The Storm Inside the Room
"You walked through my house like this?"
Rafael's voice was quiet.
Maria stood by the door, rainwater dripping from the ends of her black hair, the thin white dress clinging to her skin.
She had left the coat Adrian offered in the car before entering the mansion.
Still, the dress was soaked enough to outline everything.
Rafael noticed.
Of course he did.
He was already standing a few steps away from the chair beside her bed, cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air behind him.
The dim light caught the cold color of his blue eyes, sharp against the dark fall of his hair.
Maria instinctively stepped back.
Rafael closed the distance in two slow strides.
Before she could move further, his hand shot forward and grabbed a fistful of her wet hair.
The sudden pull forced her head slightly back.
His voice lowered.
"You spent the evening at Adrian's house."
Not a question.
A statement.
Maria's breath caught.
Rafael's fingers tightened slightly in her hair.
"And you stayed there for hours."
Maria winced.
"Let go."
Rafael ignored that.
His gaze studied her face slowly, as if reading every expression.
"My men saw your car."
His thumb brushed across the cut on her lip.
Not gently.
Just enough pressure to make it sting.
"And you came back like this."
Maria looked away.
"You already know what happened."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"Oh, I know enough."
His fingers slid deeper into her hair again, tilting her head slightly.
"You like going there?"
Maria tried to pull away, but his grip held her in place.
"He's my friend."
Rafael leaned closer, his face now only inches from hers.
A faint smirk touched his mouth.
"Your friend."
His eyes dropped briefly to her soaked dress.
Then slowly back to her face.
"You let him see you like this too?"
Maria's eyes widened.
"No."
Rafael studied her for a moment longer.
Silence stretched between them.
Then suddenly he released her hair.
Maria stepped back quickly, rubbing the back of her head.
Rafael watched her quietly.
And the look in his eyes made her uneasy.
Because it wasn't just anger.
It was something darker.
Possessive.
As if the thought of anyone else looking at her had already crossed a line he refused to tolerate.