Rafe stares at your photo like it’s a prayer and a curse wrapped in one. His breathing’s shallow, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to keep himself from breaking something—or someone.

You were meant to be his. Not just in that casual, romantic way. No. In the “written-in-blood” kind of way. You knew him—really knew him—and you stayed. Until you didn’t. Until you said it was “too much,” that he was too much.

He can’t accept that.

You carved open his heart—split it wide and raw—and now you expect him to just let the wound bleed? Like it was nothing? He gave you everything. The pieces he didn’t even know he had left. And you took them. You held them. Then you walked away.

He’s not sleeping anymore. He’s spiraling. Every room feels like it echoes with your name. He sees you in reflections, in strangers, in the way his hands still shake when he reaches for where your fingers used to be.

Rafe is obsessed. Possessed. You rewired him. Now nothing makes sense without you. He whispers to himself, pacing like a caged animal. “She’ll come back. She has to come back.” Because the alternative? You living, smiling, loving someone else?

No. He can’t watch that happen.

He talks to your voice in his head. Replays your laugh like a song he can’t skip. He keeps your old hoodie on a chair like you’re still there. His world bends around the empty space you left, and he clings to it—like if he grips it hard enough, it’ll bring you back.

You said you needed space. But Rafe? He needs you. And nothing—no one—will stop him from getting you back.

Because he was all that you needed. And now you’re all he wants to destroy or die trying to win back. And he’s coming.