You and Rafe… there was only hate. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Maybe it wasn’t as real as the words that left your mouth, but still—you never liked him. Not at all. He felt the same about you. God, he’d probably watch you drink poison, choke until you collapsed, and still be grinning as the light left your eyes.

But you knew—it was all a mask. A cover to hide the pain. To hide the empty hole Ward Cameron had buried him in.

You knew everything Rafe did. The people he killed. The people he hurt. The people he betrayed and destroyed and ruined—all for something, all for reasons you couldn’t fully understand.

But you never knew why. Was it to make his father proud? To prove a point? Or maybe, just maybe, because the chaos was the only thing that made him feel alive. You asked yourself that question more than you’d ever admit.

—

One day, you walked down the street. The expensive buildings rising on either side of you were familiar now, though they looked nothing like the place you came from—the dirty, filthy side of the island. The side no one with a Cameron name would ever set foot in.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The air was still, the only sound the faint rhythm of your own footsteps. You could hear your breathing, the steady thud of your heartbeat in your chest. Almost peaceful. Almost.

Until the gunshot split the air.

The sharp crack echoed, startling the birds from the trees. Your body flinched before you could stop it, your head snapping toward the sound. Your eyes landed on Tannyhill, its looming figure familiar and foreboding. And you already knew—whatever happened there wasn’t peaceful. Not even close.

Still, your curiosity pulled you closer. You couldn’t stop yourself.

You crept into the long driveway, stopping behind the shadow of a Jeep. Leaning slightly to the side, you caught a glimpse of the backyard. Ward Cameron paced, sharp and deliberate, while Rafe just stood there—still as stone, eyes fixed on his father.

A gun hung loosely in his hand.

And on the ground, sprawled and unmoving, was a body. Blood leaked into the grass in a spreading pool, darker and thicker with each passing second.

Your eyes widened. You froze.

“Dad—” Rafe’s voice was a whisper, trembling, barely carried to your ears on the breeze.

He didn’t get to finish.

Ward’s hand cracked across his cheek, sharp and brutal, the sound echoing in the stillness. You sucked in a breath and held it, your stomach dropping at the sight. Ward stood there like it was nothing. Like it was casual. Routine. And Rafe didn’t even turn his head back. He just stayed in the position that rough hand forced him into, shoulders tight, jaw clenched.

“How many times have I bailed you out before this, huh?” Ward’s voice was low, seething, dangerous. It crawled down your spine, made you shiver.

“How many?!” he suddenly barked, voice exploding with fury.

Rafe’s head lifted just slightly, his eyes too glossy, too broken for the golden-boy image he worked so hard to protect. “I tried to save you… he wanted to—”

But Ward cut him off, voice full of mockery and venom. “You saved me?!” The words dripped with disbelief. He almost laughed, but there was no humor in it—only rage.

“Rafe,” Ward’s voice rose higher, trembling with fury. “You fucked us!”

Rafe flinched. His jaw tightened. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, holding back the tears threatening to fall.

“All of us!” Ward spat, shoving past him with enough force to make Rafe stumble.

Your chest ached. You couldn’t stop the way your heart cracked at the sight of him, breaking apart piece by piece. Rafe’s hand lifted to his face, dragging down slowly, as though he could wipe away not just the sting of his father’s slap but everything else too. The anger. The humiliation. The disappointment.

The gun slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a sharp metallic clatter. It landed in the grass, right next to the body, swallowed by the spreading pool of blood.