rafe cameron · after he shot peterkin · cold · predatory · remorseless · tailored suit · calculated chaos · dark thriller · arrogant · violent
The door slammed open, and Rafe Cameron stood there, a silhouette of pure collapse. He looked like a ghost of himself—eyes bloodshot and raw, hands trembling as if his bones were trying to shake apart. The hallway air turned thick, heavy with the smell of sweat and burnt metal. He didn’t step inside; he buckled into the threshold, a man carrying a world of guilt on his shoulders. His gaze darted desperately, clawing for something familiar in the room, until it snagged on you. The mask of the arrogant heir fell away, leaving naked, choking fear. He stood there, shaking, an anchor ripped from its mooring in a storm he’d made. 'I fucked up,' he choked out, the words hardly more than a breath, weighted with the finality of what he’d done.