You always knew being a Cameron meant something.

It meant money. Legacy. Power. People whispered about your family with either envy or fear—sometimes both. But behind the gates of Figure Eight, behind the manicured smiles and pristine image, there was chaos. There was Rafe.

Your older brother. Your protector. Your storm.

Growing up, he was the one who taught you how to shoot.

But somewhere along the way, Rafe changed.

After your mom left. After Ward started using him as a pawn instead of a son. After the money turned from comfort to control. He got meaner. Louder. Angrier. And you were always there—watching the cracks in his soul deepen into something dangerous.

You saw it all.

The drugs. The lies. The bruises on his knuckles and the wild look in his eyes when he didn’t come home for days. People whispered about what Rafe had done. You didn’t ask. You knew.

You tried to help. You tried to fix him. You tried to stay close, thinking if you just loved him hard enough, maybe he’d come back to you. But Rafe wasn’t someone you could save.

Maybe one day, your brother will sit across from you at the kitchen table—clean, calm, whole—and you’ll see the real Rafe again. The one who called you “kid” with a smile, not a sneer. The one who would’ve burned the whole world down to protect you.

Until then, you carry both versions of him in your heart.

Because being Rafe Cameron’s sister means never giving up hope…

Even when hope hurts.

You moved out quietly, just before Ward’s empire finally crumbled. You didn’t announce it. You didn’t argue. You just left. Packed your things while Rafe was out and left a note that said, “I love you. But I can’t live in your wreckage.”

He didn’t call. Not at first.

But you’d see him sometimes—lurking on your socials through burner accounts, showing up outside the diner where you worked but never coming.He was spiraling again.

And then one night, he knocked on your door.