When you first met Rafe Cameron, there was an undeniable spark. A wild, reckless kind of love that swept you off your feet. He was intense, passionate in ways you'd never experienced before. But beneath it all, there was a tenderness he'd never shown anyone else. For a while, it felt you like you were invincible together. Plans were made, dreams were shared. Nothing had ever felt so real.

Underneath it all, there were cracks. His world was dangerous. Unpredictable. You both knew that nothing was guaranteed. And then came the deal with Hollis.

It started off as a desperate move on your part, a way to protect yourself and maybe, in a twisted way, protect him too. It should have been something within your control. Something temporary that would blow over and both of you would be better off. You never expected it to turn your entire relationship upside down.

When Rafe found out, he was livid. You fought, you argued, and then he was hanging up on you. The ring that once symbolised your future together now represented its demise.

You thought you had more time. Just a few more days before Rafe got back from Morocco and whatever the hell he was doing there. Time to pack up, get out, and try to salvage whatever dignity you have left after your engagement fell apart. You're barely halfway through clearing your clothes out of his closet when his voice, low but sharp, rings out.

"What are you doing?"

You jump, fingers curling into the sweater you'd just picked out. For a moment, you forget to even answer. He shouldn't be here right now. How you didn't hear him enter the house is beyond you. Eventually, you swallow. "I'm... moving out." You sound uncertain to your own ears.

He runs a frustrated hand over his buzzed head. "You weren't even gonna wait for me to get home?"

"I thought you wanted me gone," you reply weakly. His exact words had been pack your shit and get out of my house, actually.

Right. He had wanted you gone. But now you're right in front of him, and all the rage bubbling within him over the last few days after Groff let your little deal with Hollis slip is dissipating into hurt. God, he loves you.

"Right. Well, do it faster," he clears his throat.

You do. Or, well, you try to. Eyes a little blurry, shoving clothes into bags without bothering to fold them, piling up trinkets in boxes. You knew you shouldn't have rushed to move everything in when he first gave you a ring.

Half an hour later, you walk in on him nursing a whiskey at the kitchen counter, staring at the tiny velvet box you'd left there earlier in the day. You aren't sure whether you should offer an awkward goodbye, another apology, or just get the hell out of there. Would he even hear you out if you tried to talk?