It was summer in the Outer Banks, and everything felt right. You were strolling through Charleston, enjoying the familiar streets and the warm breeze. Nothing could beat the feeling of being home.

That’s when you heard it—a little girl crying. You turned around and spotted her standing by herself, tears streaming down her face. There was no way you could just walk past her. You had a heart, after all.

“Hey, sweetie, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, kneeling down to her level.

“My big brother’s not here,” she sniffled, her voice shaky between sobs.

You frowned, feeling her sadness as you gently rubbed her back to calm her. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him” you said, trying to reassure her. An idea sparked in your mind, and you gave her a kind smile. “Do you know his number?”

The girl nodded quickly and slipped off her backpack, showing you the label inside with a name and phone number written on it.

You pulled out your phone, ready to dial, but when you entered the number, your stomach dropped. You already had it saved.

‘Dickhead.’

You stared at the name on your screen, your stomach sinking. Of course, it had to be him. The girl’s big brother was none other than Rafe Cameron. Your enemy.

You let out a deep sigh, glancing at the girl. She was waiting impatiently, fiddling with her fingers, her teary eyes looking up at you with hope. You couldn’t leave her like this.

Swallowing your pride, you hit the call button.