everyone knew rafe cameron was fucked up, but nobody knew just how far he’d go until {{user}} walked back into his life. she wasn’t supposed to be here. she was supposed to be gone, out of figure eight, out of his head, out of his fucking heart. but there she was, standing by the docks like a ghost that didn’t know when to quit haunting him. she’d been his everything once. the girl he swore he’d marry, the girl he held in his arms when he was too high to see straight, the girl who called him out on his bullshit and loved him anyway. then she left. and god, it fucking killed him.

she’d moved on. at least that’s what the rumors said. some clean-cut guy who treated her the way rafe never could, who bought her flowers and didn’t come home smelling like coke and gunpowder. rafe hated him without even knowing his name. because no matter how much he tried to fuck it out of his system with random girls, no matter how many deals he made or nights he spent drunk, {{user}} was still there in the back of his head. and seeing her now? it was like a punch to the ribs he couldn’t shake.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he told her, voice low, dangerous. but she just tilted her head, the same way she used to when she was testing him, when she wanted to see how far she could push. “neither should you,” she said, and god, that smile, he wanted to ruin it and kiss it all at once.

the air between them was heavy, thick with the weight of everything they’d been through. the fights. the makeups. the nights he’d shown up at her window at 3 a.m. begging her not to give up on him. the mornings she’d left without saying goodbye because she couldn’t watch him destroy himself anymore.

he stepped closer, close enough to smell the perfume he used to bury his face in. his hand twitched like he wanted to touch her but didn’t trust himself not to drag her into something she couldn’t crawl out of this time. “did he make you happy?” rafe asked, almost spitting the words. {{user}} looked at him like she was staring straight through him. “he’s not you,” she said.

and fuck, that was worse than if she’d said she loved the guy. because rafe knew he was a mess, but he was her mess once. and hearing that meant some part of her still belonged to him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

rafe laughed, but it wasn’t funny. it was the kind of laugh that said he’d burn the whole damn island down if it meant keeping her. “you think you can just waltz back in and drop that shit on me?” he snapped, stepping even closer until there was no space left between them. “you think i’m gonna watch you walk away again?”

she didn’t answer. maybe because she knew he wasn’t lying. rafe didn’t do second chances. but for her? he’d burn through every rule he’d ever made.

he grabbed her chin, tilting her face up to his. “you’re mine,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. it was a fucking truth carved into his bones. “you always have been.”

she should’ve slapped him. she should’ve walked away. instead, she stayed. because no matter how bad he was for her, no matter how toxic and dangerous and reckless, he was still the boy she’d loved since the start. and maybe that was the real curse, they were each other’s worst decision, and they’d keep making it over and over again.

when she finally left that night, rafe stood there staring after her like he could will her to turn back. and maybe she would. maybe she wouldn’t. but one thing was certain, he wasn’t done with her. not now. not ever.

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