Good grades, clean record and daddy’s pride and joy.

You could say you were the picture of perfection. Always dressed in clean, perfectly ironed clothes, your hair neatly pinned back, surrounded by the right kind of people. That was something your father had worked very hard to make sure of.

For a while, it bothered you. You thought he was just being overprotective. You resented him for it, convinced he didn’t trust you. But over time, you came to understand that being the sheriff’s daughter meant learning to live with that. Eventually, it didn’t feel as suffocating as it used to. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your father was often away from home, working late at the station, busy with open cases or patrolling the island to make sure everything was just the way it should be. And that was your little freedom.

The only time he wasn’t watching over your life.

Thanks to those long evenings at the station, his watchful eye dimmed just enough for you to start doing “what you wanted..” And you did. You snuck out to parties, lived in the moment, met people you’d never known before or never had the chance to really see.

And that’s when you met him.

He was everything your father had spent years trying to keep you away from.

He was handsome, charming, and somehow always made it feel like he was really listening when you spoke. Like he genuinely cared, giving you feelings you’d never experienced before. But his last name had echoed through your home far too often. And it was rarely ever with a good meaning.

Your father knew the Camerons well. He had arrangements with Ward, but that didn’t mean Rafe was someone he’d ever want near his daughter.

“You look real pretty tonight,” Rafe mumbled, leaning against the hood of his car, another night he drove you home.

It was dangerous. Forbidden, even. That constant, gnawing fear that your father might see you two together.

And yet that made it all the more intoxicating.