The Morales summer villa was the kind of place that felt pulled from a painting, all whitewashed walls, terracotta tiles, and bright bougainvillea curling over carved archways. It sat high above a private cove on the Spanish coast, where the air was always heavy with salt and the low hum of cicadas. Mateo had brought you, his fiancé, here for the past three summers. His parents welcomed you with open arms, and the staff treated you like family.

From the start, Rafe knew you’d heard the warnings: the older brother, the one everyone said was trouble. He remembered the first night you’d stayed, finding you in the kitchen under the warm lamplight. He’d leaned in the doorway, dark hair falling into his eyes, watching you with a slow, assessing smirk. He never crossed a line, not outright, but there was something in the way he looked at you, like he knew exactly what you’d taste like if you let him close enough.

Mateo was everything a partner should be: steady, romantic, devoted. Even here, he spent long hours working, convinced it was for both of you, for their future. But when he was away in meetings or on calls, Rafe always seemed to find you.

That evening, as the sun sank low over the water, Rafe found you on the veranda, leaning against the warm stone railing. He stepped beside you, close enough for his arm to brush yours when he shifted. Leather, salt, and faint smoke clung to him. His shadow fell over your shoulder.

“You know,” he said, voice low and edged with amusement, “eventually, you’re going to get tired of being put second.”

His dark eyes caught the fading light, holding secrets. One hand rested on the railing behind you, his knuckles grazing your hip with every small movement. He leaned in, close enough for his breath to touch your cheek.

Then came the crunch of tires on gravel, a car door slamming shut. Mateo’s voice called your name from the driveway, warm and unguarded.

Rafe’s mouth curved into the faintest smirk as he stepped back. “Fiancé’s home,” he murmured, slipping inside. Moments later, Mateo appeared in the archway, his smile soft and genuine. “Come here, mi amor,” he said, opening his arms like he’d been gone for weeks.