At first you didn’t believe Rafe when he said he wanted to get his shit together after his father had died.

He was Rafe Cameron for god’s sake.

You’ve seen every side of him.

The frat boy era, powdered lines perfectly placed onto tables, dollar bills rolled up, fights with his sisters and his father, shooting a cop —

Well almost every side.

Because you have never seen the side of Rafe which went through his old man’s stuff, sorting everything thoroughly out before setting up a new office.

Sometimes you woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed and find your boyfriend sitting at his desk and mumbling to himself while sketching real estate houses or writing random numbers on a piece of paper that made no sense to you.

But those numbers closed deals every single time.

Rafe was expanding his father’s business into something much bigger.

And even though Rafe was building his real estate empire, he always came home on time.

Dinner at 7? He’d be home by 6:45.

Date night in Charleston? He’d pick you up not a single second late.

But of course Rafe still had some flaws. Coke was swapped for whiskey.

He would hide his addiction well in front of others but never from you. A neat glass was always set on his mahogany desk, you’d find an empty bottle every time a deal would go sideways in the trash.

Still he tried to change.