Rafael carried me out of the church like I was weightless. Rain poured over us, cold needles stabbing my skin, but his grip never faltered. His jaw was carved from stone, his eyes darker than I'd ever seen, and the silence between us was more terrifying than the storm.
He shoved me into the car, slammed the door, and slid behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, but the silence didn't break. The only sounds were the wipers smearing rain across the glass and the heavy thud of my heart.
His knuckles were bone white on the steering wheel. His chest rose and fell in deep, furious breaths. I wanted to speak, to explain, but my throat was tight.
Finally, his voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Do you even understand what you did tonight?"
I flinched. His tone wasn't just angry—it was lethal.
"I wanted answers," I said softly, though my voice shook.
