「 ✦ A MASK OF DISASTER ✦ 」
────

SUTTON MASTERED THE ART OF the perfect mask.

It started as survival—control in a world that seemed determined to take it from her. But soon, it became something else. A weapon. A suit of armor. If she was going to be a Kook, she was going to be the Kook.

She stopped dressing like she was just passing through, shedding the oversized sweatshirts and cutoff shorts for silk, tailored lines, and the sharp bite of diamonds at her wrists. She moved through parties like she belonged, like she had never belonged anywhere else. It was effortless—at least, that's what she made it look like.

Gabrielle thrived on it.

"I knew you had it in you," her mother gushed after Sutton had turned heads at a luncheon, her smile polite but unreadable as she accepted the praise. "This is where you belong, Sutton. This is who you are."

But Rachel saw through it.

Sutton could feel it in the way Rachel studied her at there daily lunch hen she thought she wasn't looking. In the way she intercepted Gabrielle when she pushed too hard. The tension between them was suffocating—Gabrielle furious that Rachel was inserting herself, Rachel refusing to back down.

And Olivia? Olivia hated it.

It wasn't immediate—at first, she had laughed it off, rolling her eyes when Sutton was included in things she hadn't been before. But then, it started happening more often. Sutton was the one being invited to dinners, Sutton was the one people whispered about, the one who had become an enigma wrapped in gold.

"I don't get it," Olivia said one night, swirling the champagne in her glass. "Since when do you even care about this stuff?"

Sutton just smiled. "I don't."

That was the part that infuriated Olivia the most—Sutton wasn't even trying, and yet people couldn't take their eyes off her.

Even worse?

Neither could Rafe.

It wasn't just that they were together now. It was that no one knew. That he had to watch her from across rooms, had to clench his fists when Evan hovered too close or when Wes let his gaze linger too long. That she was his, but no one else could see it.

And Sutton? Sutton knew exactly what she was doing.

She would catch his eyes over the rim of a champagne flute, smirk when he clenched his jaw. She would let her fingertips brush against his arm as she passed, barely a touch, but enough. And later—when they were alone, when the doors were locked and there were no more eyes on them—she would kiss him breathless, dragging her nails down his spine just to remind him who she belonged to.

But out there? In front of everyone? She was untouchable.

Sutton stood in front of the gilded mirror in her bedroom, tilting her chin as she fastened the delicate diamond studs Gabrielle had gifted her for the evening. A Cartier bracelet dangled at her wrist, and her dress—black, sleek, and cut to perfection—hugged her body like it had been made for her. She looked polished. Powerful. Untouchable.

And yet, her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the diamond necklace laid out on the vanity. The clasp was small, too delicate, slipping between her fingers in a way that made frustration rise in her chest.

She barely heard him enter, but she felt him.

Rafe moved behind her, his hands finding the chain before she could protest. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he carefully fastened the clasp, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he pulled away.

"There," he murmured, eyes locked on hers in the mirror. "Perfect."

Sutton smirked, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You think so?"

Rafe's gaze darkened slightly, his hands resting on her shoulders. "You know I do."

She let the silence stretch, studying the way he looked at her—possessive, adoring, like she was everything.

And yet...

"That girl seemed to think so, too," she said idly, tilting her head. "The one who answered your phone the other night."

She felt him tense. Just barely, but enough.

"Sutton—"

"I mean, I get it," she continued, smoothing a hand down the front of her dress. "You had to find some way to pass the time since I was so busy being ripped away from my own home."

Rafe exhaled sharply, stepping around her until they were face to face. "You know that wasn't—"

"I don't know anything, Rafe." Her voice was cool, indifferent, but her fingers were curled into fists at her sides. "I called you. Five times. And you didn't answer. But some random girl did. What exactly was I supposed to think?"

Rafe raked a hand through his hair, looking exasperated. "I was wasted, Sutton. I didn't even know she answered. You really think I'd do that to you?"

"I think," she said carefully, "that we both know what this is."

Rafe's expression flickered—confusion, then frustration. "What the hell does that mean?"

Sutton took a step closer, her heels clicking against the floor. "You want me, Rafe?" Her voice was smooth, saccharine. "You want the Kook Queen on your arm? We can make this a transaction." She smiled, tilting her head. "You get to parade around with me like I'm your prize, and I get... Well. Whatever it is I need at the time."

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening around her wrist. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Act like this is some fucking game." His voice was low, dangerous. "Like I don't—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Sutton arched a brow, daring him to continue. "Like you don't what?"

Rafe stared at her, breathing hard, his fingers flexing against her skin. He wanted to say it. She could see it on his face.

But she wouldn't let him.

She smirked, pulling her wrist free. "Didn't think so."

Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out the door, leaving Rafe standing there—furious, aching, and completely wrecked by her.
────
Sutton sat on the plush, cream-colored sofa in Gabrielle's sitting room, absently swirling the champagne in her glass as her mother flipped through a thick packet of invitations. The sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow on the meticulously decorated space—ornate chandeliers, handwoven rugs, and fresh-cut hydrangeas in silver vases. Everything about it screamed old money.

"Sutton, Olivia," Gabrielle said, her voice laced with satisfaction as she clasped her hands together. "It's settled. You'll both be presented at the Midsummer Debutante Ball."

Olivia beamed, all but preening in her seat. "Finally," she gushed, leaning forward. "I've been waiting for this since I was six."

Sutton merely arched a brow, taking another slow sip of her drink. "And if I say no?"

Gabrielle barely spared her a glance, already anticipating the challenge. "You won't." She smiled, crisp and confident. "Because you understand how important this is. Not just for appearances, but for your position."

Sutton said nothing.

Because as much as she hated Gabrielle's maneuvering, she wasn't wrong.

Sarah Cameron—once the golden girl of the Kooks—had started slipping away from this world. She was still there, still showing up at events, but everyone could feel it. The hesitation. The reluctance. It had created a vacuum, a space where someone needed to step up, take the reins, and remind everyone why this world mattered.

And Sutton had. Without even trying.

At first, it had been about survival—owning her image, manipulating perception. But then... it had become real.

She wasn't just attending these parties anymore.

She owned them.

The Kooks hung on her every word. The whispers about her family? The speculation about where she stood? It had all faded, drowned out by Sutton's sheer presence. She played the game better than Sarah ever had.

Sarah had been sweet.

Sutton was ruthless.

She knew how to wield power, how to command a room. She didn't just belong in this world—she ruled it.

And the boys? The ones who had once chased Sarah Cameron like she was the only girl in Figure Eight? They all watched Sutton now.

Even Rafe.

Especially Rafe.

She felt the heat of Olivia's stare, the barely concealed resentment lingering beneath her practiced smile. Good. Let her hate it. Let her hate that Sutton had risen above her without even trying.

Sutton tilted her head, lips curving into a smirk as she met her mother's expectant gaze.

"Fine," she said, setting her glass down with a soft clink. "I'll do it."

Gabrielle's smile was victorious. "Of course you will."

Gabrielle had wasted no time in parading her around the exclusive circles of Figure Eight, ensuring Sutton was seen at luncheons, charity events, and private gatherings where deals were made over champagne and quiet power plays. Olivia, of course, was right beside her, but it was becoming more and more obvious who people were really paying attention to.

Sutton wasn't just playing the game anymore. She was winning.

And that night, at the Holloway estate's pre-ball cocktail party, she looked the part of a queen.

A sleek, backless gown clung to her figure, diamonds sparkling at her ears and throat, courtesy of Gabrielle's insistence that "presentation matters." Her makeup was sharp, flawless—every inch of her crafted to perfection. She moved through the party like she had always belonged, exuding effortless control.

Rafe was at her side.

Not publicly, of course.

To everyone else, they were just cordial. A shared glance here, a casual exchange there. But behind closed doors, when no one was looking? His hands lingered on her waist. His breath was hot against her skin.

It was intoxicating—the power she held over him.

She was speaking to Kelce and a few others when she felt Rafe approach from behind, his presence unmistakable as he leaned in, fingertips grazing the bare skin of her lower back.

"You should wear diamonds more often," he murmured, voice just low enough for only her to hear.

Sutton smirked, not turning around. "That's funny," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "Because last time I checked, the girl who answered your phone wasn't wearing any."

Rafe went rigid.

A beat of silence passed before he let out a slow exhale, moving in closer, enough that she could feel the tension radiating off him. "Seriously?" he muttered. "You're gonna pull that right now?"

Sutton finally turned, arching a brow. "Should I have done it sooner?"

His jaw clenched.

It was almost amusing, the way he looked caught between frustration and something else. Something softer.

"Sutton," he said, quieter now, more earnest. "You know that was nothing."

"Do I?"

His hand brushed against hers—subtle, but deliberate. "You do."

For a second, something in her wavered.

But then she caught Olivia watching them from across the room, suspicion in her gaze.

And just like that, the walls went back up.

Sutton turned, facing him fully, and tilted her chin up. "We don't owe each other anything," she said coolly. "This doesn't have to be complicated."

Rafe's expression darkened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She smiled, sharp and knowing. "It means if you want me to keep playing this game with you, Rafe, then fine. But let's call it what it is—a transaction."

Something flashed in his eyes, something almost hurt before it disappeared behind a familiar mask of indifference.

He scoffed, shaking his head, but his grip on her wrist tightened ever so slightly before he let go.

"Right," he said, voice unreadable. "Whatever you say, princess."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Sutton exhaled, smoothing a hand down her gown, ignoring the way her chest tightened.

She had won.

So why did it feel like she was losing?

────

A couple of days later, Topper's party was already spinning out of control by the time Sutton arrived, but that was the way she liked it. The lights were low, the music was pounding, and the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the kind of reckless energy that came with too much money and too little supervision.

She had come with Olivia and Kelce, playing her role as the reigning Kook queen to perfection—flawless dress, sharp heels, a drink in hand before she even had to ask for one.

And of course, Evan was there.

He always was, lingering just at the edge of her space like he had some kind of claim on her. Like he thought he could save her from the mess she was drowning in. He had this way of speaking to her, soft and knowing, like he was waiting for her to wake up and realize she had made a mistake.

"You really wanna go down with him?" he asked, leaning against the marble counter as she refilled her drink.

Sutton smirked, pretending she wasn't bored of the conversation before it even started. "Who says I'm going down?"

Evan sighed. "Sutton, come on."

She arched a brow. "You don't like my answer?"

"I don't like watching you self-destruct," he shot back. "This isn't you."

That made her laugh. "Evan, you don't know me anymore."

His jaw tightened. "I know enough."

It was the same old story—Evan, standing there like he was offering her salvation. Like he thought, if only she'd choose me instead.

Sutton could feel the eyes on them. Olivia watching from the staircase, Kelce smirking like he was entertained. Even Rafe, somewhere in the crowd, no doubt simmering.

That was the thing about him—he hated when Evan got too close.

Which was exactly why Wes decided tonight was his moment.

Wes had always been in their orbit, the kind of Kook who never quite mattered enough but liked to pretend he did. And tonight, he was bolder. He was drunk. And he was looking for a way to piss Rafe off.

"You used to be a lot more fun," he murmured into Sutton's ear as she passed him in the hallway.

She rolled her eyes. "I still am."

"Prove it."

Before she could react, Wes had her cornered against the wall, hands planted on either side of her.

Sutton's pulse spiked. Not because she was scared—she never let herself be scared—but because she could see exactly what this was.

A show.

He wasn't trying to get her. He was trying to get under Rafe's skin.

And he did.

Because before she could push him off, before she could say a single word—

Rafe was there.

And then Wes was not.

The sound of the first punch cracked through the party like a gunshot.

Then the second.

Then the third.

People were shouting, scattering as Wes hit the floor, barely able to get his arms up before Rafe was on him, fists flying. The rage in his eyes was animalistic, pure violence, and for the first time in a long time, Sutton realized—

Rafe wasn't like the rest of them.

He wasn't just playing dangerous.

He was dangerous.

Wes was coughing up blood by the time Kelce and Topper ripped Rafe off him, dragging him back, but his entire body was still shaking, still twitching with the need to go back and finish it.

Sutton was frozen.

And then, as if he could feel her looking—Rafe turned.

His lip was split, his knuckles were raw, and his eyes burned as they locked onto hers.

And Sutton, instead of pulling away—

Stepped closer.

Wes had been dragged out of the party, barely conscious, blood smearing across the marble floors as his friends struggled to lift him. He had made a mistake—one that had cost him dearly. And the worst part? No one had helped him.

No one had dared.

Because this was how things worked now. There was no justice, no fairness, no sympathy. There was Sutton Hayes and Rafe Cameron, and then there was everyone else.

The party had carried on as if nothing had happened. The music still pounded through the speakers, champagne still flowed, laughter still echoed across the lawn. And somewhere in the midst of it all, the whispers started.

Did you see what Rafe did to Wes?
He nearly killed him.
And Sutton? She just stood there.
She didn't even flinch.
They're dangerous together.
And so, so untouchable.

Sutton heard every word.

And she loved it.

For the first time in her life, she wasn't on the outside looking in. She was the moment. The power. The name that made people careful.

Even Gabrielle, who always had something to criticize, had only smiled when she heard the rumors. There was a glint of satisfaction in her eyes, the unspoken confirmation that this—this was the future she had always wanted for Sutton. The girl she had once deemed too soft, too naïve, had finally learned.

Sutton had stopped trying to survive.

Now? She was thriving.

She no longer walked into parties—she arrived, the air shifting as people straightened up, adjusted their dresses, lowered their voices. She was always polished, always poised, draped in designer silk and diamonds that Gabrielle ensured she had access to. If she was going to rule the Kooks, she was going to make sure no one ever forgot who she was.

And Rafe?

He was right beside her, always.

Their relationship was no longer a secret. It didn't need to be. When Sutton entered a room, Rafe's eyes were already on her. Watching, waiting. Every move she made, he saw it. When another guy so much as looked at her the wrong way, Rafe was there, his presence enough to make them rethink everything.

At first, the other girls hated it.

They had spent years fawning over Rafe, trying to win his approval, his attention. But now? Now he only had eyes for her. Olivia had been seething for weeks, the jealousy practically dripping off her. The others had followed suit, shooting Sutton scathing glances when they thought she wasn't looking.

But then something happened.

They fell in line.

Because Sutton wasn't just another girl dating Rafe Cameron.

She was his equal.

And no one questioned that.

Not anymore.

At parties, they moved like something legendary. Rafe with his hand at the small of her back, his grip light but possessive. Sutton taking slow, deliberate sips from his drink, her lips wrapping around the rim of his glass like it was second nature. When she caught other girls staring, envying, she only smirked—because they wanted to be her, but they never would be.

She was untouchable.

He was feared.

Together, they were everything.

────

The country club was theirs.

Sutton knew it the second they stepped inside—the way heads turned, the way conversation dipped before picking up again in hushed murmurs. It was different now. Before, she had been an extension of her family name, another well-bred Kook girl meant to be admired but not feared. Now, she wasn't just there. She owned the space. And with Rafe beside her, his arm lazily draped around the back of her chair, fingers tracing small, slow circles into the bare skin of her shoulder, it was impossible to ignore.

They had taken over everything.

Lunch was the usual affair—too expensive, too polished, too much laughter at things that weren't funny. Olivia sat across from her, tight-lipped, pretending that Sutton's rise hadn't left her reeling. Evan and the others filled the space, talking about golf tournaments and new boats and whose family was investing where. Rafe leaned in close, murmuring something into her ear, and Sutton smirked, tilting her head just slightly, letting him brush his lips against the curve of her jaw.

She knew Olivia saw it.

She knew everyone saw it.

Let them.

Just as she was reaching for her mimosa, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Afternoon. What can I get you?"

Sutton barely had to lift her gaze to recognize him.

JJ Maybank stood there, a towel slung over his shoulder, his posture stiff as he held a small notepad in his hand. His sun-bleached hair was messy as ever, his uniform wrinkled—probably on purpose—but there was something colder in his expression.

Sutton hadn't seen him in weeks.

It hadn't been intentional. It was just that her world had shifted so fast, pulling her in, reshaping her priorities. The Pogue world she had once tiptoed between? It felt like another lifetime now.

And JJ?

He hated her for it.

Before she could even say anything, Rafe let out a low chuckle, slouching further in his seat, one arm still draped behind her, the other reaching for his whiskey.

"Damn, Maybank," he drawled, taking a slow sip. "Didn't think you'd last a week in this place. What'd you do, bribe someone?"

The table laughed.

Sutton didn't.

JJ's jaw ticked, but he didn't react. Instead, he pulled out his pen, tapping it against the paper like he was bored. "You guys ordering, or just wasting my time?"

Evan leaned back, smirking. "You on the clock, Pogue? 'Cause I love when waitstaff have an attitude."

JJ barely blinked. "Yeah? You should see me off the clock."

The tension thickened.

Sutton exhaled quietly, adjusting the diamond bracelet on her wrist. "We'll have the usual," she said, giving JJ an easy smile, trying to diffuse whatever was about to happen.

But Rafe wasn't interested in diffusing anything.

"Actually," he mused, his voice slow, calculated, "I think we should make Maybank work a little. He's a service employee, after all. How about something off-menu? You think you can handle that, Maybank?"

JJ's grip on his pen tightened. "You wanna test that theory, Cameron?"

"Oh, I love tests," Rafe smirked. "Sutton, baby, what do you think? Something difficult, yeah?"

Sutton knew what this was.

The game. The power play.

Before, she would've felt torn. Now?

She tilted her head, lips curving into a slow, wicked smile.

"Surprise us."

JJ's gaze flickered to her, and for just a second, something flashed in his expression—hurt, disappointment, realization—before it was gone, buried under something harsher.

Without another word, he turned and stalked off.

The table erupted in laughter.

Rafe pressed a kiss to her temple, murmuring, "That's my girl."

And Sutton?

She didn't look back.

────

The Boneyard was packed, a mess of bonfires and music and sweat-slick bodies moving under the hazy summer night. The air was thick with salt and smoke, laughter and shouting blending together in a chaotic symphony of Kooks and Pogues pretending they could coexist for just one night.

Sutton knew better.

She stood at the heart of it all, perched on the arm of Rafe's chair, his hand resting lazily on her thigh, fingers tapping idly against her skin. The golden glow of the fire made the diamonds at her ears and throat gleam, made the glint in Rafe's eyes look sharper, hungrier. She took a sip of his drink, watching the way Olivia seethed from across the fire, how Evan threw back another shot like he was swallowing his pride along with it.

They had already won.

The Kooks were theirs.

And then JJ Maybank walked up like he owned the place.

Sutton saw him before Rafe did. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders were tight, his jaw set—the way it always was before something went very wrong.

She barely had time to brace for impact.

"You," JJ's voice cut through the party, sharp and unwavering. "Get the fuck up."

At first, Rafe didn't react.

Then, slowly, he smirked, lifting his whiskey to his lips, not bothering to look at him. "You're gonna have to be more specific, Maybank. There's a lot of people here."

JJ didn't take the bait.

"You, Cameron." His voice was steady, but Sutton could hear the anger underneath, coiled tight. "Now."

Rafe exhaled through his nose, like he was bored, but Sutton could feel the way his muscles had tensed beneath her. He leaned back, taking his time stretching out, before finally standing, brushing off his pants like he had all the time in the world.

The party had gone silent.

JJ and Rafe stood toe-to-toe, the difference between them glaring under the firelight—JJ all sharp edges and reckless anger, Rafe dripping with calculated, barely-contained violence.

Sutton's stomach twisted.

"What's the problem, Maybank?" Rafe's voice was lazy, but his eyes were dangerous.

JJ tilted his head, exhaling hard through his nose. "You really don't know?"

Rafe's smirk widened. "Enlighten me."

And then JJ swung.

The crack of his fist connecting with Rafe's jaw echoed in the dead silence.

Rafe barely stumbled, but the second his hand came up to wipe the blood from his mouth, Sutton knew it was over.

Rafe lunged.

The force of the tackle sent them both crashing into the sand, fists flying, bodies twisting as they fought for control. JJ got another hit in—hard, right to Rafe's ribs—but Rafe recovered fast, slamming his elbow down, forcing JJ back.

Sutton was on her feet before she even realized it.

The crowd had erupted into chaos—some people shouting, some laughing, others scrambling back. No one stepped in. No one was stupid enough to.

JJ and Rafe rolled again, kicking up sand, breathless grunts and solid hits cutting through the noise.

Then, Rafe got on top.

Sutton felt her stomach drop.

JJ was still fighting, still pissed, but Rafe was something else. His expression was wild, lips curled, teeth bared like a fucking animal.

He was going to kill him.

No matter what happens, Sutton will never let someone hurt her friends. She would die before JJ did.

"Rafe!"

The sound of her voice cut through the madness like a gunshot.

His body locked up.

JJ took advantage of it, shoving him off, but by the time he scrambled up, panting, Rafe had already stepped back.

Sutton was there in an instant, grabbing Rafe's arm, yanking him toward her. His chest was heaving, his knuckles split and bleeding, his lip busted, his jaw tensed.

JJ wiped his own mouth, eyes flicking between the two of them, then let out a humorless laugh, spitting blood into the sand.

"That's it, huh?" His voice was hoarse, but his words still cut like a knife. "You really picked a side, Sutton."

Sutton's fingers curled tighter around Rafe's wrist.

JJ shook his head, taking a step back.

"You're just like them."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Sutton wanted to say something—wanted to snap back, deny it, tell him he didn't know anything—but she didn't.

She just watched as he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

And Rafe?

He slipped an arm around her waist, tugging her in close, voice a low rasp in her ear.

"Fuck him," he muttered.

Sutton exhaled slowly.

────

The fight at The Boneyard had left more than just physical scars. It wasn't only the bruises on JJ's jaw or the bloodied knuckles that marked its aftermath. It was something deeper, something that lingered in the air between them all, changing everything. The atmosphere was different the next time Sutton found herself in the same spaces—those places she once felt at home, surrounded by the people she thought she could count on.

It wasn't an outright rejection, nothing that was obvious or loud. No one shoved her away or told her she didn't belong. But the subtle shifts spoke volumes. The way Pope barely acknowledged her when she came into The Wreck, his eyes glued to his book, as if she were just another distraction he couldn't be bothered with. The way JJ sat on the edge of the dock, flipping his knife between his fingers with a practiced disinterest, purposefully avoiding any kind of eye contact, like she didn't even exist to him. Even Kiara—Kiara, who used to be one of her closest friends—spoke to her only when she absolutely had to, never initiating conversation, never reaching out. It was as if Sutton had become a shadow in their world, drifting along the edges, no longer the person they used to know.

The Pogues didn't push her out completely, not in any overt way. They still let her hang around, still tolerated her presence, but something about it wasn't the same. The bond they once shared felt strained, fraying at the edges with every unspoken word and every ignored glance. And amidst all of it, John B. was the only one who made any effort to reach out. He tried, in his own way, small and tentative at first, but it was there. His attempts to bridge the gap between them weren't loud, but they were persistent.

It started with simple comments, small gestures, like when he would catch her alone and say, "You don't have to do this, you know." His voice was quiet, almost like a plea, as if he was still holding onto the hope that she hadn't completely slipped away.

But Sutton would just laugh it off, tilt her head in that way she knew drove him crazy, and play dumb.

"Do what, John B.?" she'd reply, feigning ignorance, pretending like she didn't understand what he meant.

But as time went on, his words got heavier, his tone more serious. "You're not one of them," he said once, his voice strained, like he was trying to break through the wall she had put up around herself.

The weight of those words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sutton almost felt the pull to respond, to give in to the invitation to come back to where she once belonged. But she didn't. She couldn't.

And then, the words turned desperate.

"You can still come back," he said one afternoon, his eyes searching hers for something—anything—that would tell him she was still there, still the person he cared about.

But Sutton stayed silent. She didn't know what to say anymore. What could she say?

Because deep down, she knew she had already made her choice. She had already decided where she stood, even if it had cost her more than she realized. The question that haunted her was whether she regretted it. Did she? The answer was harder to find with each passing day. The space between her and the Pogues felt wider with every quiet moment, every glance that went unreturned, and the longer it went on, the more Sutton wondered if there was any way back. Would they ever see her as they once had? Or was she already too far gone?

The night everything finally unraveled, Sutton found herself sitting at a table watching her friends - if you would call them that.

The familiar surroundings—the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the low buzz of the jukebox—felt oddly out of place as she sat across from Kiara in a booth, the tension between them thick like the humid summer air that hung outside. Pope was busying himself in the kitchen, a distraction from the uncomfortable silence, and JJ stood leaning against the counter, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The room was heavy with unspoken words, like they were all holding their breath, waiting for something to break the stillness.

Kiara didn't take long to speak, her voice sharp and pointed as she pushed her glass aside, a mix of frustration and confusion in her eyes. "So, what?" she asked, her tone biting. "You're just gonna pretend you're not different?"

Sutton raised an eyebrow, the question not even fazing her as she kept her cool. "Am I?"

Kiara's laugh was dry, bitter. "Jesus, Sutton. You show up here wearing diamonds, and you expect us to pretend nothing's changed?"

Sutton's lips curled into a smirk, her confidence unwavering. "Maybe you guys are the ones who changed," she shot back, leaning back into the booth, her gaze never leaving Kiara's.

JJ scoffed from the counter, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, okay. Blame us."

Sutton shot him a brief, sharp look, but before she could respond, Kiara's voice cut through the air again, quieter this time, though no less intense.

"I know you, Sutton," she said, her eyes searching Sutton's like she was trying to peel away the layers. "And I know you're putting on a show. But for who? For Gabrielle? For Rafe?"

Sutton didn't flinch, but inside, something twisted painfully. She could feel the weight of Kiara's words, her question hanging in the air like a challenge. She didn't answer right away, but Kiara leaned in, her next words more like a demand than a plea.

"Just tell me one thing."

Sutton's breath caught in her throat, but she stayed silent, waiting for the question she knew was coming.

"... Do you even like who you are now?"

That was the problem. The question hit harder than it should have, because the answer, deep down, was yes.

She liked it. She liked the power, the security, the control. She liked the way people looked at her now—different, with more respect, more fear. She liked walking into a room and knowing she owned it, feeling the eyes on her, the whispers behind her back, and the way everyone fell silent when she spoke. It was intoxicating. And she liked Rafe. She liked what they were together—the way he made her feel like she was someone important, someone to be reckoned with. She liked winning, the certainty that came with it, the taste of triumph.

So, instead of answering Kiara's question with words that might give her away, Sutton leaned back in the booth, tossed her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease, and let her best, Kook-perfect smirk take over her face. It was her defense mechanism, her way of hiding the cracks that were starting to show.

"Yeah," she said, her voice calm, cool. "I do."

Kiara didn't react immediately. She just stared at Sutton for a long moment, her gaze hard and calculating, like she was trying to read her in a way that Sutton was no longer sure she could be. After a while, Kiara nodded once, slow and deliberate, like she'd come to some sort of conclusion.

"Alright then," Kiara said, her voice flat, devoid of any of the emotion that had been there before. "I still love you."

The words hit harder than they should have, and for a moment, Sutton felt something tighten in her chest, something she couldn't quite name. Kiara stood, her chair scraping against the floor, and tossed a few bills onto the table. Pope didn't even glance up from where he was wiping down the counter, too absorbed in his work to notice the shift in the air. JJ let out a quiet laugh under his breath, like he found something amusing in the whole mess, but Sutton didn't look at him.

She wanted to say something—to defend herself, to tell them they were wrong, that she wasn't some puppet, that she was still Sutton—but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she just sat there, the silence pressing down on her, feeling the weight of her choices settle around her like a heavy cloak.

So, she swallowed it down—the last remnants of the Pogue in her. She buried it, pushed it away, and tried to convince herself it didn't matter. But the knot in her chest, the ache she couldn't shake, said otherwise.

Kiara didn't move at first. She stood there, taking a moment to choose her words carefully. Then, she stepped closer, her voice softer, but still firm.

"Sutton," she said, her eyes full of something—was it pity? Anger? A mix of both? "I know you're trying to convince yourself this is who you are, but I've seen the real you. This"—she gestured at Sutton's polished look, the diamonds, everything—"this isn't you. This isn't the girl who laughed with us, the one who didn't care about shiny things."

Sutton flinched at her words, a twist of guilt hitting her gut, but she forced herself to stay calm. "You don't know anything about me," she snapped. Her anger flared up, the kind that always protected her from showing weakness. She was always right, wasn't she? No one else understood her the way she did.

Kiara shook her head, her expression softening, but there was no mistaking the seriousness in her eyes. "That's where you're wrong, Sutton. I do know you. And I'm telling you, this isn't it. You don't have to act like this. You're so much more than what you're pretending to be."

For a second, Sutton didn't know what to say. She wanted to shut Kiara out, but there was something in her tone that made her hesitate. It made her feel vulnerable, like the walls she'd worked so hard to build were starting to crack.

"I don't need you to save me," Sutton said quietly, though the sharpness was still there. She leaned back and locked eyes with Kiara. "I'm fine. I've got everything under control."

Kiara's face softened, but her concern didn't fade. "I still love you, Sutton. You're my friend. I just want you to realize that this isn't you. I know you're hurting... I know you're pretending for some reason, but you don't have to."

Sutton blinked, fighting to keep herself composed. Kiara's words had slipped under her guard, but she quickly glanced away, hoping to hide how much they stung. It was too late—Kiara's concern had gotten through.

Before Sutton could gather herself, JJ's voice cut through the silence, sharp with frustration. "You don't get it, do you, Sutton?" He was standing at the counter now, arms crossed, glaring at her. "You act like nothing's wrong, but you're making everything worse. You've turned into someone we don't even recognize. And don't act like you're better than us just because you're wearing all those damn diamonds. That doesn't make you special."

His words hit harder than Sutton expected. She'd always been able to brush off JJ's sarcasm, but now, with everything already building up, his words felt like a punch to the gut. Her breath quickened, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment. Before she could respond, Pope, who had been quietly cleaning up in the kitchen, walked over to the table. He didn't say anything at first, but placed something down in front of her—a book with a plain cover, the title clear: Identifying Bipolar.

Sutton stared at it, her eyes widening. "What the hell is this?" Her voice shook, but she tried to cover it with sarcasm. "Are you all diagnosing me now?"

Pope didn't flinch. His gaze stayed steady. "We're concerned, Sutton. We don't know what's going on with you, but this isn't just a phase. We've seen your mood swings, your ups and downs. You're not acting like yourself. We're worried about you."

The weight of his words hit harder than Kiara's or JJ's. Now it wasn't just one person noticing. It wasn't just Kiara or JJ or Pope—it was all of them. They were all seeing through her mask. Sutton felt exposed, raw, like her worst fears were coming true—that she wasn't in control. That they knew the truth.

Her stomach churned. She opened her mouth to argue, but no words came. How could she deny what was right there, staring her in the face? A book about mental health—about something she couldn't even bring herself to acknowledge.

Pope leaned in slightly, his voice soft but firm. "Sutton, we care about you. We're not trying to attack you. But you need to face this. Something's not right. And we're here for you, but you need to let us in."

Sutton swallowed hard, her throat tight. Her head was spinning. She wanted to fight back, to push them all away, to tell them they didn't understand. But the truth was, she didn't have an answer for them. The mask she'd been wearing was slipping, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

────

A few days later, the house was buzzing with frantic energy. Gabrielle was pacing through the hallways, directing the staff with sharp commands as she prepared for the arrival of the Camerons and Thortons. Zach's homecoming was supposed to be a moment of celebration, but Gabrielle's anxiety was palpable, and every detail had to be flawless.

"Everything needs to be perfect!" she snapped at the staff, her voice tight with stress. "The house, the food, the atmosphere—do you hear me? Zach's coming home today!"

The urgency in her voice echoed throughout the house, but upstairs, in Sutton's room, the world felt quiet. Too quiet. Sutton lay in bed, completely still, wrapped in the cocoon of blankets. The noise from downstairs was muffled, like it belonged to another world. She could hear the muffled shouts, the hurried footsteps, but none of it seemed to reach her.

Sutton's eyes were open, but her gaze was vacant, unfocused. Her body felt heavy, like it was no longer hers to control. The world felt distant, like she was watching from behind glass.

There was a knock at the door. "Sutton? Are you up?" Eli's voice sounded small and unsure, like he was walking on eggshells around her lately.

No answer.

He knocked again, a little harder this time. "Sutton, we really need you to get up. Zach's coming home. Mom's going crazy."

Still no answer.

Eli's frustration started to bubble up, but he pushed it aside as he pushed the door open. His eyes searched the room for any sign of life, and they landed on her. She was lying in the same spot, still and silent. His stomach twisted in a way that he couldn't explain, but it was a familiar feeling—anxiety, dread, like something was wrong, but he didn't know how to fix it.

"Sutton?" he called, stepping into the room. His voice was careful, almost unsure. "Come on. You've gotta get up. Everyone's waiting. Mom's freaking out downstairs."

She didn't move.

Eli's chest tightened. He had never seen her like this before—not in this way. Sutton, the girl who always had a comeback, who was always the first to take charge, who could make something happen when everything else felt like chaos—was nothing now. Just a shell of someone he used to know.

"Please, Sutton," he begged softly, his voice cracking slightly. "You gotta get up. We... we need you. I don't know what's going on, but... but you can't just keep lying here. Mom will lose it. I'll lose it. I just... I don't know what to do anymore."

He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, he walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, looking down at her. Sutton's face was pale, her features tired and drawn, and he noticed the faint tremble of her hands beneath the covers.

Eli's breath hitched as he tried to make sense of it all. Why wasn't she getting up? Why wasn't she fighting? Why wasn't she talking to him? It was like she was slipping away, and he had no idea how to stop it. His hands shook slightly as he reached for the blanket, pulling it back to reveal her face. She didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle.

He swallowed, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. "Sutton..." His voice cracked, and he couldn't stop it. "Please... just get up. You're not... you're not fine. This isn't you. What's going on? What happened? I don't understand."

The words came out in a rush, raw and desperate. He didn't know what else to say, what else to do. All he knew was that she wasn't the sister he recognized anymore. This wasn't the girl who used to joke around with him, who used to help him with his homework, who used to care. Now she was just a broken version of that girl, a version that didn't even seem to want to fight anymore.

Eli leaned forward, his face close to hers, his eyes wide with confusion. "Sutton... please. You can't do this. Not to me. Not to us." He choked on the last word, his eyes filling with tears that he refused to let fall. "Mom's been running around like a maniac. She needs you. I need you. I can't do this without you."

There was a long silence. The room felt cold, the air thick with unspoken words, with unasked questions. Sutton still didn't move. She didn't even blink.

Eli's heart shattered. He leaned in further, desperation flooding his words. "Please," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Please, Sutton... I need you to be okay."

Tears finally escaped, slipping down his cheeks, but Sutton didn't react. She just lay there, her expression hollow, as though she wasn't even hearing him. As if she couldn't hear him. And Eli, at that moment, felt like he was losing her in the worst way possible—not to some terrible event, but to a quiet, suffocating nothingness that he couldn't understand.

"I don't know what's happening," Eli whispered, his voice breaking as his sobs took over. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what's wrong with you." His chest heaved with each breath, the tears coming faster now, unchecked. He gripped her shoulders tightly, shaking her lightly, his voice turning frantic. "Please, Sutton... just get up. I need you. You can't leave me like this."

But she didn't respond. She didn't even lift her head. Eli pulled her into a hug, his sobs wracking through him as he buried his face in her hair, trying to hold on to anything that felt like her. He whispered brokenly into her ear, "Please don't do this. Please... I can't lose you. I can't lose you like this."

For a moment, Eli just held her, his arms shaking as the weight of the silence settled around them. He didn't know how to fix this. He didn't know how to bring her back. All he knew was that he couldn't watch her slip away any further.

But she didn't move. She didn't respond.

The sound of footsteps grew louder outside Sutton's room, cutting through Eli's desperate pleas. The door flung open, and Gabrielle stood in the doorway, her face twisted in a mix of frustration and fury. She was still holding onto the urgency of Zach's return, but there was something else—a sharp, biting anger that had been building over the last few days, something that had nothing to do with Zach, and everything to do with Sutton.

"What is this?" Gabrielle's voice was tight, like a coiled spring. "Why aren't you up, Sutton? Why are you lying here, wasting time? Everyone is downstairs waiting for you—I need you downstairs. You have responsibilities today, you hear me?"

Eli looked up at her, his eyes red and swollen from crying. His hand was still resting on Sutton's, his fingers lightly trembling. He couldn't find the words to explain what was happening to Sutton, and the worst part was, neither could Gabrielle. She didn't even seem to care.

Gabrielle's eyes flicked over to her daughter, her gaze cold and unwavering. "Get up!" she snapped, her voice growing louder, more commanding. "You don't get to hide in here while I'm running around making sure everything's perfect. I've been handling everything on my own while you—you—lie here, like you're the one who matters! The house is a mess, the staff is stressed, and you're acting like you have all the time in the world to do nothing!"

Sutton didn't move, her eyes glassy, staring blankly ahead. She could hear Gabrielle's words, but they felt muffled, like they didn't belong to her world. Everything was a haze, too loud, too bright, too sharp. She wanted to disappear, but Gabrielle wasn't letting her.

Eli stood up, stepping in front of Sutton, trying to shield her from their mother's wrath. "Mom, please... she's not okay. Sutton's not—"

"Shut up, Eli!" Gabrielle barked, her eyes snapping to him. "I don't want to hear it! I've had enough of this." She turned back to Sutton, her voice seething with impatience. "You are not going to lay here all day and make me look bad in front of the Camerons and Thortons! Do you understand me? Get up. Get dressed. Now."

When Sutton didn't move, when she didn't even flinch at her mother's orders, Gabrielle's eyes narrowed in disgust. The control, the power she normally held over her children, was slipping away, and Gabrielle wasn't going to let it happen. She marched forward, grabbing Sutton by the arm and yanking her roughly out of the bed. Sutton's body felt too heavy to resist, like she was trapped in a space where nothing made sense. The pain from Gabrielle's grip on her wrist was sharp, but it barely registered in Sutton's foggy mind.

Eli stepped forward, his voice desperate again. "Mom, stop! She's not—"

Gabrielle shoved him back, her hands shaking with pent-up fury. "Don't you dare interfere with me right now, Eli. I'm doing what needs to be done. She'll thank me for this later."

Sutton winced as her mother dragged her toward the closet, her nails digging into Sutton's skin as she pushed her into the wall. "Get dressed!" Gabrielle's voice cracked with rising frustration. "I don't care what's going on with you right now, Sutton. This is not the time. I need you to pull yourself together."

The bruises on Sutton's arm began to form, darkening quickly under Gabrielle's grip. She barely noticed, her body like a doll, limp and unresponsive to the force. She was so far removed from everything, from the pain, from the words, from the pressure.

Sutton tried to speak, but her throat felt dry, as though even her voice had abandoned her. "I—" she started, but Gabrielle cut her off with a cruel laugh.

"You're not getting off that easy. I'm sick of your games, Sutton," Gabrielle spat, shoving her again, this time harder. "This is how it works. You don't get to fall apart and make me look like the crazy one. You get up, you get dressed, and you act like you care."

Sutton's body hit the wall again, and the pain in her ribs flared up, but it was distant. It wasn't real. Nothing felt real. Gabrielle's words were echoing, ringing in her ears, but it didn't change anything. Sutton couldn't fight it. Couldn't fight her. She was too tired, too lost.

Eli looked at his mother, panic rising in his chest. "Please, stop! She's not okay, mom! You don't get it! Why can't you see that?"

Gabrielle turned to him with a venomous glare, her voice like ice. "Because I'm the one who has to hold this family together, Eli. And I don't have time for your sister's drama right now. So unless you want me to drag her out of here by her hair, you better stay out of this."

Sutton felt the weight of her mother's words hit her like a freight train. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Gabrielle's hands were rough as they shoved her into a chair in front of the vanity, forcing her to sit up and look at herself in the mirror. She was a stranger. The face staring back at her was a stranger.

Gabrielle stood behind her, still barking orders, still furious. "You better pull yourself together for once in your life, Sutton. You're not some little girl anymore."

Tears began to sting Sutton's eyes, but she didn't wipe them away. She couldn't. They just slid down her cheeks, unnoticed by her mother as she went on, completely oblivious to the damage she was causing.

Eli stood frozen in the doorway, his hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to do something, anything, to stop this, but it was like his hands were tied. His voice cracked as he whispered, "Please, Mom. Just stop."

But Gabrielle was too far gone, her fury clouding everything. She grabbed Sutton's hair roughly, forcing her head to tilt back so she could apply makeup with harsh strokes. Sutton winced, the bruises on her arm throbbing now, but it was as though she couldn't feel it, couldn't react. All she could do was sit there, silent, broken, as her mother continued her cold, punishing task.

Finally, when Gabrielle was satisfied with the result, she stepped back, looking Sutton up and down. "There. Now you look like you actually give a damn."

Eli stood still, his breath ragged, watching the scene unfold in front of him. His sister was slipping further away, and he couldn't reach her. The pain of seeing her like this, seeing her break, was too much. It tore at his chest, and he didn't know how much longer he could stand it.

Sutton didn't say anything. She didn't move. She was empty, her body just a shell, as Gabrielle turned and left the room, leaving her son standing there, heartbroken and helpless.

"Please, Sutton..." Eli whispered, more to himself than to her. "Please, come back to us."

Eli's heart was pounding as he stumbled out of the room, his legs shaky beneath him. The house felt enormous, suffocating. The walls seemed to close in on him as he made his way down the hallway, unsure of where to go, what to do. His mind was still reeling from what had just happened. He needed someone, anyone, to understand. His breath came in ragged gasps as he walked to Olivia's room, barely able to see through the sting of his own tears.

He knocked once, then turned the handle, walking in without waiting for an answer. Olivia was sitting on her bed, flipping through a magazine, looking far too relaxed for what was happening in the rest of the house.

Olivia didn't even glance up when he entered. "What is it, Eli?" she asked, her voice flat, annoyed by the interruption.

He stood frozen in the doorway for a second, trying to gather his words, his emotions. It was like his brain couldn't catch up to what had just happened with Sutton. "Olivia... it's... it's Sutton. She's not—she's not okay."

Olivia finally looked up from her magazine, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean, she's not okay?"

Eli's voice cracked as he rushed to explain, his hands trembling. "She's not herself! Mom—Mom made her get up, she hurt her, Olivia. She's really not herself. She couldn't even—she wouldn't move. She's just... she's breaking down, and Mom won't see it. She's not—she's not okay, and I don't know how to help her."

His words tumbled out in a flood, desperate, too fast, too much. His chest felt tight, suffocating under the weight of what he'd just witnessed. He had never seen Sutton like this—so lost, so distant, so fragile.

Olivia's face shifted, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at him. "Eli, this is getting old. Sutton's always been dramatic. I'm sure she's fine. You need to stop acting like it's the end of the world every time something happens. She's probably just being lazy or—" Olivia sighed, leaning back against her pillows, crossing her arms. "Mom's been stressed. It's not like she hurt her on purpose."

Eli's eyes widened in shock. "You're not listening to me. She's not being lazy, Olivia! Mom—Mom forced her, she was rough with her. You don't understand what it's like when she does that to Sutton. You didn't see it—she left bruises. Bruises, Olivia! Don't you care? Why aren't you seeing this?"

Olivia stood up, exasperated, rolling her eyes as she moved past him. "Eli, calm down. It's just a little roughing up. Sutton's an adult, she can handle herself. I don't know what you expect from me. I'm not going to get all worked up over this. It's just how Mom is. We've been dealing with her our whole lives."

Eli felt like he'd been slapped. His throat tightened, the words barely coming out as he tried to hold back his tears. "You don't get it. This isn't just normal. You don't understand. Sutton needs someone, and all you're doing is dismissing her like you always do. You don't care."

Olivia paused for a moment, then scoffed. "Oh, please. This isn't some crisis. Sutton's just throwing a fit. She always does this when things don't go her way. Maybe if you stopped babying her, she'd learn how to deal with stuff like everyone else."

Eli's heart broke at her words, each one like a knife to his chest. He could feel his breath becoming shallow, his panic rising. How could she be so cold? How could she be so blind? "You have no idea what you're talking about. She's not throwing a fit. She's breaking. You don't see her like I do. You never have."

Olivia sighed and waved her hand dismissively. "You're just being dramatic, Eli. I don't have time for this. Go deal with Sutton and stop trying to get me involved. You're making a bigger deal out of it than it really is."

Eli stood there, frozen, his mind spinning, his chest tight with disbelief. She was right in front of him, but she wasn't seeing anything. It was like they were on completely different planets. And no matter how much he tried to explain it, to make her understand, Olivia just didn't care. His sister—his own flesh and blood—wasn't willing to see what was happening to Sutton, not truly.

He opened his mouth to say something more, but the words got stuck in his throat. He felt the heat of his tears threatening to spill over, but he didn't let them fall. Not in front of her. He turned on his heel and left the room without another word, the door slamming shut behind him.

The house felt colder now, emptier. It wasn't just Sutton slipping away—it was everyone. And Eli didn't know how to hold it together anymore.

────

Later that evening, the house was buzzing with tension as the Camerons and Thorntons arrived for dinner. The grand dining room was filled with the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of conversation, but there was a noticeable absence at the table—Sutton.

Gabrielle, ever the picture of poise, plastered a smile on her face as she greeted the guests, though her eyes kept darting toward the empty chair where Sutton should have been sitting. The chatter around the table slowed as everyone noticed the conspicuous gap.

"Where's Sutton?" Sarah Cameron asked casually, glancing around the room as if Sutton had just stepped out for a moment.

"She's not feeling well," Gabrielle said smoothly, not missing a beat. "It's nothing to worry about. Just a little under the weather, probably from all the stress lately."

Rafe, who had been leaning back in his chair, fiddling with his wine glass, suddenly looked up, his eyes narrowing at his mother. He knew better. Sutton hadn't been "sick"—something else was going on. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could speak, his father Ward chimed in, trying to shift the conversation back to more pleasant matters.

"She'll be fine," Ward said, offering an overly cheerful smile. "She's probably just taking a break before the big day tomorrow. You know how she is."

But Rafe wasn't convinced. His eyes lingered on the door for a moment longer, his fingers tapping nervously on the edge of his glass. Something wasn't right, and he could feel it in his gut. Sutton had always been unpredictable, but lately, something had felt off. He had seen it in her—heard it in the tension in her voice during their last encounter.

As the conversation continued around him, Rafe's mind raced, and he finally pushed his chair back, excusing himself from the table. Without waiting for anyone to notice, he slipped out of the room, his heart pounding.

He made his way up the staircase quietly, his footsteps soft against the polished wood floors. When he reached Sutton's door, he hesitated, uncertain whether to knock or simply enter. But after a moment's pause, he gently turned the handle and stepped inside.

The room was dark except for the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows against the walls. Sutton was lying on her bed, her face turned away from the door, her body curled up in a way that felt fragile. She didn't react to the sound of him entering.

Rafe stood in the doorway for a moment, his heart sinking as he took in the sight of her—so still, so small under the blanket. It felt wrong. Everything about this felt wrong. He had never seen her like this.

"Hey..." His voice was soft, unsure. He took a step closer, his brow furrowed with concern. "You good?"

Sutton didn't respond. She didn't even move. For a moment, Rafe stood there, just watching her. The usual fire she had—the defiance, the stubbornness—was gone. It was like she wasn't even the same person anymore. His chest tightened as he took another step forward, now standing right beside the bed.

"Sutton?" he whispered again, gently sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers hovered for a moment before he carefully brushed a lock of hair away from her face. His touch was almost reverent, like he was afraid she might shatter if he was too rough.

Sutton's eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking as if she had been pulled from a deep sleep. She looked at him, her expression distant, unfocused. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was barely audible, a little rough, as though it took everything she had to speak.

"I—" Rafe hesitated, his words tangled in his throat. He wasn't sure how to explain what he was feeling. He had always been the one to tease her, to provoke her, but now, seeing her like this, everything else felt insignificant. "I was just... worried. You haven't been yourself lately. And I don't like it. I hate seeing you like this."

Sutton's gaze flickered toward him, a slight flicker of irritation in her eyes, but it was weak—nothing like her usual sharpness. She shifted, curling up tighter against the pillow, avoiding his gaze. "I'm fine," she muttered, but there was no conviction in her voice.

Rafe's heart clenched, his worry deepening. "No, you're not," he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. He reached out, resting his hand on hers, and for a moment, there was a silence between them. His touch was warm, reassuring in a way that felt foreign to him, but real. "I know you're not, Sutton. I'm not going to pretend like everything's okay when I can see it's not."

Sutton shifted uncomfortably at his touch, her eyes flicking to his hand on hers before quickly looking away again. "I don't need your pity, Rafe."

Rafe frowned, leaning a little closer. "This isn't pity. I'm not doing this out of some sense of obligation. I don't know what's going on with you, but I want to help. You don't have to do this alone, you know."

There was a quiet pause as he let his words hang in the air. Sutton didn't respond, and the silence stretched on, thick and heavy between them. Rafe couldn't tear his eyes away from her, his chest tightening with a mixture of concern and something else—a desperate need to fix whatever was broken inside her.

"Sutton..." He whispered her name, his voice low, almost pleading now. "You've got to know you mean something to me, right? More than just... this. More than all the crap we've been through."

For the first time in a while, Sutton's eyes softened, just a fraction, and she looked at him, really looked at him. There was something in her eyes—something raw and unguarded—that made Rafe's heart ache. She didn't speak at first, but then, quietly, barely above a whisper, she said, "I don't know what's happening to me, Rafe."

He could hear the tremble in her voice, the vulnerability that she never let anyone see. And in that moment, Rafe wasn't just the guy who had teased her, the guy who had played games. He was the one who wanted to help her, to make her feel something other than the weight of whatever she was carrying.

He squeezed her hand, his voice soft but firm. "You don't have to know right now. Just... let me be here. I don't know what to do, but I'm not leaving you alone."

Sutton closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She didn't push him away. And for the first time, Rafe could see it: the cracks in her façade, the way she was so desperately holding on, not just to herself, but to the world she thought she had to maintain.

And for that moment, he was just there—by her side, silent, holding on, trying to be everything she needed, even if she wasn't sure yet.

────

Authors note:
Sooo what do we think? Any ideas what's going to happen? We've got two chapters before it connects with season 1, anything we'd like answered or to see before?
also , hello new readers! i see all of you and love your engagement <3