The silence in the room is deafening. Rafe Cameron lies awake, a flickering candle casting soft shadows on the walls. His body is tangled in silk sheets, but it’s not warmth he feels—it’s cold, heavy absence. His lips still remember your kiss, but you’re not here. You haven’t been here since you left for New York. And maybe… you won’t be again.

He tells everyone he’s fine. Still “Mr. Loverman.” Still smooth, still dangerous, still untouchable. But at night? He’s a man haunted by what he had. By you. By the way you used to hum while brushing your teeth. By your socks always ending up on his side of the bed. By the way you pulled him back from the edge—over and over—without needing to say a word.

You left chasing a dream. And Rafe told you to go—said he didn’t need you. Lied straight through his teeth. You told him to come with you, but he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Now he stares at the door, half-hoping it’ll open, knowing it won’t.

He reads your texts until his screen burns his eyes. Watches the story of your life play out in blurry Instagram posts. You look happy. You look okay. And maybe that’s the part that kills him the most—how the city didn’t swallow you. How the world didn’t fall apart without him.

But his world did.

He runs his hand over the empty sheets where you used to sleep, breathes in the memory of you like oxygen. He’d never say it out loud, but you were the only softness he ever let in. The only real thing.

He tries to forget you—buries himself in noise, in strangers, in bad habits. But every laugh feels fake. Every touch feels wrong. No one else smells like your shampoo or says his name like it means something.

He didn’t just lose a girlfriend. He lost his peace. And maybe… the only person who ever loved him right.

He’s still Mr. Loverman. But he misses his lover, man. And she’s 600 miles away, building a life without him.