𝔅𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 - Rafe Cameron

①⓪

...

The next morning, as they returned home, Jazmine and Rafe planned to spend the day together. Jazmine gave Rafe a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Why don't you stay here and relax? I'll go get us some food," she said softly.

Rafe nodded, watching her leave the house. Jazmine made her way to the restaurant, her steps steady but her mind elsewhere. As she stepped inside, the warmth of the place hit her—a mix of comforting scents that should've been inviting but felt distant today. She approached the counter with a determined expression.

An older man stood at the register, his hair mostly brown with streaks of grey, giving him an air of someone who'd seen too much. He looked like he could be the owner of the place.

"Hello, I called earlier," Jazmine said calmly, keeping her voice even.

The man lifted his gaze to meet hers, his movements deliberate. "Your name, please?"

"Jazmine."

The name seemed to trigger something in him. His face paled, and he stared at her like he'd just seen a ghost. Shock flashed in his eyes, quickly followed by something deeper—a wound that time hadn't healed, a memory that resurfaced against his will.

"Jazmine," he repeated in a whisper, his voice cracking slightly.

"That's right," Jazmine replied, her tone steady, almost detached. "Can I just get my order, please?"

He gripped the counter like he was holding onto something more than just the present moment. His knuckles turned white, and his breath seemed to catch in his throat as if he were suffocating on old memories. To him, Jazmine wasn't just a customer—she was a mirror, reflecting someone he thought he'd lost forever.

From the color of her eyes to the shape of her nose, she was almost a perfect replica of the woman he once loved. The only thing she seemed to have inherited from him was her thick, dark hair. Otherwise, she was the spitting image of his first love, a memory he had locked away.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice shaking, barely concealing the storm raging within.

Jazmine's eyes narrowed, her voice tinged with irritation. "I just want my order, that's all."

"You're lying," he said, louder now, his voice a mix of anger and hurt. "I told your aunt I wanted nothing to do with any of you!"

The words came out sharp, but his eyes held a different story—like he was haunted by a past that wouldn't let him go.

Jazmine's brow furrowed. "What is your problem?" she snapped, both irritated and genuinely curious.

"Get out," he ordered, though the fear in his voice betrayed him. It wasn't hate that made him speak this way—it was regret, a kind of desperation he couldn't hide.

The room had gone silent; every eye in the restaurant was now on them. A woman appeared at his side, her hand resting gently on his arm.

"Honey, calm down," she said softly, trying to steady him. "What's going on?"

But the man's gaze never left Jazmine, like he feared she might vanish if he blinked. "Listen to me," he said, his voice breaking with both warning and a plea. "Stay away from me and my family, do you understand?"

Jazmine shook her head in disbelief. "You're out of your mind. I just came here to pick up my order, that's it."

The woman quickly handed Jazmine her bag, an apologetic look on her face. Jazmine took it without a word, paid, and turned to leave, her face unreadable but her mind spinning.