You and Rafe were the couple no one understood. You—ripped tights, kohl-black eyeliner smudged like war paint, mini skirts and tops that barely clung to your frame. He was the golden boy: polite smiles, collared shirts, and the faint smell of expensive cologne that lingered on your skin long after he’d left.

You were both kooks, born on the same island but living in different worlds. You spent your parents’ money on new piercings and black lipstick that made you feel like armor. He spent his on yacht parties, fresh-pressed shirts, and the perfect watch to match.

He loved you like you didn’t know how to be loved. Soft hands brushing your hair from your face, kisses on bruised knuckles, whispers of “you’re everything” against your collarbone. You tried, in your way—but your edges were sharp, and sometimes you cut the ones who held you too close.

Then you broke up. He tried—God, he tried—for months to win you back. Roses left on your porch, voice messages you never listened to, stolen glances in town that you pretended not to see. You gave him nothing but cold shoulders and dark eyes.

There were still the family dinners — gatherings where your family and his sat together, all polite smiles and business talk. They were mostly for appearances, to keep old partnerships and money flowing.

You avoided the family dinners for as long as you could. But tonight, your father didn’t give you a choice. So you came, nails chipped black, a shirt that barely reached your ribs, belly piercing winking under the low lights. You toyed with your tongue piercing, your pulse pounding with something you didn’t dare name.

They arrived. You didn’t look at him—couldn’t. Instead, your eyes locked on the girl at his side.

She looked like sunlight made human: soft blonde hair catching the light, a smile that could make strangers stop and stare. A dress that fit like it had been made for her. Blue eyes that didn’t know what it meant to lose.

And for the first time, it wasn’t your sharp tongue or your dark makeup that kept you from breathing. It was the quiet truth in your chest: maybe he needed someone made of light. And maybe you were born from something darker.