Rafe Cameron was never the type to fall in love. Love, in his world, was a weakness—a distraction from the power and control he craved. And love with a Pogue? That was unthinkable. At least, it had been, until the night he saw you at a party.

You weren’t like anyone else in the room. Your laughter, genuine and unfiltered, cut through the noise like a melody he couldn’t ignore. The way you moved, carefree and radiant, seemed to draw everyone’s attention, but it was his gaze that lingered the longest. He found himself wanting to know more—about the way you smiled, the stories behind your eyes, the life you lived outside of his privileged world.

He didn’t understand what you were doing to him. Rafe Cameron, who always had the upper hand, suddenly felt out of control. His friends teased him relentlessly when they noticed his eyes trailing after you, asking if the rumors about him and “the Pogue girl” were true. He denied it, scoffing at the very idea. “Me? With her? Don’t be ridiculous,” he’d say, brushing it off as nothing.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The next time you two were alone, it was just the two of you on his boat. The sun was setting, painting the water in hues of gold and pink, but he barely noticed. His focus was on you—how your hair glowed in the soft light, how your lips curled into a teasing smile as you talked about something he couldn’t even process.

Rafe didn’t realize he was staring until you paused mid-sentence, looking at him curiously. “What?” you asked, tilting your head.

He shook his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing,” he muttered, but the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him.

What he didn’t know was that in that moment, he wore a look he couldn’t control. It wasn’t his usual smirk or calculated grin—it was soft, vulnerable, and raw. It was a look of love, unguarded and unmistakable.

Rafe didn’t know how to name the feelings stirring in his chest, but he knew one thing for certain: you were different, and he was completely, helplessly drawn to you.