Kane left Isabella standing on the sidewalk long after the black SUV disappeared into traffic.
The city moved around her horns blaring, heels clicking, laughter spilling from a nearby bar but she felt detached from it all, as if the world had tilted and she'd been left behind. Her fingers were numb. Her chest hurt in a way she didn't recognize.
She had never met a man like Victor Kane.
Danger, to Isabella Sinclair, had always been distant. Sanitized. Something her father discussed behind closed doors while security tightened quietly around her life. Threats were handled before they reached her. Violence existed in news reports and whispered conversations, never face-to-face.
Kane had looked at her like she was a chess piece already in play.
She swallowed hard and reached for her phone.
She didn't hesitate,she called Rafe.
He answered on the second ring. "Bella?"
"We need to talk," she said, breathless. "Tonight.
There was a pause just a fraction of a second but she heard the shift in him.
The street king alert.
The protector awake.
"I'm on my way," he said.
The sound reached her before the sight.
A low, rumbling growl cut through the quiet of her street just past midnight.
Isabella peered through the tall windows of her father's mansion, heart leaping when she saw the motorcycle roll to a stop beneath the streetlamp.
Rafe swung off it with easy confidence, killing the engine.
He was dressed in all black , black boots, black ripped jeans, black shirt paired with a black leather jacket like the night itself had shaped him.
Midnight-dark hair fell messily over his forehead giving him a sexy look, earrings catching faint light. Tattoos peeked from beneath his sleeves, inked stories she didn't yet know.
He looked devastatingly handsome, how can a man posses such beauty.
Her anger sharp and righteous just minutes ago evaporated instantly, leaving her breathless and unsteady.
Her heart betrayed her, racing like she'd just been caught doing something forbidden.
She grabbed a coat and slipped out through the side door, careful to avoid the cameras. The gate creaked softly as she stepped onto the sidewalk.
Rafe lifted his head.
Caught her staring.
One eyebrow arched slowly, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth. "You gonna keep undressing me with your eyes, princess, or you gonna say hi?"
Heat rushed to her cheeks. "You're unbelievable."
He stepped closer, eyes flicking deliberately from her face to her lips. "You're drooling."
She shoved his shoulder. "Shut up."
He laughed softly, the sound easing something tight in her chest. For a moment, she just stood there, breathing him in leather, rain, something unmistakably him.
Then the fear surged back.
Her voice shook as she told him everything.
The SUV. The way Kane had said her name. The scar at the corner of his mouth. The calm certainty in his voice when he'd mentioned Rafe.
With every word, Rafe's expression darkened. His shoulders squared, jaw tightening until a muscle jumped beneath his skin.
"He talked to you," Rafe said quietly.
"Yes," she replied. "And I don't ever want that to happen again."
She stepped closer, gripping the front of his jacket, forcing him to look at her. "I don't want to be part of your street wars or power games. I grew up protected, Rafe. I don't know how to survive men like him."
His gaze softened at her fear, but something feral flickered beneath it.
"You shouldn't have been anywhere near him," he said.
"I know," she snapped. "That's why I'm telling you—keep me out of it."
Rain began to fall then. Soft at first. A whisper against the pavement.
Rafe lifted a hand, brushing her hair back gently, knuckles grazing her cheek. "I tried," he murmured. "But Kane doesn't respect boundaries."
The rain picked up, soaking his jacket, darkening his hair until water dripped down his temples. Isabella glanced at the sky, then back at him.
"You're getting drenched," she said.
"So?" he replied, eyes never leaving hers.
She hesitated—thinking of consequences, cameras, her father, Lena, everything she was risking.
"Come inside, rain doesn't feel like it's stopping anytime soon" she said softly. "Please."
She led him through the backdoor to avoid cameras,or any of her father's men then to her room.
Her room felt different with him in it.
Rafe noticed the quiet first,
Not the empty kind this was a controlled quiet, with the kind money bought to keep the world at a distance. Her room was all soft light and pale colors, champagne walls glowing beneath a crystal chandelier that felt too fragile for the things he carried inside him. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, sheer curtains shifting gently with the storm outside, like the room itself was breathing.
Everything was beautiful with class.
The bed was perfectly made, silk sheets smooth and untouched, like no one had ever been allowed to truly live there. Designer heels and bags lined neatly beside at a corner of the room, polished and pristine, his gaze caught on the scuffed ballet flats tucked slightly out of place. Worn. Loved. Real.
That's when he understood.
This room wasn't who she was. It was who she'd been shaped into.
Then he saw the cracks, a leather notebook half-hidden beneath glossy fashion books. A photograph turned face-down on the desk, as if even memories weren't safe here. The faint scent of jasmine mixed with rain and something warmer her and suddenly the room felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cage lined in silk.
Rafe stood near the door as his eyes sharp taking in every detail, rain dripping onto the floor, leather jacket heavy with water. Isabella grabbed a towel and stepped closer, hands shaking as she pressed it to his shoulders.
"You're soaked," she whispered.
"Worth it," he replied.
Her fingers brushed his neck accidentally. Electricity shot through her, sharp and undeniable. She pulled back, breath unsteady.
"You shouldn't be here," she said.
"Then tell me to leave," he challenged.
She didn't.
Thunder rolled outside as rain streaked down her windows.
The city felt far away, muted, like they were suspended in a moment that didn't belong to anyone else.
"I was scared," she admitted quietly. "I've never been scared like that before."
Rafe's hands hovered at her waist, hesitant. "I won't let anyone touch you."
"You can't promise that," she said.
"I can promise I'll die trying," he replied.
Her heart skipped.
She looked up at him—really looked at him and saw not just the street king or the bad boy everyone whispered about, but a boy who had grown up fighting for every inch of ground beneath his feet.
She stepped closer.
Too close.
Their breaths mingled.
"This is a mistake," she whispered.
"Yeah," he said. "But you invited me in."
Rain hammered harder against the glass.
She reached up, fingers sliding into his wet hair, pulling him down just enough, their lips meet.
The kiss wasn't gentle.
It was desperate.
Rafe froze for half a second—then kissed her back like he'd been waiting for permission his whole life.
His hands held her waist, firm but reverent, like he was afraid she'd disappear if he held too tight.
Her anger dissolved completely.
So did her restraint.
She kissed him hard, deeper, slow learning the shape of his mouth, the heat of him, feeling him. He groaned softly against her lips, forehead resting against hers when they finally broke apart.
"Bella," he murmured. "If we do this… there's no pretending after."
She swallowed. "I'm done pretending."
As if those were the words he's been wanting to hear, his control broke as he crushed his lips to hers more passionately his tongue slipping into her warm mouth, licking and sucking her tongue, like he was savouring her delicious lips, then move to her jaw going down her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
She tugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor, fingers tracing the tattoos along his arms like she was memorizing them.
Thunder cracked.
Rafe lifted her gently, setting her on the edge of the bed, eyes dark and hungry but still asking permission.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
She pulled him closer instead.
The rain kept falling.
And for the first time, Isabella didn't care who saw the storm coming.