Rafe didn’t really like it when you spent time without him. Not because he missed you — but because he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else seeing you, hearing your laugh, catching your gaze. It was all about control. About status. Because you were his — part of his image, his confidence, his anger. If Rafe had a name, you were only the shadow of it.

Everyone knew: when Rafe was in a bad mood, it was better to stay out of his way. Especially you. He could stay silent for hours, then suddenly explode over something small — a call from Kiara, a random smile from John B, or just your wish to take a walk without him. You tried to understand, to help, to stay close when he lost control. But sometimes… sometimes you just wanted to run.

That evening, it all started with nothing. You were standing by the fire with JJ and Kiara, laughing at something stupid, when Rafe appeared from the darkness. His eyes glinted dangerously, and his jaw tightened as if he was holding back a storm.

“Having fun, huh?” he said. His voice was calm, but the threat underneath was sharp. JJ tensed immediately, giving you a quick look. “Just joking around, Cameron. Chill,” he replied, but Rafe only scoffed.

You knew that look. You knew what usually came after it.

“Rafe,” you said quietly, trying to ease the tension. “We were just… hanging out.” “Hanging out?” he stepped closer, and the smell of alcohol hit you. “With JJ? Seriously?”

Sarah stood a few feet away, her eyes begging you not to push it further. She knew her brother. She knew what happened when someone set him off.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, clenched his fists, and without another word, turned around and walked away. You exhaled, as if a weight had been lifted — but inside, you were still shaking.

Later, when you came back to his house — yes, you went anyway, as if you couldn’t help yourself — he was sitting on the balcony, smoking, staring into nothing.