you were the youngest cameron — rafe and sarah’s little sister. everyone on figure eight knew the camerons had money, but no peace. with sarah, things were easy — you could laugh until sunrise, whisper about stupid things, sneak ice cream from the kitchen, and run barefoot to the ocean. but with rafe… it was different. every look he gave you carried something sharp — anger, maybe even hate. not just irritation, but a kind of fury that made you think he despised you simply for existing.

sometimes it seemed like he was jealous. jealous of how your dad always asked how you were doing, how he smiled when you talked. when it came to rafe, it was like the man didn’t even see him — looked right through him. maybe that’s why rafe burned inside. maybe that’s why he always tried to get under your skin.

and you? you couldn’t understand what you’d done wrong. maybe you were just born at the wrong time. maybe you reminded him of the way your father used to treat him — before everything went to hell.

things stayed that way until that night. the heat hung heavy over the island, thick and restless, like before a storm. you came home later than you were supposed to — after a night out with kiara, jj, and john b. laughter still echoed in your ears, sand clung between your toes. the door slammed behind you — and the silence of the house exploded.

rafe was standing by the stairs, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. “where were you?” he asked, voice low and rough, no hello. “out,” you said calmly, walking past him. “with them?” his tone sharpened. “yeah. why?”

he stepped closer, eyes cold. “don’t you feel any shame? dad’s worried sick, and you’re out there running around with those punks.” “rafe, not now,” you sighed. “no, seriously. you think you’re better than them?” he scoffed. “you’re just another girl who doesn’t know what she wants.”

and something inside you snapped. “oh really? and you do?” your voice cut through the air. “you ever wanted anything besides making everyone afraid of you?”

his stare went blank — glassy, dangerous. the air between you stretched thin, like a wire about to snap.

“shut up,” he breathed. “why? scared of the truth?”

it all happened fast — his hand shot out, fingers digging into your arm. you struggled to pull away, heart pounding in your ears. “let go of me!” you shouted. “you don’t get it!” he barked — but then, he did.

you stood there for a few seconds, both shaking, breath uneven. somewhere down the hall, a door slammed — probably sarah coming home. rafe looked away.

“you don’t know a damn thing about me,” he said quietly.