045. let's rewind a bit

( the forty fifth chapter )

( rafes pov ; a flashback )

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The first time Rafe realized he liked Olivine, really liked her, it hit him like a gut punch.

She'd been laughing at something stupid Topper said, the kind of carefree, loud laugh that always seemed to light up her face. The group had been at a bonfire down by the beach, everyone gathered around drinking and flirting, but Rafe hadn't been paying attention to any of it. His eyes had been on her—on the way her smile stretched wide, her teeth catching the glow of the firelight, and the way she looked so... unbothered.

She didn't belong here. Not with his friends. Not with him.

He remembered the thought creeping in, uninvited and unsettling, like a crack in his chest threatening to split him open.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

Pogues were beneath him. That's what his father always drilled into him. Kooks didn't mix with Pogues—it was a rule as old as the island itself. The kind of rule you didn't question because it kept things right.

And yet, there she was. Her presence felt like a challenge, a test of his loyalty to everything he'd been taught.

He tried to ignore it at first. Told himself it was just attraction, nothing deeper. She was pretty—too pretty—and that was all it was. But the more he watched her, the more he caught himself leaning in when she spoke, the more his chest tightened when someone else got too close to her... he knew it was something more.

Rafe spent weeks in denial, drowning himself in booze, in drugs, in the endless cycle of parties. He hooked up with girls he barely remembered, girls who fit—wealthy, polished, Kook to the bone. But it never filled the hollow feeling in his chest.

When he wasn't numb, his thoughts drifted back to her. Her voice, her laugh, the way she walked with a confidence that made it hard to look away. She wasn't afraid to call him out when he was being a jerk, but she also had a softness to her that made him want to protect her, even when she didn't need it.

He hated himself for it.

How could he, Rafe Cameron, fall for someone like her? A Pogue. A girl who didn't have the money, the connections, the right last name. She wasn't supposed to matter. She wasn't supposed to make him feel like this—like he'd do anything just to keep her smiling.

One night, after a particularly nasty argument with his father, Rafe sat alone on the dock behind Tannyhill, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. His knuckles were raw from punching a wall, his chest heaving with frustration. His father's words echoed in his head: "You're a Cameron. Act like one. Don't waste your time on people who'll only drag you down."

But all he could think about was Olivine. The way she made him laugh when no one else could. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams, dreams that were so much bigger than this island.

He hated how much he cared.

Somewhere deep down, he knew she deserved better than him. Someone who didn't come with all the baggage, the anger, the mess. But the thought of letting her go, of seeing her with someone else, made his chest ache in a way he couldn't explain.

Rafe took a long swig of whiskey, staring out at the dark water.

He didn't know what to do.

Liking Olivine felt like a betrayal—to his family, to his friends, to the unspoken rules that kept his world intact. But not having her felt worse.

It was a losing game, and for the first time in his life, Rafe didn't care about winning.

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Rafe sat on the edge of the dock, his bare feet skimming the water, the whiskey bottle dangling precariously from his hand. The night was quiet except for the soft lapping of the waves against the posts. It gave him too much time to think, and his thoughts were dangerous tonight—dark, spiraling, and relentless.

He tipped his head back, staring at the stars. His chest felt tight, suffocating under the weight of what he was starting to accept: he wanted Olivine. More than just wanted—he craved her like a drug. But the shame of it gnawed at him like a vulture picking at a carcass.

What would his mother think?

If she were still alive, would she have approved of him bringing a girl like Olivine home? A Pogue. Someone with no name, no money, no place in their world. He could picture it so clearly, the ghost of his mother's disapproving gaze searing into him. She'd stand at the top of the staircase in that silk robe she always wore, her diamond necklace perfectly clasped at her neck, her lips pursed into that tight little line.

"This is who you bring home, Raphael?" her voice would drip with icy judgment. "Is this the future of the Cameron family? A girl who couldn't even afford to buy her way into the world she's trying to play in?"

It made his blood run cold.

His mother had been the picture of elegance, a woman who screamed perfection everyone around her. She'd always dreamed of him settling down with someone who could love him for his flaws and adore him wholeheartedly.

But what about legacy? What legacy?

The Camerons weren't even old money. They were new money, clawing their way to the top of the Outer Banks hierarchy through his father's ruthless business tactics and a string of broken promises. Rafe had spent his life pretending they were better than everyone else, even as he knew deep down they were no different than the people his father exploited.

Still, it didn't matter. His father might have built their empire out of sand, but the rules were clear: Camerons didn't mix with Pogues. Not for love. Not for lust. Not for anything.

Rafe squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching so hard it hurt. The whiskey burned as he took another swig, the liquid heat doing nothing to thaw the cold pit in his stomach.

It wasn't just about his mother's disapproval. It was about the bloodline.

He couldn't sully it. Not with her. Not with someone who didn't understand what it meant to be a Cameron.

Olivine was a complication, a weakness. She was everything he wasn't supposed to want.

And yet...

He thought about her laugh, how it bubbled up like champagne, light and intoxicating. He thought about the way her nose scrunched when she was annoyed, or the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, like she saw through all the walls he'd built.

He hated her for it.

Hated her for making him feel so exposed, so raw. Hated her for the way she'd waltzed into his life, flipping everything upside down, and made him care.

Rafe's grip tightened around the bottle, the glass creaking under the pressure.

He couldn't bring her home. Couldn't let her into his world like that.

But the thought of letting her go was unbearable.

What if she left him? What if she realized he wasn't good enough, that he was just as broken and pathetic as everyone thought he was? The idea of her walking away, choosing someone else, made his chest burn with a jealousy so sharp it felt like it would split him in half.

He wasn't sure what was worse—tainting the Cameron name with a Pogue, or losing her completely.

His thoughts turned darker, colder, as he stared out at the water.

Maybe he could fix it. Shape her into someone his family would approve of. Someone who fit. It wouldn't be hard—she was already so perfect. Too perfect. He just needed to smooth out the rough edges, mold her into what she needed to be.

Rafe's lips twisted into a bitter smile. His mother would've liked her if she were a little more polished, a little less... Pogue.

Or maybe his mother was wrong. Maybe none of it mattered.

Maybe he didn't care about the Camerons, the money, the rules.

Maybe all that mattered was her.

The thought scared him. The idea that she could unravel him, that she could make him throw away everything he'd been taught, everything he'd been raised to believe—it terrified him.

But it also thrilled him.

Rafe drained the last of the whiskey and let the bottle fall into the water with a hollow splash. His reflection stared back at him, fractured and distorted by the ripples.

She was worth it.

Wasn't she?

Rafe's knees hit the splintered wood of the dock as he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands tangled in his hair. His thoughts had reached a crescendo—an unbearable noise of doubt, anger, and yearning. The image of Olivine danced in his mind, unrelenting and vivid.

He thought about the way she smiled at him yesterday, so damn sure of herself. The softness in her voice when she told him she believed in him. The way she spoke about her dreams, her future—a future that seemed so far away from him, so unattainable.

And now he was left with the bitter aftertaste of the truth: Olivine wasn't meant for him.

But he wanted her anyway.

He couldn't stop thinking about the idea of her sitting in their family's massive dining room, the chandeliers casting golden light on her skin, her presence softening the coldness of the Cameron estate. His mother might have hated the idea, but part of him thought she'd have come around. His mother had always had a soft spot for beauty, for elegance. And Olivine, with her grace, her poise, the way she carried herself—she could've been the exception.

If only she weren't a Pogue.

The label was a sickness that seeped into his veins, twisting his thoughts into something ugly. He hated how it lingered in his mind, how it made him question her worth, question himself.

What the hell am I doing?

Rafe shoved himself to his feet, pacing the length of the dock. His movements were restless, erratic. He thought about Olivine walking through the Cameron gates, hand in his, and the way his father would look at her. The judgment in Ward's eyes, the way he'd sneer like she wasn't good enough to breathe the same air.

Rafe's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight.

He'd never let his father look at her like that. Never.

And yet, deep down, a dark voice whispered that maybe his father would be right.

What if this was all a mistake? What if he was letting himself fall into a trap, letting her pull him down into her world—a world of nothingness, of scraping by, of mediocrity?

He was a Cameron. He wasn't supposed to settle for less.

The thought made him sick, and he swore under his breath, slamming his fist against one of the dock's posts. The pain shot up his arm, sharp and grounding.

Rafe stared out at the horizon, the water stretching endlessly before him.

He couldn't lose her.

But he couldn't let her ruin him, either.

The contradiction tore at him, leaving him hollow and uncertain.

His mind wandered to darker places. The thought of her maybe leaving—walking away from him, from the Outer Banks, from everything they would've built together—was unbearable. If she went to Princeton, if she left for a life of Ivy League perfection, she'd forget him. She'd outgrow him.

And then what?

Would she come back to visit and laugh about him to her polished new friends? Tell them about the boy she used to slum it with in the OBX? The thought made his stomach churn.

No. That couldn't happen.

He'd make sure of it.

Rafe's breathing slowed as he steadied himself, his mind piecing together a plan. If she wanted to chase her dreams, he wouldn't stand in her way. But he'd make sure he was part of them. He'd do what needed to be done to keep her close, to keep her his.

Even if it meant breaking every rule he'd been raised to follow.

Even if it meant burning down everything in his path.

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Rafe leaned back against the dock post, the sharp scent of saltwater filling his lungs. The idea had slithered into his mind like a snake, unbidden but enticing—what if Olivine wasn't Olivine anymore? What if she were just his?

Rafe Cameron's wife.

The title alone sent a rush of possessive pride through him, pushing past the self-loathing and confusion that had clouded his thoughts moments before. The image was vivid in his mind: Olivine in a sundress, barefoot on the polished floors of the Cameron estate, holding a child with his sharp jawline, his piercing eyes, but her soft smile and rich skin tone. Their house filled with laughter, the chaos of children, and her voice calling him home.

He thought about her sitting at the head of a beautifully set dining table, the one his mother used to sit at, but this time with Olivine's hands holding their youngest child while the older ones ran circles around them. She'd belong in his world because he'd remake it for her—or perhaps, he'd remake her for it.

She wouldn't need her father's backbreaking work ethic, her brothers' rough Pogue stubbornness, or her own ambitious dreams. Those things would be gone, erased.

Instead, she'd be Mrs. Olivine Esther Cameron, a name that carried weight, wealth, and power. She'd live in luxury, separate from the grueling, thankless life she'd been born into. No more worn shoes, no more peeling paint on the walls of her family's home, no more stress over tuition or a future that involved clawing her way to the top.

He'd give her everything.

And in return, she'd belong entirely to him.

The thought of her being a housewife seemed... perfect. Not in a condescending way—no, this wasn't about keeping her small. It was about elevating her, pulling her away from the things that tied her to a life that wasn't meant for her. She wouldn't have to struggle anymore.

Rafe would take care of everything.

Coming home to her every night, her body pressed against his in their massive bedroom overlooking the water. Her laughter filling the air as their kids ran around her. Her waiting for him, always, because where else would she go?

The darker part of his mind whispered that it would fix everything. She wouldn't need to chase Princeton or any of her lofty goals. She wouldn't need to think about being better than anyone—better than him.

He could strip away all of that ambition, all of that independence, and keep her tethered to him. He'd free her from the Pogue identity she wore like armor.

And he'd never let her look back.

His jaw clenched as he pictured her smiling at him, their life together a picture-perfect dream. Her hands would be too busy holding their children or smoothing over his shoulders to reach for something else. Her world would shrink, but it would be enough—because it would be his world.

Rafe shook his head, his breathing uneven as the fantasy swirled in his head like smoke.

He didn't need her to be anyone but herself. He told himself that, over and over again, but the truth was murkier. He didn't just want Olivine. He wanted her as his. Only his. Forever.

And before they started dating, before she became his addiction, his fixation, Rafe wrestled with the idea of how to make it happen.

Not if.

Never if.

Just how.

Rafe's mind raced, dark and tangled with his own desire, twisting and distorting his every thought. The fantasy wasn't just an escape from reality—it was a way to control it. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he imagined the life he could give Olivine, the life that would ultimately erase everything she was and make her into something else: something his.

He leaned against the railing, the sharp taste of saltwater in his throat. Maybe then, when he'd stripped her of everything—her independence, her ambition, the stubborn fire in her eyes—maybe then he could love her. Not in the messy, imperfect way they were now, with all their baggage and emotional distance. No, it would be simpler. Cleaner.

She would belong to him, completely. And maybe, just maybe, his mother—whose kindness was sweeter than pie, a woman apart of a cold and old dynasty that didn't let just anyone who wasn't part of the bloodline, the perfect little Cameron dynasty—would finally see her as someone worthy. He could bring her home to Tannyhill, and his father would never question it. Maybe his mother, despite her absence and mute stares, would see her as she should be seen: the perfect reflection of his future.

The thought of bringing Olivine home made his chest tighten. He could almost see it: the grand staircase of Tannyhill, his mother's cold smile turned warm as she embraced Olivine, welcoming her into a life that would erase all traces of her Pogue origins. Olivine would be the lady of the house, slipping into the role effortlessly, never questioning it, and never looking back.

Then the children. He imagined them, five in total. Three boys, strong and proud, with his name, his legacy. And two girls—perfect little copies of Olivine, their mother's softness and warmth in their eyes, their skin, their smile. They would look nothing like him. And he would love them for it. He would cherish every second of watching them grow, knowing they were hers, his to mold into perfection.

But they wouldn't be her. They wouldn't carry the fire, the independence, the ambition. They would carry him, his blood, his control. They would be everything his bloodline needed them to be. He could see them in his mind's eye—tall, strong, impeccable—but with no trace of the Pogue in them.

He would build a family like a fortress, brick by brick, ensuring that nothing could ever threaten their future, nothing could ever pull Olivine back into a life that wasn't his.

Maybe, after all that—when she was his in every sense, when her identity had been reshaped, redefined under his rules—maybe then he could love her. He could take her to his mother and stand tall, knowing she was exactly what he needed. The house would be full of the children he wanted, the life he dreamed of, and everything would finally fit together, just as it was supposed to.

But a dark part of him knew—there would be no room for Olivine in that perfect world. Only his version of her, molded to fit the life he envisioned. And in the end, maybe that was enough.

A cold laugh escaped his lips. He didn't know if it was satisfaction or desperation, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the plan. What mattered was that, in his mind, this was how he would win. This was how he would make her his forever.

Rafe exhaled slowly, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He stared out over the water, letting the calmness of the ocean wash over him, but his mind never stopped. He was already building the future in his head, one brick at a time. And in that future, Olivine was the cornerstone of everything.

But it wouldn't be her future. It would be his.

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KIKI SPEAKS ;
not edited !!

this chapter is more focused on rafe and his delusions and fyi his brains portrayal of his mother is not how she actually was but more or so just his brain trying to make sense of the situation and his imagination of how she would act because he's slowly starting to forget her

word count : 3.3k

ENJOY !!
xoxo kiki 💋💋