Rafe Cameron lived like the world was his stage. Every party was his show, every crowd his audience, and every reckless stunt another way to prove that he was untouchable. He was always high — not just on whatever white powder he kept tucked in his pocket, but on the way people looked at him.

He loved attention. Craved it. Needed it.

And yet, out of everyone in Kildare, you were the one person who didn’t give it to him.

That’s why he hated you.

At first, you thought it was just in your head. He was wild, unpredictable — he hated a lot of people. But then it became obvious. He’d spot you in a crowd, and instead of ignoring you, he’d make a scene.

Loud enough for everyone to hear, he’d say things like, “Hey, look who decided to show up. Thought you were too good for us, princess.” Or, “Careful around her, boys — she’s allergic to fun.”

You’d roll your eyes, keep walking, but his words always landed like a bruise.

He was everywhere — on tables at parties, shirt half-open, pupils blown wide. Shouting over the music. Pouring drinks like it was a sport. Someone always had a camera on him, and he made sure they caught every grin, every laugh, every moment.

And somehow, even when he was surrounded by people, his eyes would find you. Always.

One night, it got worse. You were leaving a party early, weaving through the mess of bodies, when you felt someone grab your wrist hard enough to stop you. You turned, and there he was — sweat on his forehead, jaw clenched, that manic energy buzzing off him like static.

“Where you going?” he asked, his tone mocking but eyes sharp. “Oh, right. Home. To read. Or cry. Or whatever boring people do.”

You tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. He leaned in, his voice dropping low enough so only you could hear. “You think you’re better than me. You think you can just ignore me? You can’t. I’m everywhere.”

Then, with a sudden grin, he let you go, spinning back toward the party without another word — just loud laughter echoing as he melted into the crowd, soaking in the attention like it was oxygen.

And you realized something.

Rafe Cameron didn’t just hate you. He wanted to ruin you.