Burn With Me (Crown or Fire #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Beatriz Cruz didn’t understand why she was so aware of him.

Where he stood. The shape of his shoulder. The silence between his breaths. It was like her body kept a separate memory of Rafael Griffin, one her mind had no say over.

She felt him before she saw him. When she finally looked—a peek, over her shoulder—there he was. Green eyes steady. No smile, no nod. Just all six foot three of him, staring like he’d been waiting for her to show up.

And maybe he had.

Twenty-four hours earlier, she hadn’t even unpacked.

She’d landed at Northgate just before sunset, throat dry, head aching from too much pressurized silence.

Lillian Clarke, fellow scholarship friend and now-housemate, had met her at Arrivals with a hot drink and a quiet hug.

Bea should have stayed home to rest. Instead, she’d changed into leggings and a t-shirt, and she and Lillian caught the tram to Havoc Combat Systems in St. Ives.

Because it had been Tuesday. Pilates night. The safest corner of her old life.

Manny, the gym manager, all stocky bouncer build and tattoo sleeves, had greeted her at the front desk. “Took you long enough, kid.”

“I just got off a plane.”

“I guess that excuses you,” he’d huffed, but there was warmth in it.

Manny had told her he was transferring to the Northgate branch, and since it was walking distance from her new place, he suggested she and Lillian switch, too.

So after class, she transferred her membership. And then instead of clicking on Pilates…she signed up for Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

Tonight, Wednesday, she showed up twenty minutes early, nerves scraping the inside of her chest. The loaner gi Manny handed her was a men’s double extra small, stiff as cardboard and still too big. She tied the belt like she’d seen on a YouTube tutorial, the knot just this side of tragic.

She didn’t come here for discipline. Or sweat.

She came because five weeks ago, a perfect future had been offered to her by a perfect man. Gage King. The kind of love you built a life on.

And her body had gone still, instead of forward.

So here she was. Wanting to know whether that part of her was broken…or just honest.

Bea had glimpsed enough BJJ to know what to expect, but it was different when you actually had to do it. Warmups, drills, and escapes made her muscles burn and her wrists buckle. Her partner was patient, but not indulgent.

That’s when it happened.

Mid-drill. Mid-shift. Mid-breath. Her fingers slipped on the grip enough to remind her she wasn’t nearly as steady as she was pretending to be.

Rafael was here. In a place her body had chosen before her mind could talk her out of it. His expression said he knew exactly why she was in this room.

And every single reason she wasn’t ready to admit it.

RAFAEL

The Northgate branch still carried the satisfying scent of a new build.

Metallic tang, fresh paint, gear recently unwrapped and only starting to carry the grind of fists and sweat.

He’d signed off on the final fit-out last month, and the place already moved at his pace, his tone, his discipline.

It was nearly three times the size of his gym in St. Ives, including a full Muay Thai ring with bleachers.

The first man he’d put in charge hadn’t been good enough. Manny was. That’s why Rafael had moved him here.

Bea still didn’t know it was his.

She hadn’t known the St. Ives branch was his either; or that the instruction to give her the initial three free months on her membership had come straight from his mouth.

Back then, he’d thought about showing up. More than once.

But she’d been with Gage, and it had been enough for him to know where she was. That she was safe. That she was spending two hours a week in his space, stretching out on his floors, enjoying herself.

Northgate would be different.

She’d been gone a month since the breakup, and now she was slimmer, paler. Hair tied back, no makeup, shoulders carrying a weight she’d never worn before. Stripped to the frame.

She didn’t see him at first. Too busy letting Manny hand her a gi that looked like it had been folded since the last century.

Men in the UR didn’t come five foot five.

She disappeared to the bathroom, and returned minutes later rolling up the sleeves.

The belt was tied wrong, in a crooked knot she fussed with but couldn’t fix.

Manny pointed her toward a partner. She stepped onto the floor the way people do when they’ve decided to do something hard and have run out of excuses not to.

He folded his arms and watched.

Her stance was too narrow, which meant her balance was off. Her partner corrected her grip, and she adjusted without argument. There was no performance in her movements, just the beginning of stubborn work, the kind he knew by now was built into her.

Midway through a drill, her fingers slipped. A small mistake, but enough to tell him her wrists weren’t ready for the strain, and that the same might be true of the rest of her.

That was when she felt him. He watched the recognition carve through her frame before her eyes searched for him. The frozen breath, the sudden poise. Like a deer catching the whisper of a bowstring, she went still in the knowledge she was marked.

Finally, she found the courage to look. Rafael let her find him. Held her there without moving, without giving her an out.

Bea broke away first.

Her rhythm was different now. More self-conscious, trying not to think about what it meant that he was here. Aware he could see every movement.

He stayed until the set ended, then stepped back toward the office.

He’d give her the space tonight. The next time they were in the same room, he wouldn’t be across it.