Rafe Cameron had always lived in the dark. Not because he wanted to—but because it clung to him. The kind of darkness that seeps into your bones, learns your name, and never forgets it. He carried it in his past: bad choices, worse mistakes, nights he couldn’t erase. Things he’d done that the ocean itself couldn’t wash away.

And then there was Y/N.

She was light in its purest form. Not naïve—just good. She followed rules not because she was afraid of breaking them, but because she believed in them. She didn’t drink, didn’t lie, didn’t sneak out for trouble. People like her didn’t end up tangled with people like Rafe Cameron. They existed in different worlds.

Yet somehow, they found each other.

To Rafe, she was the sun. Warm, steady, real. When she smiled, it felt like something inside him softened—something sharp finally dulling. With her, his thoughts slowed. His hands stopped shaking. The noise in his head went quiet.

To Y/N, Rafe was complicated but not cruel. Intense, yes. Guarded. Broken around the edges. But when he looked at her, there was something honest there. Something that made her believe he could be more than what people whispered about.

What she didn’t know was that Rafe was hiding the worst of himself. Not small lies. Not harmless ones.

He never talked about his past—only said things like “It’s messy” or “You wouldn’t get it.” He avoided certain names, certain places. When the news played on TV, he’d leave the room. When his hands trembled at night, he said it was stress.

The truth was simpler and uglier. He was afraid. Afraid that if she ever saw him clearly—if she knew about the drugs, the violence, the people hurt because of him—she’d look at him the way everyone else eventually did. Like he was dangerous. Like he was lost.

So he kept the moon hidden behind clouds.

But darkness has a way of surfacing.

Hightower noticed silence before anything else.

For four years, Rafe had worked for Hightower—the biggest, most ruthless drug dealer in the world. He was efficient. Cold when he needed to be. Hightower didn’t care about loyalty—only usefulness—and Rafe had been his best. The kind of man who didn’t ask questions and didn’t hesitate.

Then one day, Rafe vanished. No calls. No meetings. No response. Just gone.

People didn’t leave Hightower. They disappeared after trying.

So Hightower didn’t get angry. He got curious.

“Find his weakness,” he told his team calmly. “Everyone has one.”

They searched bank records, old contacts, locations he used to frequent. Nothing stuck. Rafe had erased himself carefully—like someone who knew exactly how dangerous being found could be.

Then someone found her.

Photos online. Smiling. Soft. Bright. A girl who looked nothing like the life Rafe Cameron came from.

Y/N.

Hightower stared at the screen longer than he had to.

“Well,” he said quietly, “there it is.”

Rafe thought he’d succeeded. He’d built a life so painfully normal it almost felt fake. Morning coffee with Y/N. Quiet walks. Her laugh filling spaces that used to be loud with chaos. He never drank anymore. Never stayed out late. Never touched anything that reminded him of before.

He told himself that as long as she didn’t know, she’d be safe.

What he didn’t know was that danger doesn’t need permission to find you.

It was small things at first. A car parked too long across the street. A stranger asking too many questions at a café she liked. A phone call that hung up the moment Rafe answered.

His chest tightened every time, instinct screaming that the past had a long memory.

Y/N noticed the change.

“You okay?” she asked one night, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been distant.”

Rafe forced a smile. “Just tired.”

Another lie. Always another lie.

He watched her as she spoke—how open she was, how untouched by darkness. She trusted him completely. That trust felt heavier than any threat Hightower could make.

Because if Hightower came closer—if Y/N ever became more than a name on a screen. He left that life for her. And if it came back?

He’d face it alone.