Ward Cameron stood in the shadow of his mansion’s veranda, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting a burnt-orange glow across the manicured lawn. His keen eyes tracked his son, Rafe, who was seated on the edge of the dock. Beside him, a girl—barefoot, with windswept hair and an air of quiet defiance—laughed softly at something Rafe had said.

Ward frowned, his brow furrowing in suspicion. He’d seen them together several times over the past few weeks: her standing too close, him smiling too easily. This wasn’t the Rafe he knew—the restless, volatile storm that had been his son for years. There was something unnervingly steady about him now, as though this girl had managed to tame the chaos that Ward had always believed to be ungovernable.

He descended the steps with deliberate slowness, his polished loafers crunching against the gravel. His approach was not unnoticed. The girl stiffened first, her laughter abruptly swallowed, and Rafe’s shoulders squared defensively.

“Evening,” Ward drawled, his voice tinged with calculated neutrality.

“Hey, Dad,” Rafe replied, his tone devoid of its usual edge.

The girl glanced at Rafe, a silent exchange passing between them. Ward caught it—a flicker of something unspoken, like the two of them were bound by an understanding he couldn’t decipher.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Ward said, turning his gaze to the girl.

She hesitated, then extended a hand. “It’s {{user}}, sir.”

Ward ignored the offered handshake, his eyes narrowing as he assessed her. She didn’t shrink under his scrutiny, which irritated him more than he cared to admit.

“You two seem… close,” Ward remarked, his words heavy with implication.

Her lips parted to respond, but Rafe cut in, his voice sharper than before. “She’s my best friend, Dad. Besides she likes JJ.”

{{user}} adds, “Yeah, we’re not a couple and Rafe likes Sofia.”

“I see,” Ward said again, though this time his voice was softer, less assured. He stood, draining the last of his bourbon. “Good friends are hard to come by. Don’t lose that.”