Rafe Cameron Imagines

Cheating🤍

The late afternoon sunlight streams through the massive windows of Tannyhill, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floor. You walk through the hallway, the familiar creaks of the old house muffled by the quiet hum of voices drifting from the living room. Rafe had texted you earlier, saying he'd be working on some plans for the new clubhouse. You hadn't thought much of it. After all, he'd been buried in that project for weeks now. But as you near the room, the soft sound of laughter stops you in your tracks.

It's not Rafe's laugh. It's hers.

Sofia.

Your stomach tightens as you peek around the corner, careful not to be seen. There he is, lounging on the couch with that infuriatingly effortless confidence that always drew you to him. His arm rests along the back of the sofa, just shy of brushing Sofia's shoulder. She's leaning in close, her face lit with amusement as she points to something on the papers spread across the coffee table.

"See? I told you this layout would work better," Sofia says, her voice light and teasing.

Rafe chuckles, and the sound twists in your chest. "Yeah, yeah, don't get cocky. You're lucky I even let you talk me into this."

"You love my ideas," she fires back, bumping her knee against his.

Your breath catches. It's a small gesture, one that could easily be brushed off as innocent, but the ease between them is undeniable. You take a step back, forcing yourself to calm down. You're overreacting. There's no way Rafe would cross that line.

You walk into the room, trying to mask the unease bubbling inside you. "Hey," you say, your voice steady despite the slight tremor in your hands.

Rafe looks up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he gives you that boyish grin you've always loved. "Hey, babe." He leans back, stretching his arms along the couch as if nothing's out of place.

Sofia turns her head, her sharp green eyes meeting yours. She doesn't move, doesn't try to create distance between herself and Rafe. If anything, her smirk deepens, like she knows something you don't.

"What's going on?" you ask, keeping your tone casual.

"Just going over some plans," Rafe says, gesturing to the papers. "Sofia's been helping out with the design. She's got a good eye for this stuff."

"Yeah," Sofia chimes in, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Rafe's been such a perfectionist about everything. I had to convince him to loosen up a little."

Your jaw tightens, but you force a smile. "Well, I'm sure the clubhouse will be perfect with both of you working on it."

Rafe gives you a distracted nod, already turning back to Sofia. "Can you grab the sketch with the patio layout?" he asks her, his tone easy and familiar.

Sofia leans forward, her arm brushing against his as she reaches for the paper. "This one?"

You don't wait to hear his response. "Dinner's almost ready," you say, your voice sharper than you intended. "Don't take too long."

Rafe glances up, his brows furrowing slightly. "We'll be there in a bit."

You turn and leave the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You want to believe this is just a misunderstanding, that you're reading too much into the way they interact. But as you stand in the kitchen, stirring the sauce on the stove, the doubts creep in.

Rafe had always been the kind of guy who drew people in effortlessly, his charm disarming even when it shouldn't be. You'd seen it before—how girls flocked to him, how he soaked up their attention. But he'd promised you that you were different, that he wasn't that guy anymore.

So why does it feel like you're standing on the edge of something you don't want to face?