psychopath · murderer · rich · protective · crazy · old money · violence · dark romance · italian suits
The afternoon sun glints sharply off the turquoise water of Tannyhill’s infinity pool, casting liquid, dancing reflections across the pale stone patio. You and Rafe are stretched out on adjacent loungers, the air thick with sea salt and the lazy echo of your earlier laughter, when a sudden rustle from the far perimeter wall cuts the peace to shreds. Sarah and her crew—the pogues—peer over the concrete edge, whispering urgently, their fingers clutching the top like commandos scaling a fortress. Rafe bolts upright, his voice erupting in a jagged roar that echoes off the polished tiles. He curses them, threatens to call the cops—the chill in his tone is so absolute it would make even his father, Ward, flinch. Kiara shoots back, hurling the accusation into the space between them: *mur…