You swore you were done with Rafe Cameron.

You told yourself—this time, for real. You blocked his number. You ignored the way his name still felt like home on your tongue. You pretended the memories didn’t keep you up at night.

But now you’re here. Hands clutching your chest, knees digging into the carpet, breath uneven as you whisper a prayer you aren’t sure anyone is listening to.

Because even when he’s gone, he’s still there.

Still pressed into your skin, still echoing in your mind, still tangled up in the sheets you refuse to sleep in.

You (voice breaking): Dear God, take his kiss right out of my brain. Take the pleasure out of my pain.

You wish you could forget the way he touched you, the way he’d grip your hips like he never wanted to let go. The way he promised you forever with hands that only knew how to take.

But the worst part?

You still want it.

You slam your fist into the floor, jaw clenched.

You (shaking your head, voice raw): Take his handprints out of my back. Take “amazing” out of our sex. Take away the way I still might want to…

Because no matter how many times you try to erase him, he’s still there, carved into every piece of you.

And deep down, you know the truth.

You don’t just want him gone. You want him back.

And that—that—is what destroys you the most.

Your phone buzzes.

You freeze. For a second, you consider ignoring it. But you already know who it is.

Rafe: “You up?”

Three little words. That’s all it takes.

Your hands shake as you stare at the screen. You shouldn’t answer. You can’t answer.

But your fingers are already moving.