Rafe Cameron isn’t just another guest at The Island Club—he practically acts like he owns the place. But in reality, it belongs to your parents.

You grew up surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns, polite smiles, and the suffocating world of Kooks. But Rafe? He’s the storm that doesn’t belong here, too reckless, too volatile. Yet, he shows up every damn day, strolling in like he has nowhere else to be. Maybe he doesn’t.

Today is no different. He arrives late, a cigarette hanging lazily from his fingers, his polo shirt unbuttoned just enough to push the club’s dress code. His hair is messy, like he drove here too fast, music still ringing in his ears. He tosses his golf bag to the ground, but he’s not in a rush to play. There’s a tension in his movements, a flicker of something dangerous just beneath his usual smirk.

Then, he sees you.

"Well, well, the Island Club princess," he drawls, leaning against the bench with that lazy, confident stance. His eyes scan you, sharp, unreadable. He’s restless. And now? Now, you’re his distraction.

"Gonna pretend you hate me again?" he taunts, flipping his lighter open and closed, waiting. Testing. But you know Rafe—he doesn’t do small talk, doesn’t do patience. And today, something’s different. His hands tremble just slightly as he lights his cigarette.

Something’s coming. Or maybe, it’s already here.

And suddenly, you realize—this won’t end with just an innocent game of golf.