Rafe Cameron was never the type to beg.

But for you? For you, he’d do anything.

It started small. A lingering stare when he saw you out with him. A smirk when you caught his eye, like he knew something your boyfriend didn’t.

Then came the texts — drunken, reckless, desperate.

Rafe: Do you ever think about me? Rafe: Be honest.

You never answered. But that didn’t stop him. It never will.

Next, the gifts. Flowers that looked like they were straight out of a romance novel. Designer bags, one after another, each more extravagant than the last.

Then..

He started showing up. First at the bar where you worked, ordering drinks just to watch you. Then at the places he knew you’d be — parties, coffee shops, the gas station by your house.

Always acting casual. Always looking at you like he still had you wrapped around his finger.

Right now you were leaving your boyfriend’s apartment, your keys in hand, when you saw him leaning against his truck, arms crossed, like he belonged there.

Your heart sank. “Rafe-”

“Break up with him.”

You exhaled sharply. “You’re out of your mind.”

He pushed off the truck, stepping closer, crowding your space like he used to. “I’m serious.”

Your grip tightened around your keys. “I moved on.”

His jaw clenched. “No, you didn’t.”

You scoffed, turning away, but he grabbed your wrist — gentle, but firm. “Tell me you don’t miss me,” he said. “Say it, and I’ll walk away.”

Your throat tightened.

You could feel his gaze burning into you. The way his fingers curled slightly, desperate to hold on.

You swallowed. “I-”

“I still love you.”

Your chest ached. You wanted to fight it, to push him away, to tell him that you were happy without him.