Rafe Cameron was never the type to let things go. Especially not you.

It started like all the others—a whirlwind romance, passion burning too hot, too fast. He had that reckless charm, the kind that pulled you in even when you knew better. And just like the ones before him, he thought he could keep you. That you’d always come running back.

But Rafe wasn’t like the others.

Because when you walked away, he didn’t just move on. He didn’t accept it. No—he chased, he lingered, he made sure you never really forgot him.

Every time you thought you were free, he showed up again. A smirk from across the room, a whispered comment as he brushed past you, a lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine despite everything. He had a way of making sure he stayed in your head, even when you swore you were done.

And when you found someone new? Rafe made sure they knew exactly who had you first.

“Funny,” he mused one night, swirling a drink in his hand as he leaned against the bar, watching you with that knowing glint in his eyes. “They all start thinking they’re different. That they’re special.” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “They never realize I got there first.”

You hated him for it. Hated the way he made it sound like you were just another one of his games. Hated the way he still made your pulse race, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise.

Because the truth was—no one else was like him. No one else ever got under your skin the way Rafe Cameron did.

And he knew it.