was the kind of thing that made her skin crawl, but she didn't know how to push him away without making a scene.

"Come on, beautiful. Don't be shy," the man said, his grin widening as if he'd already won her over. He leaned in just a bit too close, and MJ felt the urge to pull back, but the alcohol fogging her brain made her hesitate.

MJ's grip on her wine glass tightened as the blonde woman approached, every step measured with arrogance as if the world revolved around her. The cool, calculated gaze sweeping over MJ like she was a bug to be squashed only fueled the fire inside her.

She wasn't some charity case. She wasn't a pet or someone's afterthought. And definitely not some bitch's punching bag. But she could feel the other woman's eyes digging into her, a sense of entitlement that made MJ's blood boil. She wasn't going to stand here and take it.

The woman stopped just in front of her, eyes narrowed with that unmistakable condescension. "Well, well," she purred, her voice dripping with disdain. "Didn't expect you to show up, sweetheart."

MJ's lips curled into a cold, tight smile. "Funny, I wasn't sure if you were still relevant enough to be here," she shot back, leaning in slightly, her voice dripping with venom.

The woman's eyes flickered, the first sign of surprise at MJ's audacity, but she quickly masked it with a scoff. "You're out of your league," she said, her eyes scanning MJ's clothes like she was judging the very worth of her existence. "You don't belong here."

MJ's heart pounded, and she stepped closer, her voice low and lethal. "I'm not here to belong to anyone," she spat, her eyes flashing with a dangerous edge. "I'm here because I'm fucking here, and I don't need your approval."

The woman smirked, her gaze icy, but MJ could see the flicker of insecurity behind her arrogance. "Rafe's just keeping you around for fun," she said, a nasty edge to her voice. "You're not his type. He's been with women like me before. You're just a distraction."

MJ's lips parted in a slow, malicious grin. "Rafe doesn't need anyone like you," she hissed, each word punctuated with venom. "And I'm not some toy he plays with. You? You're the fucking distraction. You always were."

The woman took a step forward, trying to tower over MJ, but MJ didn't flinch. She stood her ground, eyes narrowing as her blood boiled. "You really think you're special, don't you?" the woman sneered. "He'll get bored of you. It's only a matter of time."

MJ laughed, the sound sharp and cutting. "You're delusional," she sneered. "You were boring before he even met me, and you'll be boring long after. You're nothing more than a footnote in his past. So keep playing at the queen of this pathetic little world, but you'll never matter."

The woman's face twisted with rage. "Don't think he won't toss you aside when he's done with you," she hissed. "You're just another plaything."

That was the final straw. MJ's fist shot out, her hand grabbing the woman by the wrist, twisting her arm back with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." MJ's voice was pure ice as she dragged the woman closer, eyes locked on her with murderous intent.

The blonde woman froze, her smirk faltering, eyes wide with panic. Before she could retaliate, Rafe's presence loomed like a storm cloud. His voice, low and dangerous, cut through the tension. "That's enough."

MJ barely had time to register his movement before he was behind her, his hands clamping down on her arms, pulling her away with brutal force. His grip was possessive as if he was staking his claim in a way that sent a rush of heat through her veins. She wanted to fight it. She needed to fight it. But there was something about the way he held her, the dominance in his touch, that made everything else fade into the background.

"Rafe!" MJ snapped, her voice thick with frustration, trying to wriggle free from his grip. She didn't want to be controlled, not like this. But it felt... different. Like he wasn't letting go of her, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

Rafe's voice was like gravel, deep and commanding. "You've done speaking now," he said to the blonde, his eyes flashing with a fierce possessiveness that made MJ's pulse race.

He swung MJ over his shoulder with ease, his hand gripping her thigh possessively as she hung there, cursing under her breath, her mind spinning in a mixture of fury and unexpected excitement.

"You know," Rafe muttered with a grin that didn't quite meet his eyes, "I'm getting tired of watching you play nice." His tone was rough, and possessive, and MJ couldn't help but feel a pulse of heat between her legs at the way he handled her.

"Rafe," she hissed, trying to stay defiant despite the situation, but there was no mistaking the edge in his voice as he spoke again, this time low and threatening.

"Don't challenge me again." His grip tightened as he shifted her weight, his body pressing against hers as he maneuvered through the crowd, effortlessly parting them with an almost violent energy.

MJ couldn't decide whether she wanted to punch him or kiss him. Or maybe both. But as he moved through the crowd, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was exactly what he wanted—control, dominance, and a firm reminder of who really called the shots. And in that moment, it wasn't the blonde bitch who had a hold on him—it was her.

"Next time," Rafe muttered darkly, "I'll make sure you don't have the chance to run your mouth so much."

MJ's heart raced. "Oh, trust me," she whispered back, her tone full of wicked satisfaction, "you won't regret it."

Rafe's chuckle was dark, an unmistakable warning, but it did nothing to quell the dangerous thrill she felt as he dragged her further into his world.

"Let's get you out of here, Rosemary," Rafe's voice was low, a predatory grin tugging at the corners of his lips. There was something dark in his eyes, a spark that made her heart race in a way she couldn't quite put a name to. It wasn't just amusement—it was possessive, dangerous. He was enjoying this, enjoying having her right where he wanted her, and that thought stirred something in her chest she wasn't prepared to deal with.

MJ let out a mock whine, more dramatic than necessary, as he carried her through the crowd. She could hear the whispers and mutterings, could feel the eyes on them, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that she was finally escaping—that woman, the judgment, the feeling of being caged.

She wasn't going to let herself feel small again. Not now. Not when Rafe was the one in control.

As they neared the exit, MJ spotted the blonde standing near the door, still glaring at her with that same smug superiority. Without a second thought, she lifted her leg and, with as much force as she could muster, flung her heel at the woman.

The stiletto flew through the air with startling accuracy, and the blonde yelped as it landed inches from her foot, the sound of the heel's sharp impact cutting through the tension. MJ's laughter bubbled up, sharp and unrestrained, while Rafe kept walking like nothing had happened, as if he didn't give a damn who saw it.

"You're fucking insane," Rafe said through his laughter, his grip on her never faltering as he continued to carry her effortlessly.

MJ didn't even flinch, her voice dripping with a kind of mischief she hadn't let out in a while. "I just gave her a little something to think about. Maybe next time she'll keep her fucking mouth shut."

Rafe grinned at that, the flicker of approval in his eyes unmistakable. "Yeah, well, let's see how long it takes for her to stop thinking about it when I get you the hell out of here."

Rafe's confidence was as solid as ever. He made it outside to the car, where the valet was already waiting, with no sign of hesitation in his stride. He set her down carefully, but MJ wobbled on her feet, considering she was missing a heel, the alcohol still clouding her senses. She caught herself against him, her breath hitching slightly as his hand settled on her waist, steadying her in the most possessive way possible.

He didn't seem to care, his gaze sharp but softening ever so slightly as he glanced down at her, the faintest flicker of concern in his expression. "You good to go, Rosemary?" His voice was softer now, but the undertone of authority didn't escape her.

MJ smirked up at him, brushing off the momentary wobble. "I'm just fine, Rafe. Don't worry about it. I'm actually having a hell of a time."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his amusement was more evident now. He didn't push the matter further but slid into the driver's seat, and the engine roared to life as he pulled out. MJ leaned her head against the cool window, the wind tousling her hair as the night air filled her lungs, easing the tension in her chest.

For the first time in a while, she felt free. She didn't have to deal with that bitch or the prying eyes, didn't have to deal with anything but the sound of Rafe's voice and the hum of the engine beneath her. It felt good—no, better than good.

She glanced over at him, her voice quieter, her tone almost softer now. "Thanks for getting me out of there. I needed that."

Rafe turned his head toward her, his gaze flickering with a mix of amusement and something else she couldn't quite decipher. "No problem," he said, his voice laced with something that made her pulse quicken. "I've got your back, Rosemary. Always."

MJ swallowed hard, the weight of his words not lost on her. Something in her chest twisted at the way he said it—like a promise, like a warning. She wasn't sure what any of this was, but for the first time tonight, she felt like she could breathe like she was in control of something—even if it was just for this moment.

And Rafe? Well, she wasn't sure if he was a part of the problem or the solution. But either way, he wasn't letting go. And neither was she.