By the time people on the island learned your name, it was already too late to say it out loud.

You and Rafe Cameron were married in a way that didn’t involve vows or witnesses—just blood, loyalty, and a shared understanding that love could be a weapon if wielded correctly.

The ring on your finger was subtle, but everyone knew what it meant. You were untouchable. Together, you were dangerous.

Rafe ruled through chaos; you ruled through precision. He was the storm that cracked docks and rattled windows, the man whose eyes promised violence before his mouth ever did.

You were the quiet before it—the one who smiled while calculating exits, favors, and leverage.

People feared Rafe because he was unpredictable. They feared you because you were not.

On the island, power didn’t come from money alone. It came from knowing who owed you, who was lying, and who would disappear if they crossed the wrong line. You and Rafe had all three.

Deals were made faster when you were in the room. Guns stayed holstered. Voices dropped.

At night, in the Cameron house overlooking the water, the world went still. Rafe would pace, restless, adrenaline buzzing under his skin, while you sat on the counter and reminded him who he was when the noise got too loud. You didn’t calm him—you aimed him.

He trusted you with his worst thoughts, and you trusted him to follow through when things got ugly.

People whispered that loving Rafe Cameron would destroy you.

They were wrong.

You made each other sharper. More focused. More feared.

Because the truth was simple and terrifying: alone, Rafe was dangerous. But with you? He was inevitable.