FOUR / TURISTA.

❛ te fuiste sin saber el porqué, el porqué
de mis herida' y no te tocaba a ti curarla' ❜

𓇼

𝕴t began with the low hum of bass rattling through the house, seeping through walls and floors like an intrusive whisper, promising chaos. The air carried the faint, heady scent of perfume-too many kinds mingling together into something both sharp and cloying. Fairy lights, lazily strung across windows and doorframes, cast the room in hues of gold and amber, flickering like they held their own nervous energy. The faint metallic clink of jewelry and makeup brushes scraping against palettes cut through the muffled laughter and music.

The room itself was chaos masked as preparation. Dresses were strewn across the bed like discarded promises: glittering fabrics shimmering under the soft light, some still on their hangers, some lying in careless piles. Shoes sat abandoned in corners, one heel upright, another toppled on its side. A curling iron hissed faintly on the vanity, a thin wisp of smoke curling into the air like an afterthought.

The vanity mirror flickered with the soft golden glow of string lights draped haphazardly around its edges, casting delicate shadows on the walls. Sarah's playlist hummed in the background, some pop song about heartbreak and late nights, its bassline thrumming low enough to vibrate through the floorboards. The evening was slipping into that slow, lazy hour where anticipation began to build like static, charging the air with the kind of energy that made it feel like anything could happen.

Isla stood in front of the mirror, her fingers deftly working to clasp the delicate gold chain around her neck. Her reflection stared back at her, almost too composed, almost too still, as if she were avoiding herself. Her hair was loosely pinned, soft strands escaping to frame her face, catching the dim light like something luminous. She looked put together-effortlessly so, in a way that had taken far longer than she'd admit. But her eyes-those betrayed her.

Her lips were pursed, glossed. Her brow was faintly furrowed, her gaze distant, unfocused. She had her phone balanced delicately in her hand, the screen dark, though her thumb ghosted over the edge of it in absent circles.

Her mind was elsewhere, far from the chatter of Sarah moving around the room, far from the muffled laughter of the Cameron drifting up the stairs from downstairs. It wasn't the party on her mind. It wasn't the dress. It was Rafe.

The thought of him was a slow burn, like the edge of a flame licking against her chest, not enough to consume her but enough to leave her restless. The way he'd kissed her, his hands gripping her hips, firm but desperate, as if she might disappear if he let go. The way his lips had pressed against her neck, stealing her breath, the tension between them sharp and hungry, pulling them together again and again like the snap of a rubber band. It had been like that for weeks now-a series of stolen moments and whispered promises that neither of them ever really planned to keep. It was a dangerous game, one she didn't know how to stop playing.

She thought of his voice, low, rough and tinged with something vulnerable as he'd murmured her name against her ear. The memory of his touch still lingered, phantom-like and maddening. It was always like this-intense and fleeting, a secret she couldn't scrub from her skin no matter how hard she tried. There had been kisses, stolen and hurried, fevered and greedy, as though they were both starving and knew this was all they'd get. And then the nights. The stolen hours that burned in her chest long after they ended, the way he pressed her into sheets or walls, the way his weight pinned her to reality even as it felt like they might come undone together. And the way his eyes had locked on hers in those moments after, as if searching for something she couldn't give him. Or maybe she just wouldn't.

"Are you even listening to me?" Sarah's voice cut through the haze, sharp but laced with a hint of amusement. Isla blinked, her focus snapping back to the present.

Sarah stood back to her, barefoot but already halfway dressed, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and concern. She tilted her head slightly, studying Isla in that way only Sarah could-like she already knew too much and was deciding how much to say.

"What?" she asked, her voice softer than she meant it to be. She glanced at Sarah through the mirror, catching her best friend knowing expression.

"You're distracted," Sarah said, folding her arms as she leaned against the wall. She looked at Isla like she already knew the answer, like she was just waiting for her to admit it.

"I'm not," Isla replied too quickly, her voice low but steady. She shifted, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her thighs as though it might give her something to do.

Sarah's brows arched, a silent challenge. She took a step closer, folding her arms. Her gaze swept over Isla once more, lingering on the phone in her hand before returning to her face.

"You're not exactly convincing," Sarah said lightly. There was no edge to her tone, but her words landed like they were meant to. "Let me guess-Rafe?"

The name hung in the air between them like a spark about to catch. Isla's lips parted, but she said nothing, her throat dry.

"I saw you sneaking out last night," Sarah continued, her voice quieter now but sharper, laced with something between curiosity and accusation. "And don't pretend you haven't been texting him. He was glued to his phone all this week."

Isla exhaled slowly, tilting her head back slightly until her gaze found the ceiling. She pressed her lips together, her thumb brushing over the corner of her phone again, though the screen remained dark. "You're imagining things," she said, but her voice lacked conviction, and she could see Sarah raising an eyebrow in the reflection.

"Am I?" Sarah asked, her tone teasing but not unkind. She stepped closer, her arms unfolding as she leaned against the edge of the vanity. "You've been like this all night-lost in your own head. I don't even have to try that hard to put two and two together."

Isla swallowed, her throat dry, and finally met Sarah's gaze in the mirror. "It's nothing," she said quietly, but the words felt hollow, even to her.

But here's a truth: Isla had never thought she'd get tangled in something like this. Not with him. Not in the messy, chaotic way it had turned out to be. She wasn't the type to lean into the storm, to let herself get caught in the undertow of someone else's chaos.

And here's another truth: Rafe Cameron had a way of slipping into her thoughts like water seeping into cracked pavement. Slow at first, but then suddenly everywhere, unavoidable, breaking apart the things she had thought were solid.

Sarah's voice had broken the quiet like a pebble shattering glass. "And I mean, he's my brother, but come on, Isla. You know what he's like." Her tone had been light, amused, but there had been something sharper beneath it. Like disbelief, wrapped in something faintly protective.

Isla hadn't looked up. She'd focused on the mascara wand, spinning it slowly, methodically, like it was the most important thing in the world. "He's not that bad, Sarah," she'd said, her voice calm but faintly defensive. The kind of calm that cracked if you looked too closely. "You just don't see him the way I do."

Sarah had snorted, leaning against the vanity with her arms crossed. In the mirror, her reflection had been sharper than Isla had remembered-more curious, more determined. "Oh, I see him," she'd said. "He's stubborn, controlling, impossible. If you're not careful, he'll drag you into his chaos and then blame you when it all falls apart."

The words had hung in the air between them, heavy and cutting, and Isla had felt the weight of them settle in her chest. She had blinked at her reflection but hadn't met Sarah's eyes. Instead, she'd focused on the faint smudge of eyeliner beneath her left eye, fixing it with her pinky finger.

"It's not like that," she had murmured, but even she had heard the hesitation in her voice. But Sarah's reflection had held her ground, unmoving, her arms still crossed as she tilted her head slightly. "You're smarter than this," she'd said, softer now, but no less firm.

Isla had exhaled, long and slow, pressing her lips together as her mind had replayed moments she hadn't been able to stop thinking about. The way Rafe's laugh sounded-low, rough, addictive. The way his smirk softened when he thought no one else was looking. The way he'd kissed her that night, like he'd wanted to take and give in equal measure. Like he'd been fighting himself the whole time.

She had wanted to tell Sarah that it wasn't that simple, that Rafe wasn't just stubborn or impossible or reckless. But the words had stuck in her throat, tangled in the web of memories and emotions she couldn't quite untangle herself.

So she had met Sarah's as they stepped into the hallway and had said the only thing she could manage. "Maybe I'm not as smart as you think."

The house was quiet, the only sounds coming from the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant chatter of the TV in the living room. Sarah glanced over at Isla, her lips curving into a soft, almost teasing smile.

"But if i'm okay if it makes you happy," she said with a shrug, the words light but carrying an unspoken weight, one that reflected both her hesitation and her willingness to go along with whatever came next. Isla gave her a small, appreciative nod, her lips twitching into a smile, though it was a little unsure. It wasn't the easiest thing to trust the moment-especially with everything else swirling in the background-but there was comfort in Sarah's words, in the simple truth of them.

They both made their way toward the living room, where Sarah's parents sat on the couch. Ward, Sarah's father, was sprawled out, his long legs stretched in front of him, one arm casually resting on the back of the couch. His usual relaxed demeanor was softened by the fact that Sarah was still his little girl, even if she didn't always want to admit it. Sarah noticed how his eyes brightened the moment he saw her-just a flicker, but unmistakable. She didn't always get this from him, but when she did, it felt like coming home.

"Hey, you two heading out?" Ward's voice was warm, not intrusive but concerned, as he leaned forward a little to make sure he had Sarah's attention. He had an innate way of making her feel seen, heard-even when the world around her was noisy and chaotic.

"Yeah, just for a bit," Sarah replied casually, her eyes softening as she met his gaze. It was natural, comfortable, like a well-worn routine they had perfected over the years. She wasn't sure where the night would lead, but she knew she couldn't tell him that. Ward didn't need to know every detail to understand she was okay, and Sarah wasn't going anywhere that would jeopardize that.

Ward raised an eyebrow but didn't press. He was the type to give her the space she needed, but also to make sure she felt supported. He leaned back into the couch with a slight smile. "Have fun," he said, his tone playful but still serious enough that Sarah knew he meant it. He trusted her-always had, even when she was reckless, even when she didn't always make the safest choices.

"Thanks, Dad. See you later." She gave him a wave, and though she was trying to make it sound nonchalant, her smile betrayed her.

Rose, who had been sitting next to Ward, lifted her eyes from the magazine she'd been leafing through and gave Sarah a soft, absent smile. Her voice barely above a murmur. "Be safe," she said, and though her tone was distant, Sarah appreciated the simplicity of it. It was enough.

Isla, who had been silent until now, gave a polite nod to Ward and Rose. She had her own way of navigating Sarah's family-more reserved, more distant-but it was obvious Sarah felt comfortable with her here. Isla was a part of the world that Sarah had built for herself, and in this moment, Isla's presence next to her felt like home.

The door swung open, and the cool evening air greeted them as they stepped outside. The neighborhood was quiet, just the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant sound of a dog barking in the distance. Isla drew in a deep breath, her chest expanding as she soaked in the calm that came with the night.

"Let's go," She said, her voice light as she pulled open the passenger door. Sarah followed her movements with an easy grace, the briefest flash of hesitation in her eyes before she climbed into the driver's seat.

The car hummed in the quiet night, Sarah's fingers drumming against the steering wheel in an absent rhythm. Isla's gaze fixed on the blurred lights of the city streets outside. The streets were empty now, save for the occasional flicker of streetlights and the distant rush of traffic, yet the tension inside the car felt like it had weight-dense and pressing. The air between them seemed thick, charged with all the words they hadn't said.

Isla leaned her head against the window, feeling the coolness of the glass seep into her skin. She tried to ignore the bitter taste that rose in her throat, but it was hard. Too hard. She had never been good at hiding things from Sarah, never been able to keep the wall between them as high as she needed it to be. Sarah saw too much. Knew too much. Always had. She could tell when Isla was lying, even if it was just about something small.

"Sarah," Isla started, her voice lower now, quieter, "I don't need you to understand. I just... I just need you to stay by my side."

The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, as Sarah's fingers stilled on the wheel. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, the only sound the soft hum of the engine and the occasional bump of the road beneath the tires.

The party loomed in the distance, a pulsating light at the end of the street, music spilling into the night air like a siren song. Sarah's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching Isla's reflection, and for a split second, something soft passed through her gaze-something that made the sharpness of her earlier words dissolve.

"You know," Sarah said, her voice softening, "i'm always by your side."

Isla wasn't sure why, but hearing those words felt like a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. And for a moment, Isla thought maybe things would be okay. But then, the lights of the party grew brighter, louder, and Isla's heart rate picked up, her pulse racing in time with the bass of the music that thudded in her chest.

Sarah pulled into the driveway with a slight jerk, the tires skidding just enough to let Isla know they were here. The house loomed ahead, windows alight with laughter, the sharp scent of alcohol and sweat already wafting out into the air. The noise inside was muffled but distinct, like a living thing vibrating against the walls.

"Here we are," Sarah muttered, her tone returning to that almost indifferent quality she wore so well.

Isla unbuckled her seatbelt, feeling the weight of it slip away from her chest. She didn't know what to expect inside, didn't know what she was walking into, but she felt a strange sense of inevitability. Like something had already been set in motion, and no matter how much she tried to stop it, she couldn't change what was coming.

With a deep breath, she stepped out of the car, her legs feeling shaky beneath her. She tried to steady herself, but the nerves were already there, crawling beneath her skin, making her heart pound in her ears.

Sarah got out behind her, slamming the door with a little more force than necessary. "Don't do anything stupid," she warned, her voice low but firm.

Isla glanced back, offering a small, almost wry smile. "I never do."

But even as the words left her mouth, Isla knew it was a lie.

They walked into the mansion. It was alive, a sprawling testament to excess that glowed under a canopy of string lights. Laughter and music tangled in the crisp night air, the beat of bass-heavy songs pulsing through the lush backyard. Glasses clinked, sparkling with champagne and expensive cocktails, while fire pits crackled in corners, their amber light dancing across the faces of tightly packed groups. The pool shimmered like liquid silk, its surface rippling with the occasional disturbance of careless hands trailing through or an errant splash. Everywhere, Kooks lounged in clusters-on plush outdoor furniture, at the bar, or perched precariously on the pool's edge-effortlessly beautiful and effortlessly drunk.

Isla stepped through the open doors, her shoes clicking faintly against the stone patio, though the sound was swallowed immediately by the energy of the party. Sarah was at her side, her arm looped casually through Isla's. Their arrival drew attention almost immediately-subtle glances, nods of recognition, and a few warm greetings from familiar faces. The Kooks were good at this game, welcoming their own with open arms while silently weighing their worth.

Isla's expression remained unreadable, her lips curved in a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her gaze, sharp and deliberate, moved over the crowd, searching. Her heart beat a little faster, though she'd never admit it, not even to herself. There was no reason for it, really-just habit, she told herself. Just curiosity.

And then, she found him.

Rafe was at the outdoor bar, leaning casually against the polished surface like it was built specifically for him. He was laughing at something Topper had said, his head tilted back just slightly, the sound rich and unrestrained. His shirt, a crisp button-up, was worn with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the tanned, muscular forearms he always seemed to flaunt without effort. His hair, styled just enough to appear effortless, caught the light every time he shifted. There was something magnetic about the way he stood, a quiet confidence that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

Isla's breath hitched, a reaction so subtle it would've gone unnoticed by anyone else. Her stomach tightened, that familiar mix of irritation and something she refused to name stirring within her. She hated how easily he commanded attention, how the smallest movement of his could shift the entire atmosphere. And she hated even more that her own gaze lingered on him longer than she intended.

Rafe's laughter faded as if on cue, and his head turned toward her. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second, the party seemed to blur and fade at the edges. The warmth in his expression shifted-gone was the boyish amusement he'd just shared with his friends. His smile softened into something quieter, something meant only for her. It wasn't a smirk, not quite, but there was a glint in his eye that made it feel like one. Like he knew exactly how her chest felt a little too tight right now, and he liked it.

Kelce, standing beside him, noticed the shift immediately. He nudged Rafe with his elbow, muttering something that earned him a distracted shrug. Rafe didn't look away from Isla, though. His gaze stayed locked on her, steady and unwavering, as if daring her to react.

Isla's throat felt dry. She dropped Sarah's arm and smoothed the front of her dress, an idle gesture that betrayed her nerves. It was infuriating, the way he looked at her-as though the crowd, the noise, the entire party didn't exist. As though it was just the two of them, trapped in a silent conversation no one else could hear.

Rafe's smirk twisted into something sharper, almost predatory. The kind of expression that made it impossible to tell if it was amusement or something deeper that curved at the edges of his lips. But whatever it was, it made her stomach flip. He leaned closer to Topper, muttering something low and offhanded that earned him a bark of laughter. Then, without waiting for acknowledgment, he straightened, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way toward her.

Isla felt her pulse quicken-not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for her to feel it drumming in her ears. She didn't let it show. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, she kept her gaze steady, refusing to look away even as he closed the distance between them. Each step was measured, confident, like he had all the time in the world to reach her. He knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time he was in front of her, the party around them might as well have been a distant hum. Rafe wasn't one for subtlety, not when it came to her. He let his hand drift to the small of her back, his fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of her dress. The warmth of his touch bled through, grounding and electric all at once. He leaned in just enough that his breath skimmed her ear, carrying the faint scent of whiskey.

"Took you long enough to find me," he said, his voice low, teasing. It wasn't a question. It was a statement, laced with that signature Rafe Cameron arrogance.

Isla tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. She didn't step back, didn't give him the satisfaction of space. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, letting her tone match his. "You're kind of hard to spot."

His gaze flickered down to her lips, then back to her eyes, the movement so quick she almost missed it. Almost. He leaned back slightly, but his hand stayed where it was, his fingers now brushing against the seam of her dress in a way that felt too casual to be unintentional.

"You look good tonight," he said, his voice quieter now, as if it were meant just for her. His eyes softened, just barely, and for a moment, the chaos of the party seemed muted, like they were the only two people standing there.

Before Isla could respond, Sarah groaned loudly, cutting through the moment with brutal precision. "You are disgusting," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at her brother like he was an inconvenience she couldn't shake off.

Rafe grinned, unbothered. In fact, he stepped closer, the space between him and Isla now nonexistent. "What?" he asked, his tone light but laced with mockery. "Can't I tell her the truth?"

The interruption didn't last long. Topper and Kelce, who had been lingering nearby, caught sight of the interaction and seized their moment. Topper was the first to break, nudging Kelce with his elbow and letting out a dramatic laugh. "Look at you two," he said, his voice carrying just enough to draw attention from anyone close by. "Should we clear the patio? Give you some privacy?"

Kelce, never one to miss an opportunity, chimed in almost immediately. "Nah," he said, smirking. "They'd probably use the pool anyway."

Rafe turned his head, glancing at them over his shoulder with the kind of look that promised retribution later. But he didn't pull away from Isla, not even an inch. "Don't you two have something better to do?" he asked, his tone sharp but not without amusement.

Topper held up his hands, feigning innocence. "Why wouldn't we stick around? It's not every day we get to see you acting like a lovesick puppy."

Rafe let out a sharp bark of laughter, but there was an edge to it, a warning that neither of them seemed particularly inclined to heed. "Right. Because you two are experts on relationships." He raised a brow, his expression daring them to push him further. "Remind me again, how's that going for you?"

Kelce opened his mouth to respond, but Rafe didn't give him the chance. He turned his attention back to Isla, his hand still resting on her waist. If anything, his grip tightened slightly, the pressure possessive but not uncomfortable. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her ear as he muttered, "They'll get bored eventually."

Isla tried to suppress a smile, her cheeks warming at the proximity. "Are you sure about that?" she murmured back, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "They seem pretty committed."

Rafe straightened, turning just enough to shoot them a look-one that said he was already plotting how to make them regret this later. But he didn't bother responding this time. Instead, he turned his attention back to Isla, his hand finding its way to hers. The touch was casual enough, a light brush of fingers. Still, it lingered, sending sparks of awareness through her skin.

He smirked, catching the way her breath hitched, though she tried to hide it. His thumb grazed her knuckles, and for a split second, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them.

"Come on," he murmured, tilting his head toward the pool's edge. His voice was softer now, almost coaxing. "Let's get out of here for a minute."

Isla didn't argue. She let him guide her away from the group, his hand slipping from her waist to her lower back, steering her through the crowded patio with an ease that felt natural. She could feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of her dress, and it sent a shiver up her spine despite the warm evening air.

As they moved further from the crowd, Rafe kept finding excuses to touch her. The chemistry between them crackled, alive and undeniable. Isla could feel it in the way her skin buzzed whenever he got too close, in the way her heartbeat seemed to stutter whenever his smirk softened into something quieter, more intimate.

By the time they reached the quieter corner near the back of the house, the music and laughter from the party felt like a distant hum. Rafe stopped, turning to face her fully, his hand slipping to her hip in one smooth motion. His touch was firm but not demanding, his fingers splayed lightly against her side as he pulled her just a little closer.

The backyard was steeped in shadows, lit only by the faint glow of a single bulb above the door, casting a dim halo of light onto the patio. The air was cooler here, crisp against Isla's flushed skin. The faint hum of music and muffled laughter from the party inside felt miles away, as though this small corner of the world existed solely for the two of them. The wall was cool against her back, grounding her, but it did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside her. Her pulse thundered in her ears, every nerve in her body on edge, her focus locked on the man standing just a breath away.

Rafe's gaze pinned her in place, those piercing blue eyes burning with an intensity that made her stomach twist. The faint moonlight danced on his features, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. His face was unreadable at first, but there was a flicker of something-something dark and raw-that made the space between them feel impossibly small. His chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate rhythm, but his fingers, resting at his sides, flexed slightly as if he was holding himself back.

She couldn't meet his eyes right away. The way his gaze tracked her, never leaving her for even a second, made her feel like he knew her better than anyone ever had.
The silent pressure of that look-the way his lips barely parted in that cocky, almost knowing grin-made her pulse flutter against her throat. Isla exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, her fingers curling at her sides like she was holding herself together, trying to keep from breaking apart at the seams. She wasn't sure why she felt like this around him. It wasn't the first time they'd been close, but it was different this time. More intense. It felt like she was teetering on the edge of something, something dangerous and unpredictable, and yet, she couldn't seem to pull away.

Rafe shifted, his gaze never leaving her. His hand moved to the edge of the wooden railing, brushing against it absently. A small, seemingly insignificant gesture, but for some reason, it felt like a sign-a signal that the air between them was thickening, that the space between them was collapsing into something that neither of them could control. His jaw tensed, the muscles in his neck tightening ever so slightly as if he, too, could feel the tension winding tighter between them. His eyes, impossibly blue, bore into hers with an intensity that made her feel stripped bare, as if he could see every unspoken thought, every hidden feeling she hadn't dared admit even to herself.

His lips curved into a faint smirk, a dangerous, knowing edge to it, like he was well aware of the effect he had on her. "You keep looking at me like that," he murmured, his voice low, rough, like gravel underfoot. "What do you expect me to do?"

Isla opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Her throat felt dry, her mind a haze of emotions she couldn't untangle. She bit her bottom lip instead, her hands fluttering at her sides as if unsure what to do with themselves. She was all too aware of how close he was, the faint scent of his cologne filling her senses.

Rafe's gaze flicked to her lips, lingering there for a beat too long before returning to her eyes. He leaned in slightly, the movement so deliberate, so slow, that it made her stomach flip.

"Rafe," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hands lifted of their own accord, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, and she felt the tension in his body beneath her touch. He was holding himself back, she realized, his jaw tight, his eyes searching hers as though waiting for permission.
"Don't tell me you don't feel it too." he said, his voice rough, almost pleading. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, and the softness of the gesture was at odds with the fire burning in his gaze.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. Her silence was answer enough, and Rafe closed the remaining distance between them in a heartbeat. His lips found hers with a slow, almost tentative pressure, like he was testing the waters, waiting for her to pull away. But she didn't. She couldn't. Her hands moved instinctively, one sliding up to rest against his chest, the other tangling in the fabric of his shirt. She felt the heat of his skin through the thin material, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to explore her, to memorize the feel of her lips against his. His hand slid to her waist, his fingers curling around her hip with a grip that was both firm and gentle, like he was grounding himself in her. The other hand cupped her face, his fingers threading through her hair, tilting her head just so to deepen the angle of the kiss.

Isla felt like the ground had shifted beneath her, like the entire world had fallen away, leaving just the two of them in this moment. Her mind was a blur, every thought drowned out by the sensation of his lips moving against hers, the faint scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way his body pressed against hers, solid and warm and overwhelming.

"You don't know what you do to me," he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and unsteady. His hands tightened on her hips, pressing her back against the wall as though he needed her closer, needed to feel every inch of her. Her breath hitched, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed her again, deeper this time. His lips left hers briefly, trailing to the corner of her mouth and then to her jaw, his breath warm against her skin. "Rafe," she whispered again, though this time it wasn't a warning. It was a plea, her voice trembling.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. His eyes were darker now, the blue of them almost swallowed by the intensity of his gaze. "You drive me fucking crazy," he murmured, his voice rough, almost hoarse.

Her breath caught in her throat, her hands still fisted in his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her anchored. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, her phone buzzed loudly in her pocket, the sound jarring in the intimate silence between them.

Rafe groaned softly, the sound vibrating in his chest as he dropped his head against her shoulder. "Don't answer it," he muttered against her skin, his lips brushing against the sensitive curve of her neck. His voice was low, pleading, filled with a frustration that wasn't directed at her but at the intrusion. His hands tightened on her waist as though to emphasize the point.

At first, she listened. The phone buzzed again, insistent, but she didn't move. Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer, and Rafe groaned softly against her mouth, like he couldn't stand the distance between them even for a second. "Stay here," he whispered, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. "Just...stay."

But the phone wouldn't stop. Its relentless buzzing grew louder in her mind until it was impossible to ignore. Isla pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against Rafe's as she caught her breath. "I have to-" she began, but he cut her off with another kiss, one that left her dizzy. His lips trailed to her jaw, his breath warm against her skin.

Still, the phone buzzed. Isla exhaled shakily, her fingers lingering on his chest as she reluctantly pulled away. "Rafe, I have to check."

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face, but he stepped back just enough to let her reach into her pocket. The screen lit up with Sarah's name, and Isla hesitated for a moment before answering. Rafe's eyes flicked to the phone, his jaw tightening as he caught sight of the name. "Of course, Sarah," he muttered, his tone laced with annoyance. He leaned back slightly, giving her space, though his hand still lingered on her waist, his thumb brushing absent circles against her hip.

Isla hesitated, a flicker of guilt passing through her chest as she finally swiped to answer. She raised the phone to her ear, her voice soft but slightly breathless. "Sarah?"

"Where are you?" Sarah's voice came through the line, rushed and tinged with urgency. "I've been looking for you all over the house."

Isla frowned, her brows knitting together as she glanced back at Rafe, who was still watching her, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. "I'm outside," she said, her tone laced with confusion. "Why? What's going on?"

"You need to come inside," Sarah insisted, her voice low but firm, as though trying to keep something unspoken. "You have to come and see this."

"See what?" Isla pressed, the question hanging in the tense silence as she waited for an explanation.

"Just come inside," Sarah said quickly, and before Isla could say anything else, the line went dead. When she looked back at Rafe, his expression was guarded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. The intimacy of the moment had shifted, replaced by a quiet frustration that simmered beneath the surface. "You should go," he said, his voice calm but laced with something unspoken. His hand slid from her waist, and the loss of his touch felt like a physical ache.

Isla hesitated, her chest tightening as she stepped away from him. She wanted to say something, to explain, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she turned and walked toward the house, feeling the weight of his gaze on her back with every step.

Inside the house, the air felt heavier, thick with the mingling smells of alcohol and perfume, voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony that pressed against Isla's ears. She moved through the clusters of people, her gaze darting around for Sarah, but her thoughts remained tethered to the tension outside. Rafe's touch still lingered faintly on her skin, a ghost of warmth and pressure she couldn't quite shake, and her heart hadn't settled into its usual rhythm since she'd answered the phone.

The music grew louder as she passed through the main room, a steady thrum in her chest. She adjusted her hair absentmindedly, her fingers trembling slightly. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting Rafe to be there, but the hallway behind her was empty.
Turning a corner, she scanned the crowd again. Her pulse quickened when a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist, firm but not painful. Isla froze, her breath catching as she spun around.

"Oliver?" she blurted, her surprise morphing into confusion.

He stood before her in a crisp waiter's uniform, the black fabric perfectly pressed, though the stiffness of his posture and the intensity in his expression betrayed his calm façade. His dark eyes bore into hers, a storm of emotions swirling-anger, hurt, something she couldn't quite name.

"Come with me," he said sharply, not giving her a chance to protest as he tugged her into a quieter hallway away from the noise.

The hallway felt suffocating, a narrow stretch of wood-paneled walls dimly lit by the faint, golden light from the party spilling in from the adjacent room. It was quieter here, but the muffled bassline of the music seemed to echo in Isla's chest, mingling with the unsteady rhythm of her heartbeat. The scent of the night lingered faintly on her skin, mingling with traces of Oliver's cologne-clean and sharp, a scent that once felt familiar but now carried the weight of something unspoken between them.

She hadn't expected him. Not here, not now. Her thoughts spinning as she tried to make sense of everything. But all of that faded the moment Oliver's hand closed around her wrist. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough to make her pulse jump. His fingers were warm against her skin, a stark contrast to the chill that had crept into her as the night deepened. She turned quickly, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes met his.

Oliver stood there, his tall frame blocking the hallway, his dark hair slightly mussed like he'd been running his hand through it-a habit she remembered too well. His uniform was pristine, the crisp white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, but there was something unpolished about him tonight. His jaw was tight, the muscle feathering under his skin as he looked at her.

"Oliver," she said, her voice low, the sound barely audible over the faint hum of the party behind them. She tried to pull her wrist free, but he didn't let go immediately. His grip loosened just enough for her to step back, but his hand lingered, his fingers brushing against hers before falling away.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

His eyes narrowed slightly, dark and unreadable as they scanned her face. "I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice low but cutting. His words hung in the air, heavy with an edge that sent a shiver down her spine.

Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. "I'm looking for Sarah," she said simply, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears.

He let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound bitter and laced with disbelief. "Sarah," he repeated, as if the name itself was some kind of joke. He took a step closer, closing the already narrow space between them. "And who were you with before that? Because it sure as hell wasn't Sarah."

Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening as the weight of his words settled over her. She squared her shoulders, trying to steel herself against the intensity of his gaze. "That's none of your business," she said evenly, though her voice trembled just enough to betray her.

His jaw clenched, the sharp line of it catching the dim light. He shook his head slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line before he spoke. "Rafe Cameron," he said, the name dripping with disdain. His eyes searched hers, as if daring her to deny it. "Really, Isla? That's who you're running around with now?"

Her stomach twisted, a mix of anger and something more complicated knotting inside her. She took a small step back, needing space to breathe, but he followed, his presence overwhelming in the narrow hallway.

"What I do isn't your concern, Oliver," she said, her voice firmer this time. She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture she knew he'd recognize.

He scoffed, the sound low and bitter as he ran a hand through his hair. "Isn't my concern?" he echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut. His eyes locked onto hers, the intensity in them making it impossible to look away. "You're parading around with him like you don't know who he is. Like you don't know what he has done."

Her chest tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "You don't know anything about it," she snapped, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"I know enough," he shot back, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening. When he turned back to her, his tone was quieter but no less biting. "I know what he is. And I know you're better than this."

The words hit her like a blow, the weight of them settling over her like a heavy blanket. She could feel the heat of her frustration building beneath her skin, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Her hands itched to do something-to gesture, to push him away, anything to release the knot of emotion tightening in her chest. But she stayed rooted in place, her feet frozen to the hardwood floor, as if moving might shatter the fragile tension holding them both together.

"You don't get to do this," she snapped suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like glass breaking. Her tone was sharp, but it trembled at the edges, betraying the storm of emotions swirling inside her. "You don't get to act like you care. You didn't care then, and you don't care now."

Her words hit him like a blow, and for a moment, she thought she saw him flinch, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself against the weight of her accusation. His face, so familiar and yet so distant, was a mask of conflicting emotions-anger, hurt, and something she couldn't quite place. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, moved to rake through his hair, the motion quick and frustrated.

"Right," he said, his voice rising as he took a step closer, his frustration bubbling over. "You're right. I don't care. Why would I? You left, Isla. You walked away without a word, and now you're back, acting like none of it mattered."

The words came out like a lash, sharp and unrelenting, and she felt them like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, the air suddenly feeling too thick to breathe. Her nails dug into her palms where her hands were clenched, the sharp sting grounding her even as her vision blurred with unshed tears.

"Because it didn't!" she shot back, her voice rising to match his. It cracked under the weight of her emotions, but she didn't care. The words poured out of her, raw and unfiltered, her anger spilling over in waves. "We were nothing before I left, and we're nothing now, like you always wanted."

The silence that followed was deafening. Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and unyielding, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, her eyes locked onto his, daring him to argue. But he didn't.

Oliver's jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stared at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides as if he was holding himself back. The faint light from the party cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the set of his brows. He looked like he wanted to say something-like the words were there, just beneath the surface, but he couldn't bring himself to say them.

Finally, he shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to make sense of something he couldn't understand. His expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something colder, sharper.

"Then stop pretending like you're any different," he said, his voice quiet but cutting. Each word landed with a precision that left her breathless, the weight of them sinking deep into her chest.

Before she could respond, before she could even process what he'd said, he turned and walked away. His footsteps echoed softly down the hallway, the sound fading into the distant hum of the party. She watched him go, her vision blurring as the tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over, hot and unwelcome against her cheeks. She stood there for what felt like an eternity, her body trembling as the weight of their argument settled over her. The hallway felt colder now, emptier, as if his absence had drained the air from the space. Her arms fell to her sides, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress, the movement grounding her in the reality of the moment.

She wiped at her face quickly, her hands shaking as she tried to steady herself. Her chest still felt tight, the echoes of his words replaying in her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. She hated the way he could get under her skin, the way he could unravel her with a few simple sentences. But most of all, she hated the way he made her feel-vulnerable, exposed, like he could see every part of her she tried so hard to hide.

The sound of laughter from the party drifted down the hallway, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the ache in her chest refused to fade. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't push his words away. They lingered, clinging to her like a second skin, a reminder of everything they'd lost-and everything they could never have. Her fingers brushed against the fabric of her dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in a desperate attempt to do something-anything-to distract herself from the ache blooming in her chest.

She sucked in a shaky breath, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The anger that simmered beneath her skin was still there, though it was dulled now by the creeping sadness that threatened to overtake her. She tilted her head back, closing her eyes for a moment as she tried to steady herself. The faint thrum of music from the party grew louder as the door to the main room opened somewhere down the hall.

Footsteps approached, soft and tentative, their rhythm slowing as they neared. Isla didn't bother looking up, already knowing who it was.

"Isla?" Sarah's voice broke the silence, soft but carrying an edge of concern. Isla's eyes opened slowly, and she turned her head slightly, catching sight of her friend standing a few feet away. Sarah's face was painted with a mixture of curiosity and worry, her brows knitting together as she took in Isla's disheveled appearance.

Isla forced a small, hollow smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "What is it, Sarah?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended. It still sounded raw, the edges frayed from her earlier outburst.

Sarah hesitated, her gaze darting down the hallway before landing back on Isla. She stepped closer, the light catching the subtle shimmer of her earrings as they swayed with the movement. "I was looking for you," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "Oliver is here."

At the mention of his name, Isla's stomach twisted. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she let out a short, bitter laugh that sounded more like a sigh. Her fingers brushed absently over her wrist, where his grip had lingered only minutes ago, the memory still fresh enough to send a shiver down her spine.

"Yeah," Isla said finally, her voice quiet but steady. She turned her gaze back to Sarah, her expression unreadable. "I know."

author's note !!!!

i know this chapter is too. long, but i got carried away 😭
hope you'll like this !!!!!! let me know what you think with a star and a comment !!!! don't be ghost readers!!! interact with the authors to support them !!!!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 this chapter is inspired by turista, the new song of bad bunny from the new album, hope you'll like it 🫶🏼