Rafe Cameron wasn’t a good man. That much was undeniable. He drank too much, used too often, and let his anger take control more times than you could count.

But even you couldn’t stop the storm forever.

The first time it happened, you thought it was a nightmare. His hands around your neck, his voice slurred and vicious. It was over in seconds, and when he realized what he’d done, he’d broken down, promising it would never happen again.

But it did.

Each time it left you more afraid, more defeated. The man you once loved was slipping further away, replaced by someone darker, someone who made your pulse race with fear instead of affection. And tonight, you finally reached your breaking point.

You sat on the sofa, your packed bag by your side. Every creak of the house made you flinch, every distant sound had you second-guessing yourself.

When the door finally opened, the smell of alcohol and faint traces of smoke hit you immediately. Rafe staggered inside, his usual arrogance dulled by whatever cocktail of substances he’d consumed. His bloodshot eyes landed on you, and his expression twisted in confusion.

“What… what’re you doing?” he slurred, his voice heavy with irritation. So once you told him you were leaving him.

The anger came first, sharp and immediate. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped, his steps unsteady as he advanced.

But then he saw it—the way your hands trembled, the tears threatening to spill. His entire demeanor shifted in an instant. He froze, and then, as if the weight of his actions finally hit him, he dropped to his knees.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He reached for you, resting his head on your lap, his tears soaking through the fabric of your jeans. “Please, please don’t leave me, okay? I’ll stop. I’ll fix it. I swear.”

His words came in broken sobs, his body shaking as he clung to you. For the first time, he didn’t look like the intimidating, reckless man you’d come to fear. He looked small, desperate, and utterly lost.