”My boy was a montage. A slow-motion, love potion. Jumping off things in the ocean. I broke his heart 'cause he was nice.”

This was all supposed to be a game. A plan. You weren’t actually supposed to fall in love. You refused to get attached, until him.

The summer air in Mystic Falls was thick with magnolia and secrets.

By day, you were the image of Southern grace. Corset cinched, parasol in hand, rehearsing lines of modesty and charm. But by night—God, by night—you became something else. Wild. Restless. You whispered dreams that tasted of cities you’d never seen, of freedom that could never belong to a girl like you in a town like this.

And then there was Stefan.

Sweet, steady Stefan.

He was the golden boy. Duty-bound, gentle, loyal. The type to build a white-picket fence around his heart and invite you inside with trembling hands. And he did—God, he tried. He gave you gardens, letters sealed with wax, promises sewn between candlelit kisses.

You loved him. But you craved a fire he didn’t understand.

”He was sunshine, I was midnight rain. He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain. He wanted a bride, I was making my own name. Chasing that fame, he stayed the same. All of me changed like midnight 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛.”