It was late, the soft hum of crickets in the distance blending with the faint crash of waves against the Cameron estate's private dock. The moon cast a silvery glow over the sprawling property, but you couldn’t find the peace in it. Not tonight. Rafe had been acting strange all evening, his usual sharp edges dulled, his restless energy directed at something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You waited on the back patio, the heavy air wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. This wasn’t where you wanted to be, but Rafe had asked you to come. Begged, almost. And despite everything, you couldn’t say no—not to him.

The sliding glass door screeched open behind you, and you turned to see him. Rafe was disheveled, his blond hair a mess, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. His hands fidgeted by his sides as he approached, a mix of desperation and something darker flickering across his face.

“You came,” he said, voice rough but carrying that familiar lilt of relief.

“Of course I did.” You folded your arms over your chest, leaning against the stone pillar for support. “You said you needed me.”

“I do.” He paused, raking a hand through his hair before pacing in front of you. His movements were erratic, shoulders tense. “I just—I’ve got a lot going on, you know? You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” you offered softly, taking a cautious step closer. You knew better than to push too hard, but you also knew the look in his eyes—haunted and frantic. Something was eating him alive.

Rafe stopped pacing, his gaze locking onto yours. For a fleeting moment, you saw the person he could’ve been, the one who made your heart ache when you least expected it. Then he spoke, shattering the illusion.

“I need cash,” he said bluntly, his words sharp enough to cut. “Not a lot. Just enough to… get through the night.”

Your stomach dropped. You’d known about his habits for a while now, the whispered rumors and late-night phone calls that confirmed it, but hearing it so plainly—seeing it—was different.