You weren’t his girlfriend.

There were no labels, no promises — just late nights tangled in his sheets, whispers in the dark, and stolen moments that meant everything to you but apparently nothing to him.

And maybe that was your first mistake — thinking you were different. That just because he called you baby when no one was around, or traced circles on your bare skin like he was trying to memorize you, it meant something.

But it didn’t.

Because now you were standing in his driveway, phone in hand, staring at the proof that Rafe was just like every other asshole on this island.

He fucked someone else. And not just anyone — Sofia.

“You’re being dramatic.” Rafe said, standing in front of you with that same bored, unbothered expression he always wore when things didn’t go his way. Like you were just another problem for him to deal with.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Dramatic?” You shook your head, gripping your phone so hard your knuckles turned white. “You couldn’t even see me while she was going down on you, right? That’s what you said?”

His jaw clenched. “Jesus, don’t make it weird.”

“Weird?” You scoffed, stepping closer. “I was in your bed almost every night, Rafe. I thought we-“

You cut yourself off, blinking rapidly because fuck, you weren’t gonna cry over him.

Rafe exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We never said we were exclusive.”

And there it was. The final nail in the coffin.

You nodded, laughing to yourself. “Right. We weren’t together, but we were more than friends, right?”

Rafe didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His silence told you everything.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking up at him one last time. “I hope she was worth it.”